All Chapters of For What Still Burns : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

AriaIt had been two weeks since I got back from my mom’s house. The bakery was thriving and I’d taken a day just for myself. I was sprawled on the balcony with a book, sunlight spilling over the pages, the city humming softly below.My phone buzzed. Adrian. I stared at it for a moment before answering.“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual.“Hey,” he replied. “Let’s go out for brunch. You’ve been holed up in your apartment long enough. Also… I have a lot to get off my chest.”I hesitated. “I don’t really feel like going out…”“You will,” he said, firm but gentle. And then, almost teasing, “Come on, Aria. You’ll come.”I couldn’t help it. I always ended up indulging him.We ended up at this cozy little cafe, sunlight pooling across checkered tables, the smell of pastries filling the air. We ordered coffee, sat in a quiet corner, and started talking about nothing in particular like the weather, my mom, odd little happenings in the city. It was comfortable and exactly what I needed.Th

FlashbackThe hostel was quiet in the way it always was after lights out , not completely silent, just softened. Pages turned. Someone shifted in their sleep. Aria sat on her bed with her books open, highlighter resting uselessly across a paragraph she’d read three times without absorbing. Outside, rain traced thin lines down the window, steady and unhurried.Her phone buzzed. A text from Damien.--It’s raining, Come on… let me make your slow-dancing dreams come true.--A smile tugged at her mouth before she could stop it. She glanced around the room, then back at the window, watching the courtyard blur beneath the downpour.--You’re crazy--, she typed back.Still, she closed her book.Everyone else was asleep and here she was breaking the rules. She pulled on her hoodie, slid into her shoes, and moved carefully through the corridor, the building breathing softly around her. The side door opened easily, and the rain met her all at once, cold and insistent, soaking her hair and sleeve

Failure was a word Vivienne did not entertain. It was not welcome in her vocabulary, not permitted to linger in the quiet corners of her mind. Failure belonged to other women, you know , the careless, the sentimental, the ones who mistook softness for strategy. Vivienne reclined in her leather chair, one leg crossed neatly over the other, a faint smirk curving her lips as she surveyed the city through the glass wall of her study. Lights glittered below like obedient stars. Everything had its place. Including people. She imagined it for a fleeting moment, purely as an intellectual exercise, of course. The girls’ faces if she faltered. The whispers that would follow if her carefully constructed world showed even the smallest crack. Pity disguised as concern. Curiosity masquerading as kindness. The very idea made her jaw tighten. It would never happen. She would never allow it. Divorce, for instance, was an absurd suggestion. Damien’s opinions on the matter barely registered. Men oft

Damien I saw her across the room and felt it in my chest, a sharp, impossible tug I couldn’t ignore. She moved as if she didn’t notice me, and the idea of letting her walk away was unbearable. I left the crowd behind, my footsteps silent but my mind screaming. She was leaving, slipping down the corridor, and I followed, relentless. “Aria.” My voice was low, urgent. She froze, hand on the door handle, and I caught her wrist before she could escape. “Damien, let go,” she said, firm, but there was a tremor in her tone I couldn’t ignore.“No,” I whispered, pulling her gently into a library off the hallway. The door clicked shut behind us, the lock sliding into place. I didn’t give her a chance to argue again.The room smelled of old books, polished wood, and her. I wanted to say something clever, something that would make her laugh, but all I could think about was needing her closer.“Damien--” she tried, but I pressed a hand to the wall beside her, cutting off her retreat. My ches

Aria The kitchen was always so warm in the morning, the smell of cake and cinnamon wrapping around me in comfort. I was icing the last batch of cupcakes when Maeve’s voice floated in from the front desk. “Aria? There’s… a lady looking for you,” she said carefully, almost hesitating. I frowned. “A lady?” “Yes. Very… persistent,” Maeve added, eyebrows knitting together. “Said she needed to speak with you.” I wiped my hands on a towel, my pulse already picking up. I had a feeling I knew who this was. The door to the bakery swung open, and there she was. Vivienne von Adler. Immaculately dressed, perfectly poised, but her eyes were sharp knives. “Vivienne,” I said evenly, stepping out from the kitchen. “How may I help you?” She didn’t smile. Didn’t soften. She tilted her head slightly, studying me as if weighing my worth. “Don’t pretend, Aria. Don’t act like I didn’t notice you and Damien disappearing at the same time from the ballroom.” My stomach tightened. “I really do