Part 1 — Aria
The words hung in the air like sin.
Marry me instead.
For a moment, Aria thought she'd imagined it — that maybe the pounding in her ears had twisted his words. But Damian didn't move, didn't blink, didn't even breathe. He just stood there, his gaze locked on her, raw and burning.
Her throat went dry. "What… what did you just say?"
He took a step closer, the tension between them sharp enough to cut. "You heard me."
Her heart stuttered. "You're insane."
"Maybe." His jaw clenched. "But I mean it."
She shook her head, taking a step back. The corner of the table dug into her hip, but she didn't care. "Damian, this isn't funny."
"I'm not joking, Aria," he said quietly, the weight in his voice silencing every protest in her chest. "You don't love him."
Her breath caught.
Not him. Not this.
"Don't do that," she whispered. "Don't talk about things you don't understand."
He gave a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Don't understand? Aria, I've watched you for months — watched you try to convince yourself you're happy with him. You smile when he's looking, but the second he turns away…" His voice faltered. "You fade."
Her chest tightened painfully.
He wasn't wrong. But hearing it out loud felt like exposure — like he'd peeled back a secret she'd buried too deep.
"You shouldn't say things like that," she said, her voice trembling. "You're—"
"What? Your brother's best friend?" he cut in, his tone sharp. "Yeah, I know exactly who I am, Aria. That's why I tried to stay away. But every time I see you with him, pretending—" He took a ragged breath. "I can't stand it anymore."
Her mind spun. This isn't happening.
She wanted to tell him he was being dramatic, that he'd regret this in the morning, but she couldn't even form the words. Because deep down, a part of her — a part she hated — wanted to say yes.
"Damian, stop," she whispered. "You're confusing pity for—"
He stepped forward. "For what?"
"For something that isn't real."
He laughed again, this time hollow. "Then look me in the eye and tell me that. Tell me there's nothing between us."
She couldn't.
Her lips parted, but the air refused to come. Her heart thundered, wild and uneven.
"See?" he said quietly. "You can't."
Her chest burned. "Even if I could, Damian, it wouldn't matter. Because it's wrong."
He studied her face like he was memorizing it. "Then tell me to stop."
She froze.
Her silence was answer enough.
He took another step, until the space between them disappeared, until she could feel the warmth of his breath ghost across her skin. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Tell me to stop, Aria."
Her body screamed at her to move, to push him away, to say the word — but she didn't.
And that was her biggest mistake.
His hand brushed her cheek, tentative, trembling, as though afraid she'd shatter. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he murmured.
"Damian…" Her voice cracked, her pulse racing. "You need to leave."
"Say it like you mean it," he whispered.
"Please," she said softly. "Before I can't."
That was what broke him. He stepped back like she'd slapped him, pain flashing across his face — raw and unguarded.
Aria turned away, tears stinging her eyes, because she knew — the moment he spoke those words — that nothing between them would ever be the same again.