Semua Bab For What Still Burns : Bab 31 - Bab 39

AriaThaliana’s estate was the kind of place that made you want to write poetry—or at the very least, forget the city existed.The manor itself was all soft stone and winding ivy, perched on a rise above the Hudson like it had been waiting centuries just for us. Cream-colored shutters framed every window, and sprawling gardens spilled into the forest with wildflowers so perfectly unruly they had to be curated. Inside, the rooms glowed in warm earth tones, high ceilings, and antiques with actual history, not just auction tags. It smelled like cedarwood and orange peel, and there was always music playing, sometimes a string quartet, sometimes Stevie Wonder.Thalia said the house wasn’t hers, that it belonged to “the crown,” but I didn’t believe her. Everything about the place felt like her—collected, timeless, grounded in elegance but never afraid of joy.We weren’t here for any occasion. Just a weekend away. No gala, no press, no obligations. Just

Damien “You did what?” My voice echoed off the walls of the penthouse, sharp and cracking like a glass shattering against marble. Vivienne stood by the window, perfectly composed, like she hadn’t just set fire to the life I’d spent months rebuilding. “I stopped by the bakery,” she said, tilting her head. “With Theo. He wanted a cookie. I didn’t do anything wrong.” “You told her I was still your husband.” She gave me a look—cool, effortless, practiced. “Technically, I didn’t lie.” I stared at her. “You’re unbelievable.” “I haven’t signed the divorce papers,” she said simply. “We’re still married, Damien. So if anyone’s been playing games, it’s you. Sleeping around while I was in Milan. With the baker girl, no less. Cute.” “No,” I said, stepping forward, heart thudding like it wanted out of my chest. “No, no, no—you don’t get to spin thi

AriaTwo days had passed, and it still felt like I was holding my breath underwater.The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of stillness that didn’t comfort, only echoed. I'd lit candles earlier, out of habit, but the warm vanilla scent made me nauseous. Everything did lately.....perfume, music, even coffee.I sat on the couch in a hoodie and old leggings, staring blankly at my untouched cup of tea.Elena and Adrian had come over the second I texted I’m drowning.Now, Elena sat cross-legged on the rug in front of me, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders like armour. Adrian was pacing in front of the fireplace with a wine glass and all the flair of a man preparing to commit arson on my behalf.“First of all,” Adrian started, “if Vivienne Vasquez breathes near your bakery again, I will slap her with a baguette.”“Elongated battery,” Elena offered.“Exactly,” he said, swirling his wine. “Legal, but theatrical

Vivienne had made peace with being Damien’s rebound a long time ago.She was never going to be his the way she had hoped and she was fine with thatOr at least, that’s what she told herself.Their marriage had always been a transaction dressed in tulle — name for name, prestige for legacy. Her parents called it a merger. His called it a responsibility. Neither of them had ever believed it would last. But when she walked down that aisle, she told herself she could make it work. That she’d make him love her the way he looked at her on paper —,polished, powerful, perfect.It had been two years before the silences grew longer than the conversations. Two years before he stopped touching her hand in public, and stopped pretending in private. By the time Theo turned four, Damien was sleeping in another room. By the time he turned five, Vivienne had stopped coming home at all.Vivienne had accepted it. Quietly. Gracefully. The

AriaThe knock came just after nine.I knew it was him before I opened it.Something in the weight of the silence between us ….the kind that settles like dust in the corners of your heart — had told me he’d show up eventually. Not dramatic. Not unannounced. Just… quietly.I pulled the door open.There he stood. Damien von Adler. Hair messy, coat unbuttoned, eyes tired. His hand was in the pocket of his navy coat, like he was still deciding whether or not to leave again.“Hey,” he said.“Hey.”We just looked at each other for a second. The air between us fragile. Familiar.“I was walking,” he said, voice low. “I didn’t mean to — I just need to--.”I nodded once.“You want to come in?”He looked surprised. Then nodded.My apartment was still warm from the chamomile I’d made earlier. A book lay open on the couch. Dishes in the sink. A quiet life, paused.He stepped inside gently, like he d