MasukJulian POV
After I got back to the office, I couldn’t focus on work. The image of Aria with that man kept playing in my head, over and over. Matthew Barney. Even his name irritated me.
The way he had looked at Aria disgusted me.
“Jasmine,” I called through the intercom.
“Yes, sir?”
“Get me everything you can find on Matthew Barney. Employment history, current position, everything.”
“Right away, sir.”
I leaned back in my chair, but my mind wouldn’t settle. Aria, smiling at him the way she used to smile at me. Friends don’t look at each other like that. I’m not dumb or stupid.
I yanked at my tie, loosening it. I was starting to feel hot even though the air conditioner was running at full blast.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Aria wanted to work at his company. The audacity of him to offer her a position. I couldn’t even imagine them together in the same office building every day.
Would they have lunch together? Would he get her coffee? Would he give her rides home?
No. I didn’t want to imagine any of it.
Jasmine knocked and walked in with a folder in her hand.
“Matthew Barney’s background check, sir.”
I flipped through it, frowning with each page. Matthew Barney, twenty-nine. Chief Technology Officer at Apex Innovations. Stanford graduate, summa cum laude. Company revenue increased 47% under his leadership. Forbes 30 Under 30 list.
“He’s pretty impressive,” I muttered under my breath.
An uncomfortable feeling settled in my chest. “Find me more about his personal details. His marital status—whether he’s married or dating someone.”
“Okay, sir. I’ll check.”
Jasmine took the file and left.
My phone buzzed. Selene’s name flashed on the screen.
I ignored it.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Aria and Matthew had looked at each other. The ease between them. The comfort.
I wasn’t jealous. This was just… professional concern. Contractual concern, really. I had the right to know about her work environment. After all, she was my wife—on paper, at least. Even if it wasn’t real.
It was normal concern. The kind any husband would have for his wife.
Right?
I went home early that day, something I had never done before.
Did I care what Aria thought about it? I wasn’t sure anymore.
The house was quiet when I entered. Aria was in the kitchen cooking. The smell of garlic and herbs filled the air, warm and inviting. She looked up, surprised to see me.
“You’re home early.” A statement, not a question.
Then she turned back to stirring whatever was in the pot.
No where have you been? No I missed you.
Nothing.
I walked over and studied her face carefully. She looked tired. Pale. Like someone who’d been sick for days and was trying to hide it.
“Aria, are you sick?”
I moved closer, close enough to see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her hand trembled slightly as she held the spoon. I reached out, my hand hovering near her arm.
Before I could touch her, she covered her mouth with her hand and ran upstairs.
“Aria, what’s wrong?” I quickly followed her.
“Are you sick?” I asked, leaning against the bathroom door frame.
She was bent over the toilet, retching. When she finally stopped, she cleaned her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m fine,” she said gently, but she looked exhausted. Like someone who’d been overworking herself for weeks.
“You don’t look fine,” I said, taking a step toward her.
She took a step back.
“Stop this pretense. Stop acting like you care. Stop confusing me.” Her voice was weak, trembling. “I won’t let you use me however you want. I can’t share you with Selene.”
“Calm down. This isn’t about Selene,” I said.
For the first time, the thought of Selene felt distant. Long gone.
“If it isn’t about her, then what?” She looked right into my eyes. “Tell me. I want to know.”
Because I can’t stand you smiling at him. At Matthew. Because the way he looked at you was more than friendly. Because I don’t want you working in his company.
I wanted to tell her all of that. But I was too proud.
“You’re my wife. That’s why, Aria.”
She smiled bitterly. “Yeah, I get it. Contract wife. It’s just a contract.”
That’s when I noticed an unfamiliar bottle on the counter by the sink.
“What’s that bottle?” I asked.
She quickly grabbed it. “It’s nothing.” She hid it behind her back before I could see the full label.
“You’ve been taking a lot of pills lately, Aria.”
“They’re just multivitamins. Nothing to worry about.”
“Aria, you look sick. You’re not fit for this job.”
“I’m fine, okay? That’s why I’m taking them—so I’ll be well enough for it.” She tried to move past me.
“So tell me about the job.”
“Really?” She laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Now you’re suddenly interested in what I do? After four years of marriage, four years of treating me like some whore?”
The words hit me like a bullet.
“No, Aria—”
“Yes. That’s exactly what it looks like. Tell me, Julian—when’s my birthday? What’s my favorite food? My favorite color? What do I do when I can’t sleep?” She laughed softly, painfully. “We both know you have no answer to any of that because you never cared. I’m just a convenient bedroom arrangement to you.”
“I know you,” I said weakly.
“What do you know? Just what’s written in our contract?”
I had no answer. Nothing.
She pushed me aside and walked past me.
“Aria, we’re not done talking—”
“We are, Julian. You kept choosing Selene over and over. Now I’m making my own choice.”
“This isn’t about Selene!”
“Then who is it about? Where were you for the past five days, Julian?” Her voice rose. “You get to disappear for five days without a word. But I take a job and suddenly you have a problem?”
I wanted to say that ,because I was angry. Because I want to prove that I don’t care whatever you do. Because somehow, being with Selene now feels wrong.
But instead, I said, “None of your business.”
“Exactly my point. So it’s none of your business if I take the job too.” She turned and went downstairs.
My phone buzzed. Selene.
For the first time, I didn’t pick up her call.
She had always been part of me. I loved her. I’d loved her for so long.
But right now, something didn’t feel right.
I picked up my phone and texted Jasmine. Make sure you find all the information you can on Matthew Barney.
I sighed deeply.
She’s my wife. I’m responsible for her safety—even if it’s just a contract.
But somewhere in the back of my mind, a quiet voice whispered that this wasn’t about contracts or responsibility.
It was about something I wasn’t ready to name.
Aria POVDr. Daniel walked into the room quietly, the way doctors always did — like they had learned early on how to carry heavy news without letting it show in their footsteps. His expression was composed, professional, giving nothing away before he was ready to give it.“Her surgery is scheduled for eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” he said, his gaze moving to where I sat at my mother’s bedside.“Okay,” I said softly. Just that one word, because it was all I could manage.I was still holding her hand. I hadn’t let go since I arrived. My thumb moved slowly over her knuckles — back and forth, back and forth — the same absent rhythm I had kept for the past hour, as if the motion itself was doing something useful. As if it was keeping us both anchored.Am I happy or terrified? I genuinely couldn’t tell. Both feelings sat inside my chest at the same time, pressed so tightly together they had become indistinguishable from each other. Tomorrow felt enormous. Tomorrow felt like a door I coul
Aria POVThe hospital smelled the way it always did — antiseptic and something faintly floral underneath, like someone had tried to soften the sterile reality of the place with an air freshener and failed. My sneakers squeaked softly against the polished linoleum as I made my way down the corridor toward Dr. Daniel’s office, my fingers wrapped tight around the strap of my bag just to have something to hold onto.I knocked twice before pushing the door open.Daniel was at his desk, pen in hand, a patient file open in front of him. He looked up immediately, set the pen down, and gestured to the chair across from him with a relaxed smile. I sat, straightening my back the way I always did when I was trying to appear calmer than I actually felt.“I had a chance to see some of your paintings,” he said, his tone unhurried, warm. “The ones hanging in the east hallway. I must say — I’m very impressed.” The design I painted to contribute to the hospital since my mom is here.Something small and
Aria POV The coffee shop was the kind of place that made you feel like the rest of the world could wait. Soft acoustic music drifted from somewhere near the ceiling, low enough that you could talk over it without raising your voice. The air smelled of roasted beans and warm vanilla, and every surface — the wooden counter, the small round tables, the mismatched chairs — had that worn, comfortable look of somewhere people came to exhale. I had needed exactly this. Somewhere small and ordinary and safe.I wrapped both hands around my mug and let the warmth seep into my palms.Vanessa sat across from me, her natural hair piled high on her head, her oversized cream sweater making her look effortlessly put-together in the way she always managed without trying. She had been mid-sip when I told her, and now she was staring at me with her cup frozen halfway to the table, her eyes wide.“For real?” she asked, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper of disbelief.I nodded slowly. “I’m telling you
Aria POVThe smell hit me first.Julian’s cologne — cedarwood and something darker underneath, smoky and expensive — had already claimed the air in my room, tangled now with the sharp bite of whiskey. It was a disorienting combination. Too familiar, too much.He was watching me with those green eyes, glassy and slow, fighting to hold focus.“Julian.” I kept my voice even. “I think you should go back to your room.”He blinked. Something in his expression shifted, softened in the way that only happened when his guard had been completely stripped away. “Aria,” he said, his voice rough at the edges, like it had been dragged through gravel. “I like your hair.”Before I could step back, his hand lifted. His fingers were warm as they pushed a loose strand away from my face, tucking it gently behind my ear, his touch so careful it felt almost reverent. My heart stumbled in my chest before I could stop it.I caught his hand and pulled it down. “Just stop. You’re drunk. You don’t mean any of wh
Aria POVThe room was quiet except for the occasional rustle of pages.I was curled up against my headboard, legs tucked beneath me, a half-eaten packet of biscuits on the nightstand beside a cold cup of tea I kept forgetting to drink. The novel in my hands — The Space Between Heartbeats — had swallowed me whole for the better part of the evening. It was one of those stories that hurt in a beautiful way: a woman waiting for a man who didn’t know how to stay, loving him in the cracks of every ordinary moment. The kind of love that left marks. I had dog-eared nearly every other page.I turned to a passage I’d read twice already. She didn’t leave because she stopped loving him. She left because she loved herself just enough to know she deserved more than almost. I stared at the words for a long moment before closing the book and setting it face-down on the sheets.A notification lit up my screen.I swiped down without thinking, expecting something meaningless — a promotional email, a soc
Julian POVThe evening light inside Selene’s apartment was soft and amber — warm in a way that felt rehearsed, like a stage set. Candles on the windowsill. A throw blanket folded perfectly on the armrest. She had called me over, said she needed to tell me something important. So I came.She sat across from me on the couch, her hands folded in her lap, eyes downcast. The room smelled faintly of lavender and something older underneath — stale air that no amount of candles could fix.“I just don’t want to bother you with it,” Selene said softly. Her voice was barely a breath, almost a whisper, like she was testing the weight of each word before releasing it. “I feel like I should carry my burden myself.”I held the medical report in my hands. Three pages. I had read every line twice. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, compounded by Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy — a condition the doctor had labeled Secondary CTE-Adjacent Syndrome, traced back to repeated psychological trauma from a violen







