Ghosts in the Firelight
854 Words
Aidan hadn't spoken to anyone in hours.
The study was dim, the only light coming from the fireplace's flickering glow. Aidan sat in his father's old chair, the same one he used to sneak into as a boy, pretending he was powerful. Back then, power had seemed like the answer to everything.
Now, it felt like a curse.
He should've known she'd find the folder. Claire was smart, curious — the worst kind of woman to fall in love with. The kind who asks questions.
Cassia Dane. That name still stung like an old wound. Aidan hadn't said her name out loud in nearly two years.
She wasn't dead. But sometimes he wished she were — because then at least she wouldn't haunt him like this.
He picked up the old newspaper clipping Claire had read. Her face smiled up at him, perfect and polished. The headlines had been merciless. The truth? Even worse.
Cassia had been a weapon — not a victim.
But how could he explain that to Claire without sounding like a man making excuses?
How could he tell her what really happened... when part of him did ruin Cassia?
And worst of all — how could he tell Claire the part she didn't know?
That Vincent had chosen her.
That he had warned Aidan:
> "She's not like Cassia. Don't get attached."
But it was too late now. He was attached. God help him, he was in love with her.
And he'd just pushed her away.
---
The waves crashed louder tonight.
Claire sat on the deck wrapped in a thick sweater, legs tucked under her. She hadn't cried. Not yet. But her throat ached like she had.
She stared down at her phone, flipping between news articles, social media posts… and the photo Maya had leaked.
Her inbox was full of whispers.
"Is it true?"
"Are you sleeping with him?"
"Careful, girl. That man eats hearts."
It felt like drowning in the shallow end.
She was angry — not just at Aidan, but at herself. For falling. For believing she was different. For wanting him to be the man he showed her in the dark, when the rest of the world couldn't see.
Aidan Lazaro was a walking contradiction: warm hands, cold mouth. He gave her intimacy, but guarded his soul like a vault.
Still… Claire couldn't stop thinking about what he didn't say.
When she asked if he loved Cassia…
> "I thought I could."
What did that mean?
Did he think he could love Claire, too?
A sudden noise made her freeze.
A rustle. A creak.
Someone was inside the villa.
She stood quickly, phone in hand, heart pounding.
"Aidan?" she called.
Silence.
She moved back inside, careful not to make a sound. The hallway stretched like a shadowed tunnel.
Then she saw it — the study door was open. But Aidan wasn't there.
And the folder? Gone.
A cool voice behind her said, "Looking for something?"
Claire spun — and her blood went cold.
It wasn't Aidan.
It was Vincent.
---
Vincent looked the same. Polished, sharp suit, that smirk like he owned every room he stepped into. But there was something colder in his eyes tonight. Something calculating.
Claire didn't move. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same," Vincent said, stepping inside. "But I already know. You're here because he let you in. And that's always his first mistake."
Claire's grip tightened on her phone. "If you hurt him—"
"Hurt him?" Vincent laughed quietly. "Claire, you have no idea what you've walked into."
He moved closer, slow and deliberate. Like a lion circling something that didn't even know it was prey yet.
"Did he tell you what happened to Cassia?" he asked.
"I know the headlines."
"Headlines are for sheep," Vincent said, now just feet away. "The truth is… she didn't disappear. She ran."
Claire blinked. "From what?"
"From him. From what he became. And from me… when she realized the game we were playing."
"What game?"
Vincent smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I told him not to fall for you," he whispered. "But now that he has... we can't afford another scandal."
Claire's stomach twisted.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Vincent said, stepping even closer, "that whatever you think this is — this romance, this little vacation — it ends tonight."
And then, just like that, he turned and walked out.
No threats. No violence. Just certainty.
Claire stood frozen.
Because Vincent hadn't needed to raise his voice to terrify her.
He had told her the truth.
And it was worse than any lie.
---
Aidan returned to the villa to find the study empty. The fire dying. And Claire gone.
Her phone was left on the couch.
And her sweater.
He picked it up and felt something deep in his chest crack.
She'd left him.
Or someone made sure she did.
His phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
> "You should've listened. She's not yours to save."
His fingers curled around the phone.
Vincent.
This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
- Writer
