Aria stood in front of the full-length mirror, flattening the soft fabric of her floral top. Her reflection stared back at her - calm amidst the nerves, a woman trying her best to stitch focus over feelings.
The soft morning light from her apartment window spilled across her floor, dancing over camera equipment, sketch pads, and a few half-packed lens cases.
Her hand paused at the clasp of her necklace.
She saw the missed call from Killian Stone - flashing and thrumming up in her memory. It had come the same night Mia dragged her out to that jazz bar in Westwood, determined to distract her from anything Killian Stone-related. And it had worked… for a little while.
But then she got home, tired and a little buzzed, and there it was. A missed call. No voicemail. Just his name like a bruis
