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Chapter 3 - Chapter Three – Threads of Destiny

The world blurred into fragments of sirens, glittering glass, and screaming voices. Aria stumbled into the cold night, chest heaving, but Damian was nowhere to be found.

It felt like waking from a dream too vivid to be false and too fleeting to hold on to. His warmth still lingered on her skin, his voice echoing in her soul—Stay with me.

But she was alone. Again.

After the Gala

The following morning, news outlets framed the gala chaos as an attempted robbery. "Masked intruders," one headline read, "Guests unharmed thanks to swift evacuation."

Aria stared at the article on her phone, her coffee untouched beside her. It was too neat, too scripted. There had been no mention of Damian, no sign he'd ever existed that night.

"Babe," Lila said, plopping onto the couch beside her, still in pajamas. "You okay? You've been staring at that screen for, like, half an hour."

Aria hesitated. "Do you… remember the man I danced with?"

Lila tilted her head. "Tall, broody, ridiculously good-looking?" Her eyes narrowed. "Yeah. Hard to forget."

"Did you hear his name?"

"Nope. But he looked at you like…" Lila trailed off, her teasing grin fading into something gentler. "Like he knew you."

Aria's throat tightened. He did know me. Just not in this lifetime.

Sleepless Nights

That week, sleep became a battlefield.

Every night, Evelina's final moments replayed in her dreams—poisoned chalice, desperate kiss, Damian's anguish. But the dreams were changing. They grew longer, stranger, pulling her past the ballroom into fragments of other lives.

In one, she was by a stormy sea, her hands bound as soldiers dragged her away while Damian fought to reach her. In another, she wore a crown heavy with jewels, only to feel it ripped from her head as flames consumed her throne room.

Always, always, the same ending: death and separation.

Aria would wake drenched in sweat, her heart hammering with the certainty that these were not stories. They were memories.

The Seal

On Thursday night, she dreamed of the rose seal—the same design pressed into the wax of her gala invitation. Only this time, it glowed crimson, dripping blood.

When she jolted awake, she found something impossible on her nightstand: the very seal, burned faintly into the wood as though branded by fire.

Her hands shook. "This isn't real," she whispered, but her voice cracked.

The line between dream and waking life was gone.

Lila's Worry

"You look like hell," Lila said bluntly the next morning as they walked to work. "Don't get me wrong, you're still gorgeous, but the zombie look is not sustainable."

"I can't sleep," Aria admitted. "Every time I close my eyes, it's like I'm… living someone else's life. Over and over."

Lila chewed her lip, worry flashing in her eyes. "Maybe you should see someone. Like a therapist. Or, you know, an exorcist."

Aria gave a weak laugh, but inside, her resolve hardened. A therapist couldn't explain burn marks that appeared from dreams.

Only Damian could.

The Message

That night, as she locked her apartment door, her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

You shouldn't walk alone after dark.

Her breath caught. She typed quickly: Who is this?

The reply came instantly.

You know who.

Her knees buckled, and she sank onto the nearest bench. "Damian," she whispered.

Another message lit up the screen.

I can't stay away. But it's dangerous for you if I'm near. They've found us again.

Her fingers shook as she typed: Who are they?

For a long time, no reply came. Then, finally:

The same ones who tore us apart before. The ones who won't let us be.

Her pulse thundered. Every instinct screamed to demand answers, to beg him to meet her. But before she could type, another message appeared:

Find Crescent Hall's archives. The truth begins there.

And then—silence.

Aria clutched the phone to her chest, her heart pounding so loud it drowned out the night.

If this was madness, then she was already lost. But if it was real—if lifetimes of love and death had led her here—then she had no choice.

She would find the archives. She would uncover the truth.

And no matter the cost, she would find Damian again

Crescent Hall

The archives of Crescent Hall smelled of dust and forgotten time. Shelves sagged under the weight of records no one had touched in decades.

Aria slipped inside after convincing the sleepy receptionist she was researching local history. In truth, her pulse was racing, her fingers itching to uncover anything that might explain Damian's cryptic message.

She found it in a leather-bound ledger from the 1800s—pages filled with symbols she had seen in her dreams. The rose seal appeared over and over, tied to a secret society sworn to guard—or perhaps curse—lovers marked by fate.

One passage chilled her to the bone:

"When the seal appears, the cycle begins anew. Two souls bound, doomed to repeat love and loss until the curse is broken—or until they both perish forever."

Her hand trembled as she traced the ink. This wasn't just legend. It was her life.

A Shadow Watching

On her way home from Crescent Hall, Aria felt it—the prickle of eyes on her back.

She quickened her pace, clutching her bag, but the footsteps behind her matched every move. Ducking into an alley, she pressed her back against the wall, heart hammering.

A figure emerged from the shadows, face hidden beneath a hood.

"You shouldn't be here," the stranger hissed. Their voice was sharp, laced with venom. "He'll drag you down again. Just like before."

Before Aria could respond, headlights swept across the alley, and the stranger vanished as if swallowed by the night.

She staggered out, gasping, only to find a familiar presence waiting.

Damian Returns

Damian stepped from the darkness, storm-gray eyes catching hers like gravity itself.

"I told you it's dangerous," he said softly, voice low and rough.

Aria's anger burst through her fear. "Then stop disappearing! Stop talking in riddles! If we've been through this before, if we've died for each other—don't I deserve to know why?"

Pain flickered across his face. For a moment, he looked like a man carrying centuries of sorrow.

"You'll hate me if I tell you," he whispered.

"Then let me decide," she shot back, tears stinging her eyes. "Because I'd rather hate you knowing the truth than love you in the dark."

Sparks of the Past

His silence stretched, but then—hesitantly—he reached for her hand.

The instant their skin touched, the world dissolved.

Aria gasped as visions flooded her: standing on a battlefield, Damian's sword dripping with blood as he shielded her; hiding in a candlelit chapel, whispering vows no one else could hear; drowning in a river as his arms reached for her but never quite held on.

Each vision ended in loss, in separation, in death.

She staggered back, breathless. "It's true," she whispered. "All of it."

Damian's eyes burned with longing. "And it will happen again if you stay near me. That's why I've kept away."

But even as he spoke, he pulled her into his arms, as if he couldn't bear the distance another second.

The Enemy Revealed

The next night, Aria returned home to find her apartment door ajar. Inside, her belongings were untouched—except for one thing.

On her bed lay a single white rose, its petals dripping with crimson as though soaked in blood.

Beside it, a note:

You cannot outrun fate. Walk away, or you will both die again.

Aria's hands shook, but instead of fear, fury burned hot in her chest.

"No," she whispered, clutching the note. "Not this time.

Later, as she left for work, a black car pulled up beside her. The back door swung open, and two men stepped out.

"Miss Lane?" one of them asked politely, though his eyes were cold.

Before she could react, strong hands grabbed her, shoving her inside the car.

Her phone slipped from her grip, clattering onto the sidewalk as the door slammed shut.

Aria's scream echoed through the night as the car sped away.

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