The morning after their kiss, Aria found herself staring at her reflection in the hotel mirror, fingers grazing her lips as though they still carried the fire of Damian’s touch. The memory replayed endlessly—his hands on her waist, the desperate way he kissed her as though she was air and he had been suffocating for years.
But now, with daylight pouring through the curtains, the magic felt fragile, dangerous.
Her phone buzzed with messages from work, reminders of her ordinary life. The world didn’t know what had happened last night, but she did. And she wasn’t sure she could carry it without breaking.
“This can’t happen again,” she whispered to herself, though the tremble in her voice betrayed her own disbelief.
Damian’s Turmoil
Across town, Damian stood in his penthouse, his tie aban
