UNTAMED DESIRES 🥀

Wounds That Never Closed 🥀

Chapter Six:

Ayra’s POV

I couldn't breathe.

The moment I heard his voice from the dining table, something inside me snapped. That calm shell I had worked so hard to build over the years... it cracked. It always did when he was near.

“Child, come join us,” he had said, like nothing ever happened. Like his presence didn’t dig into me like claws made of guilt, silence, and betrayal.

I didn't even look at him. I just hissed. Loud enough for him to hear. Loud enough for him to know I hated being called his “child.”

I left.

I didn’t say goodbye to my mum. I didn’t take my phone. I didn’t care. My legs moved faster than my thoughts, and I slammed the door behind me before I could let my tears win.

---

The car ride was silent, but my head wasn’t. I kept telling myself I’d go to the fashion house. Get some work done. Focus. Pretend.

But when I walked in, greeted by my staff who smiled and said, “Good morning, ma’am,” something about it made me want to scream.

They didn’t know. They didn’t understand.

They thought I was strong. That I had it all figured out. They thought being Ayra Carter meant having it together. But all it meant was hiding well.

I nodded at them, not saying a word, and turned around. I got back into my car.

I needed air. I needed space. I needed to breathe.

But most of all, I needed Aria.

---

“Aria… I’m sorry,” I whispered as the engine purred and the city blurred past me.

I didn’t know why I was apologising. I always did, especially on days like this.

I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t care. I just drove.

“I’m sorry, baby…” My voice cracked as I felt it rise in my throat again — that unbearable ache that never really went away. “I should have protected you. I should have—"

Memories came rushing in. Her smile. The way she used to hold my hand with her tiny fingers. Her favourite stuffed toy. Her last cry. Her blood. The silence.

The shot. The scream. The stillness.

I gasped.

The pain hit me again, full force. I could barely see through the tears as they spilled down my cheeks.

Why did I leave the house? Why did I think I could outrun the memory of her?

---

I didn’t see the car.

I was too lost. Too broken. Too full of regret.

Everything happened so fast but felt like slow motion.

The horn blared. My eyes snapped forward, but it was too late. Headlights. A flash of red. My heart jumped into my throat.

And then—

CRASH.

Glass. Metal. Silence.

But all I could think of, as my body went numb and the world spun into chaos, was that I never said goodbye.

To Aria.

To myself.

To the girl I used to be before everything shattered.

---

HAYES MANSION – SAME MORNING

The scent of fresh croissants and roasted coffee lingered in the air as Damon stepped into the sunlit kitchen of the Hayes mansion. The quiet hum of classical jazz played from the speaker near the window, and in the centre of it all sat Grandma Elowen Hayes—crossword puzzle in hand, glasses low on her nose, and one pink slipper dangling off her foot.

“Boy, you’re smiling like you just got laid,” she said without looking up, circling a word on the page.

Damon paused mid-step, blinking. “Grandma!”

“Oh, don’t you ‘Grandma’ me. You’re glowing. If you start floating, I’ll call the priest.”

He chuckled, walking over to steal a piece of toast from her plate.

She smacked his hand without looking. “Talk.”

“I met her,” he said softly.

Now she looked up. “Her?”

“Ayra Carter.”

Grandma Elowen squinted, then gave a slow, dramatic gasp. “The CEO? The one you kept stalking on that devil’s app?”

“It wasn’t stalking. I was... appreciating.”

“From ten different fan pages? Sure.”

Damon groaned, laughing as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “I helped her last night. Her car broke down, I passed by and stopped... I didn’t think she’d even look me in the eye but... she did.”

Elowen raised a brow. “And you helped her fix the car? You? Mister I-don’t-know-where-the-battery-is?”

“I didn’t fix it,” Damon mumbled. “I just... made sure she got home safe. We talked..not talk talk though. she was uptight but we talked a bit. It was short, but—she’s different in some way

Elowen leaned back, studying him. Her face softened. “You like this one, don’t you?”

He nodded slowly.

“I haven’t seen you this messed up about a girl since you cried over your nanny leaving in kindergarten.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, I will. Forever.”

She reached across the table and patted his hand.

“You be careful with your heart, Damon,” she said gently, her tone suddenly serious. “That girl’s world is heavy. If you’re going in, make sure you don’t drown.”

And as Damon gave a soft smile and looked out the window, miles away—Ayra Carter was spinning toward a crash.

---

THE HOSPITAL – RECOVERY WARD

The room was quiet, save for the faint beeping of a heart monitor and the occasional rustle of hospital sheets. Ayra lay in the hospital bed, her eyes half open, her head resting gently against the pillow. Bruises coloured her arms faintly, and a small bandage decorated her forehead. She was lucky—it could’ve been worse.

Her mother sat by her side, hands clasped, worry etched into her perfectly lined face. She'd been there since they brought Ayra in—making calls, whispering to the nurses, pacing the hallway when she thought no one could see her shake.

“You scared me,” Mrs. Carter said softly, brushing a strand of hair from Ayra’s face. “This could’ve been so much worse.”

Ayra sighed, blinking slowly. “It wasn’t.”

Her voice was low, raspy, but strong enough to remind her mother she was still herself.

Outside the room, Sasha paced the hallway, phone pressed to her ear. “Yes, a driver. Immediately. Someone responsible. I don’t care what it costs—just be here in the morning,” she said, then hung up and walked back in.

“She’s not driving anymore,” Mrs. Carter said the moment Sasha stepped in.

Ayra's brows furrowed. “What?”

“You heard me,” her mom replied calmly, as if it had already been decided. “No more reckless driving. You need a driver—someone to get you from one place to the other. That’s final.”

“I’m not some fragile thing,” Ayra said, forcing herself to sit up. “It was an accident. One I could’ve avoided if I was thinking straight. I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

Mrs. Carter stood, smoothing the front of her dress. “That’s exactly why you do. You weren’t thinking straight. You were upset. You drove off like a storm and almost got yourself killed.”

Ayra looked away, her jaw tightening.

“She’s getting a driver,” her mother repeated firmly to Sasha. “Even if I have to hire ten.”

Sasha nodded, trying to remain neutral. She glanced at Ayra with soft eyes, offering a small, helpless shrug.

“Where’s Dad?” Ayra asked suddenly.

Her mother stiffened. “I told him not to come.”

“What?”

“He would’ve upset you further. You know that. Your blood pressure is already high. You don’t need to see him.”

Ayra laughed bitterly. “You’re still controlling every damn thing. Even who gets to see me now?”

“I’m protecting you.”

“No,” Ayra whispered. “You’re smothering me.”

Mrs. Carter said nothing. Her silence filled the room like smoke.

Ayra sank back into the pillows, exhausted. Her heart was sore in more ways than one. Not just from the accident—but from everything she’d buried for years.

Outside the door, a nurse appeared with a fresh chart and a soft knock. Sasha followed her out, casting one last look at Ayra. She knew this was far from over.

Ayra closed her eyes, and whispered to herself,

“I just want to breathe.”