Chapter 8: The Last Night.

Aria's POV 

***

"It's tomorrow morning."

The words settled over the room like a heavy fog. Nobody spoke. Nobody even looked at one another.

The rain outside had softened into a quiet drizzle, tapping gently against the windows, but inside the house, the silence was louder than any storm.

I stared at Adrian. Tomorrow. The wedding was tomorrow. Not next week. Not even in a few days. Tomorrow.

My fingers slowly loosened around the document in my hand. It slipped from my grasp and landed on the floor with a soft thud. Nobody bent to pick it up. For a strange moment, it felt like I was watching someone else's life. Someone else's nightmare.

Tomorrow, I was supposed to marry a man I had only met a few hours ago, a man who admitted I shouldn't trust him, a man who seemed just as trapped as I was.

I lowered my eyes. The room blurred. At first, I thought it was because I was tired. Then a warm tear landed on the back of my hand. I blinked. Another followed. I hadn't even realized I was crying. Quietly, I wiped my face before anyone noticed. It didn't help. The tears kept coming. I couldn't stop them. I didn't want anyone to see me like this. Not Dad. Not Adrian. Not Ethan.

Without saying a single word, I turned and walked toward the staircase. Nobody called after me. Nobody tried to stop me. The wooden steps creaked beneath my feet as I climbed higher, each step feeling heavier than the last.

When I reached my bedroom, I closed the door behind me. The click of the lock echoed through the room. For a few seconds, I simply stood there. Still. Then my knees gave way.

I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor. The tears came harder this time. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just quiet sobs that shook my shoulders. I covered my mouth with one hand, trying to keep the sound from escaping. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't.

Yesterday, my biggest worry had been whether we would lose the house. Now, I was losing everything. My freedom. My future. My home.

I looked around my room through blurred eyes. The faded blue walls Dad had painted himself when I was eight. The bookshelf Mom insisted should always be full, even if we had to buy secondhand books. The little crack in the ceiling I'd stared at whenever I couldn't sleep. Every corner held a memory. Every memory felt like it was saying goodbye.

My gaze drifted toward the wardrobe. The wedding dress hung quietly inside. Beautiful. Untouched. Waiting.

I walked toward it on trembling legs. For a long moment, I simply looked at it. Slowly, I reached out and brushed my fingers across the delicate lace. It was soft. Far softer than I expected. The kind of dress little girls imagined wearing one day.

The kind I used to imagine. Only, Never like this.

A broken laugh escaped my lips. "So this is how my story begins..." The words sounded hollow in the empty room.

I rested my forehead against the wardrobe door and closed my eyes. A memory surfaced without warning. I was six.

Mom was brushing my hair before church.

"You know," she'd said with a smile, "one day you'll wear the most beautiful white dress."

I had giggled. "Like a princess?"

She laughed. "No." She kissed my forehead. "Like yourself."

Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks. "I wish you were here, Mom..." My voice cracked on the last word.

The room answered with silence. Outside, thunder rumbled faintly in the distance. I wrapped my arms around myself.vFor the first time in years...

I had never felt so alone.

***

Downstairs, the house felt different. Quieter. Almost like it knew something was changing.

My father remained standing in the living room long after I disappeared upstairs. The document Adrian had brought was still lying on the floor. Untouched and unread.

This was the first time in a long time, my father looked like a man who had finally run out of ways to pretend he was okay.

Adrian bent down and picked up the notice. He folded it carefully and placed it on the table. My father watched him.

"You shouldn't have come here."

Adrian didn't look up. "You said that already."

"And I meant it."

A few seconds passed. Then Adrian placed the document down.

"You knew this day would come."

My father's jaw tightened. "I was trying to delay it."

"By lying to her?" The words weren't angry. But they still hurt. My father looked away.

The guilt on his face was impossible to miss.

"I was trying to protect her."

Adrian was quiet for a moment. Then he said softly, "Did it work?"

My father didn't answer. Because he knew the answer.

The room fell silent again. Eventually, my father walked toward the old cabinet beside the fireplace. He opened the drawer and pulled something out.

A photograph.Even from where I stood upstairs, I knew exactly what it was. The three of us. Years ago before everything changed.

My father stared at the picture for a long time. His thumb moved slowly across my mother's face.

"She trusted me." His voice was barely a whisper.

Adrian watched him. "She trusted you to do what was right."

My father let out a painful laugh. "And look where that got us."

The sadness in his voice was something I had never heard before. Not anger. Not frustration. Just regret.

"I promised her I'd protect Aria."

Adrian's expression softened slightly. "And you think forcing her into this is protecting her?"

My father's eyes closed. "I think keeping her alive is protecting her."

The words changed the atmosphere instantly. Even Adrian went quiet. Because that was the first time my father had said it out loud. Not a business deal. Not a contract. Not a sacrifice. Alive.

My father's hands shook slightly as he held the picture.

"You don't understand what I'm fighting against."

Adrian looked toward the staircase. Toward my room. Then back at him.

"I understand more than you think."

My father studied him.

"You think this is easy for me?"

"No." Adrian's voice was calm. "I think it's destroying you."

That sentence seemed to break something. My father looked away quickly. Like he didn't want anyone to see the emotion in his eyes. But Adrian saw it and so did I. Because I was standing halfway down the staircase. I hadn't planned on listening. I swear I hadn't. But my feet had stopped moving the moment I heard my father's voice.

Since this nightmare began,vI saw him differently. Not as the man who had betrayed me or as the man who tried to hand my future away. But as my father.

A man who was terrified, a man who had made choices he couldn't undo, a man who was hurting too.

I quietly stepped back before they noticed me. I didn't want them to see me. Not yet.