Chapter 8 — Rejecting Fake Love
1023 Words
Ariana barely slept that night.
The message stayed burned into her mind like a scar.
I know what really happened the night you died.
No sender.
No explanation.
Nothing else.
She had tried calling the number twice.
Both attempts failed immediately.
Disconnected.
As if the person never intended to speak directly.
The silence unsettled her more than threats would have.
Because only three people should have known the truth about that night.
Melissa.
Damian.
And herself.
Yet someone else was watching.
Someone else remembered.
Morning arrived gray and heavy with rain clouds.
Ariana stood by the window holding a cup of untouched coffee while thunder rolled softly in the distance.
Rain again.
Always rain.
A knock came at the door.
“Miss Ariana?” a maid said carefully. “Mr. Damian is here.”
Ariana’s grip tightened slightly around the cup.
Early.
Unexpected.
Interesting.
“In the sitting room?”
“Yes.”
Of course.
Damian never waited in places that felt personal.
Only formal rooms.
Rooms designed for distance.
Ariana set the coffee down untouched and walked downstairs calmly.
The sitting room looked exactly as it always had—
Elegant furniture.
Cold marble.
A space beautiful enough to impress guests but too lifeless to comfort anyone.
Damian stood near the bookshelf in a dark coat, one hand in his pocket.
Perfect posture.
Perfect control.
Perfect stranger.
He looked up when she entered.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Damian’s gaze moved over her slowly.
“You look tired.”
Ariana almost laughed.
After years of emotional neglect, that was what he noticed first?
“How observant.”
His eyes narrowed slightly at the sarcasm.
Again.
That strange irritation.
“You didn’t answer my calls last night.”
Ariana walked past him toward the far table calmly.
“I didn’t want to.”
Simple.
Direct.
Damian clearly disliked that answer.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“No,” Ariana corrected softly. “I’ve been seeing you clearly.”
Silence.
Rain tapped quietly against the windows.
Damian watched her carefully now.
Like she was becoming increasingly unfamiliar.
“Melissa says you’re angry about the engagement.”
There it was again.
Melissa as messenger.
Melissa as translator.
Melissa always between them.
Ariana poured herself water slowly.
“And what do you think?”
Damian didn’t answer immediately.
“I think,” he said at last, “you’re trying to provoke people.”
People.
Not him.
Interesting.
Ariana turned toward him fully.
“No,” she said quietly.
“This is simply what happens when someone stops begging to be loved.”
Something shifted in Damian’s expression again.
Small.
Uncomfortable.
Because the old Ariana truly had begged, in her own way.
For attention.
For affection.
For reassurance.
And Damian—
had accepted it like something naturally owed to him.
“You’re exaggerating things,” he said calmly.
Ariana stared at him.
Then smiled softly.
“Do you know what the cruelest part is?”
He said nothing.
“You genuinely believe that.”
The rain outside intensified.
Damian stepped closer slowly.
“Ariana.”
His voice lowered slightly.
Controlled.
Measured.
The same tone he used whenever he wanted her to calm down in the past.
Except now—
it no longer worked.
“You’re turning every conversation into an accusation lately.”
“Because every answer sounds like a confession.”
That finally irritated him.
A visible reaction this time.
His jaw tightened faintly.
“You’re being unreasonable.”
There.
That word again.
The weapon men used when women noticed too much.
Ariana walked toward him instead of retreating.
Close enough that the silence between them became dangerous.
“Tell me honestly,” she said softly.
Damian held her gaze.
“When have you ever truly chosen me first?”
The question lingered heavily.
And for the first time—
Damian didn’t answer immediately.
Because he couldn’t.
Ariana saw it happen in real time.
The search for examples.
The realization there were almost none.
How pathetic.
How tragic.
For both of them.
Finally Damian spoke.
“We’re getting married.”
Ariana’s expression didn’t change.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It should be.”
No.
That was exactly the problem.
To Damian, duty was enough.
Presence was enough.
Marriage was enough.
Meanwhile Ariana had once wanted love so badly she accepted emotional starvation instead.
Never again.
Damian reached toward her suddenly.
Not rough.
Not forceful.
Just instinctive.
His fingers brushed her arm lightly.
“We can fix this.”
Ariana froze for half a second.
Because once upon a time—
those words would have saved her.
Now they sounded hollow.
Fix?
How do you fix a man who watched you die?
Her eyes lowered briefly to his hand.
Then back to him.
“No,” she said quietly.
Damian frowned.
“No?”
Ariana gently removed his hand from her arm.
Every movement calm.
Certain.
“This is the first honest thing between us,” she whispered.
The distance between them suddenly felt enormous.
Damian stared at her carefully.
And for the first time—
something almost dangerous entered his eyes.
Not love.
Not anger.
Fear of losing control.
“You’re talking like you want to leave.”
Ariana smiled faintly.
“Maybe I finally learned I should have.”
The silence after that felt sharp enough to cut skin.
Then—
Damian’s phone vibrated.
Melissa.
Again.
Ariana saw the name appear across the screen.
And this time—
she laughed softly.
Not bitter.
Not emotional.
Just tired.
Damian looked at the screen briefly but didn’t answer immediately.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Ariana noticed the hesitation.
So did he.
For one strange second, the room filled with something neither of them understood.
Then Ariana stepped back.
“You should answer,” she said calmly.
Damian’s eyes stayed on her.
The phone continued vibrating.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Finally, he answered.
“A moment.”
Ariana turned away before he could say anything else.
Because she suddenly understood something important.
Damian didn’t love Melissa either.
Not truly.
He simply gravitated toward whoever felt easier.
And Ariana—
had finally stopped making herself easy to keep.
- Writer
