Aria woke up in Damien's penthouse for the second time.
But this time was different. This time, she wasn't running. This time, she was staying.
Morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She was in the guest room—he'd insisted, said he wanted her comfortable, no pressure.
But as she lay there, listening to the quiet sounds of him moving around the kitchen, she realized she'd never felt more at home anywhere.
Her phone showed eight-thirty. Sunday morning. No classes. No work. No Victoria demanding she start breakfast.
Just peace.
She got up slowly, testing her stomach. The nausea that had plagued her all week was mild this morning. Manageable.
In the bathroom mirror, she looked different. Still tired. Still scared. But something in her eyes had changed.
Hope, maybe
