All Chapters of Reclaiming Aria : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The cabin was silent. Thick with stillness. Not the eerie kind—just heavy with the weight of what had been cried out into the night. Aria blinked against the dull ache behind her eyes. Her lashes felt stiff, her cheeks tender from dried tears. She lay still for a moment, listening. The rustle of trees outside. The groan of the old wood beneath her as she shifted. No footsteps. No murmurs. No one. Her chest tightened. She sat up, blanket falling from her shoulders, eyes scanning the unfamiliar room. The scent of cedar lingered—along with something warmer. Smoky. A fire had burned last night. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood slowly. Her knees felt like they could fold. Her heart drummed unevenly. She crept through the hallway barefoot, dread curling low in her stomach. No sound. No movement. The cabin felt… empty. Her gaze snagged on the open front window, and she padded over. The porch was still damp with morning dew. And then she saw it—his truck. Par

The house was too quiet. The front door slams behind him, echoing through the empty house like a bullet. He yanks off his blazer, throws it across the foyer—buttons popping, glass bowl shattering from the impact. The air hung heavy with the scent of scotch and smoke, his tie loose, shirt halfway unbuttoned, footsteps echoing like gunshots as he staggered through the front door. His phone buzzed in his palm again—another missed call, not from Aria. Never from her. His mother called. Twice. Voicemails he didn’t even check. Brielle’s name lights up his phone, again. He throws it face-down. Kristen texted one word “goodbye” Tanya’s social media is already blowing up—people are talking. He slammed it face-down on the marble countertop, jaw clenched, eyes wild. The burn in his chest wasn’t from the liquor. It was humiliation, raw and blinding. The women. The goddamn kids. Tanya’s scream still rang in his ears. Kristen sobbing. Brielle with that smug, shattered look. The

The cabin had settled into a rhythm—quiet, steady, warm. A few days had slipped by since the storm of emotion, the kiss, the towel, and all the silence that followed. Somehow, they’d found a strange, tender routine. Aria cooked. Kade worked outside. They shared space without demanding answers. That night, the fire crackled low in the stone hearth, casting flickers of gold across the worn wooden floors. Kade was stretched out on the floor, one arm tucked behind his head, the other holding a glass of red wine. Aria lay beside him, tucked into a thick throw blanket, her cheek pressed to a pillow. Dinner had been her doing again—crispy rosemary chicken thighs, golden potatoes, and garlicky green beans. Kade had devoured it like a man starved, mumbling a low “Damn good” that had made her cheeks flush despite herself. Now they sipped wine and let their laughter dance lazily between them. Kade had just finished mocking her city playlist, and Aria had clapped back about his flannel addi

The Dorsey estate sat like a monument to curated perfection—columns proud, lawn manicured, silence thick enough to suffocate. Mason pulled his car into the drive with a slow breath, fingers gripping the steering wheel like it might anchor him to the version of himself he was trying to revive. He stepped out, freshly showered, the sharp scent of his cologne still clinging to his skin. Shaved. Groomed. Button-down shirt pressed and tucked into tailored slacks. Hair slicked back, jaw set. For all the chaos behind his eyes, he looked like the Mason Dorsey everyone expected—the heir, the name, the face of a legacy. The front door creaked open before he could knock. His mother stood there, arms folded, expression unreadable—but her eyes swept over him with sharp, calculating precision. A flicker of something softened in her features. Just a flicker. He stepped inside. The house smelled the same—expensive polish, fresh lilies, the faintest tinge of lemon from the diffusers she placed

The apartment door creaked open under Jamie’s key, the smell hitting first—stale booze, something burnt, and the sharp tang of broken glass. He stepped in, and his jaw clenched instantly. “Ari…” he muttered under his breath. Behind him, Marlene gasped. “Oh my God.” The living room was a wreck. Couch cushions thrown, a wine bottle tipped on its side leaking into the rug. A picture frame of Aria and Jamie—cracked, facedown. Her lamp was shattered. Kitchen stools knocked over. The coffee table was smeared with what looked like greasy fingerprints and cheap cologne. Harold stood in stunned silence. He hadn’t seen Aria’s place since she moved in. Seeing it now—violated—shattered something in him. Jamison’s fists were already balled. “He’s been staying here,” he said darkly. “Living in her damn space like some feral parasite.” He stormed toward her bedroom and flung open the door. Clothes scattered. The bedding stripped and twisted. Her favorite sweater—worn soft with age—was crumpled