All Chapters of For What Still Burns : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

AriaI slip into the apartment, heels in hand, heart still fluttering from the night. Elena is waiting in the living room in sweatpants and a T-shirt. The second I close the door behind me she stands, slipping her phone onto the table.“You are so screwed,” she whispers, eyes bright.“I am… fucked,” I admit, sinking onto the couch beside her. My legs ache from the dress and for all the wrong reasons. “But in a good way?”She cocks her head. “Tell me everything.”I take a breath, and the floodgates open. “He was perfect. He held the door like a gentleman. He didn’t say one condescending thing. He looked at me like I was the only woman in the world. We had that private rooftop with fairy lights and a skyline that didn’t even compare.” I smile despite the lump in my throat. “He remembered my allergies and ordered for me before I could ask. He toasted my grandmother. He asked about the bakery. He laughed at my jokes.”Elena leans forward. “And?”I swallow. “He apologized. Really apologiz

DamienShe’s standing at the edge of the balcony like the night belongs to her.The glow from inside spills across her shoulders, catching the copper in her curls and the soft curve of her jaw. New York sprawls out behind her in glittering fragments, but my eyes don’t leave her; not even for a second.Aria Laurent.The girl I love like oxygen.The woman I now need like prayer.I step outside, the heavy door clicking shut behind me. She doesn’t turn right away, but I know she feels me. Her shoulders lift the tiniest bit, a flicker of tension winding through her posture like she’s trying not to let me close.I take a breath. Let it settle in my ribs. Let her image etch itself into my mind—yellow silk like molten sun rays against her skin, bare shoulders kissed by moonlight, lips parted ever so slightly as if she's caught mid-thought.She turns slowly, eyes flicking to mine. There’s a thousand things written there. Caution. Hope. A quiet dare.“If we’re doing this again,” she says, her v

AriaKarissah’s penthouse always feels like something pulled from a glossy teen drama; soft lighting, endless cushions, and floor-to-ceiling windows that look down on Manhattan like they own it. And maybe they do. At least on nights like this.Post-gala, the place smells like truffle popcorn, vanilla body oil, and gossip. In other words: perfect.I’m curled up cross-legged on the plush rug in Karissah’s spare silk pyjamas, my skin still humming with the aftershock of the night. I haven’t come down from the high yet…. the kiss, the balcony, the way Damien looked at me like I was the only person in the universe.I’m not ready to talk about it, so I don’t. I let the others fill the air, laughing when I’m supposed to, adding the occasional sarcastic quip, nodding like I’m still tuned in.Elena’s sprawled across the couch in a sleep mask pushed up onto her forehead, sipping rosehip tea like a debutante in a post-crisis spiral. Karissah, meanwhile, is upside down on the loveseat, legs dangl

AriaThe path was narrow, half-covered in moss and dappled light. Birds called overhead, distant and uninterested, and the sun had started to melt into that golden hour glow that made everything look a little more like a dream.Damien had told me to trust him.I had.And somehow, that had led us here.The trees opened into a clearing just wide enough for the sky to peek through. At the far end, the land dipped into a hollow where the sound of rushing water pulled my breath straight from my lungs.A waterfall.Tucked between slabs of weathered stone, the water poured into a clear, shallow pool surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers. There were no signs. No people. Just nature in its softest, wildest form.And in the center of the grass, beneath a tree heavy with white blossoms, was a blanket.A real blanket. Patterned and soft. With a full picnic spread already laid out—cheese, grapes, strawberries, champagne, little finger sandwiches cut into neat triangles. A lantern glowed beside

Aria It had been a few quiet weeks of slow mornings, soft kisses, flour-dusted afternoons, and Damien sneaking glances at me like I was still some sort of miracle. I hadn't stopped smiling, and apparently, I hadn't stopped glowing either. Adrian noticed the second he stepped into Karissah’s apartment. “You look suspiciously content,” he said, setting down his carry-on from Singapore and squinting at me like I was a puzzle he wasn’t quite ready to solve. “Jet lag or judgment?” I teased. “A little of both.” That’s how we found ourselves getting ready for a night out. Adrian declared it a necessity. His cure for emotional avoidance, delayed flights, and the general ennui of being surrounded by people who don’t know how to dance properly. “We’re going out,” he insisted. “Like out-out. Dress-code-is-a-suggestion out. I want lights. I want chaos. I want someone to spill a drink on me while crying about their ex.” So we dressed the part. Karissah wore silver sequins like armor. Elen