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Chapter 13 - WHAT SHE DOESN’T KNOW YET

Brielle was not stupid. She knew the signs, the little shifts in behavior, the changes in rhythm, the way Kai stopped looking through people and started looking at someone and that someone wasn't her. It hadn't been for weeks.

But now?

Now it was obvious.

He came into the office in a black turtleneck and a bruised mouth.

He smiled once to himself while reading an email and when he passed Aria in the hallway?

He didn't flinch. He didn't even pretend. His eyes lingered a moment too long.

And Aria…

She didn't look away.

Brielle stood in the hallway, clipboard clutched, heart pounding like a warning bell.

Something had changed and she didn't like it.

Aria felt it too.

Not just Brielle's eyes following her, but the weight of consequence closing in like a slow-moving fog.

Her weekend with Kai had left fingerprints on her skin, her breath, her walk. She'd washed the sheets twice but still, she could feel him there, in the quiet of her mornings, in the way her lips still felt swollen when she drank her coffee, in the ache between her legs that wasn't just physical.

It was memory.

And danger.

And want.

She should've stopped this.

She still could but every time she saw him now, her resolve cracked a little more. That afternoon, she found herself cornered in the elevator.

By Brielle.

Alone.

Silent.

Heavy.

The air was tight with something unspoken and then, the question came.

Soft. Sweet. Fake.

"Is there something going on between you and Kai?"

Aria blinked. "Excuse me?"

Brielle smiled. But her eyes were razors. "You heard me."

Aria's pulse ticked high in her throat. "I don't think that's any of your business."

"Oh, it is," Brielle said, stepping closer. "Because I know how he looks when he wants something. And he's never looked at me the way he's looking at you."

The elevator dinged.

But neither of them moved.

Then, calmly, Aria stepped out.

Turned.

And smiled.

"If you're so sure, Brielle, maybe ask him."

That night, she didn't answer Kai's text. She needed space, clarity and air but space didn't stop memory. Not when her body still hummed from his touch. Not when her lips still ached from the way he'd whispered her name as if it were the only one he'd ever speak again.

She tried to distract herself with wine, books, music but nothing worked and then came the knock. She didn't need to ask who it was.

He stood in her doorway, rain dripping from his jacket, hair slightly mussed, a single bag in hand.

"You didn't text back."

She folded her arms. "I needed time."

He nodded. "I can give you time."

"Then why are you here?"

He stepped inside without waiting. Set the bag down on her kitchen counter.

"Because I made you dinner."

She blinked. "What?"

"I cooked," he said, smiling faintly. "Like I used to. You remember? You hated how I never followed recipes."

"I remember," she said quietly.

"It's not a bribe."

"What is it then?"

He stepped close.

"It's a reminder. That I want to feed you. Touch you. Know you. All over again."

Her body burned but her mind screamed caution.

"Brielle cornered me," she said.

His jaw tensed. "What did she say?"

"She knows. Or suspects."

He looked away. "I'll handle it."

"No," Aria said sharply. "Don't handle anything. Don't fix it. Just be honest."

He stepped even closer. Voice low.

"I am."

"Then tell me," she whispered. "Tell me what this is."

He touched her face. Soft. Reverent.

"This is me remembering everything I lost," he said. "And finally choosing you, out loud."

Her lips found his but it wasn't desperate this time.

It was slow.

Dangerous.

His hands slid up her back, down her waist. Her blouse unbuttoned beneath his fingers like it was meant to fall open for him.

She tugged his shirt up.

They didn't make it to the bedroom.

The kitchen counter became the undoing.

Clothes scattered. Breaths tangled.

He entered her like he'd missed her every day since the world took her away and this time, she welcomed him with no barriers. They moved together like memory and fire. No guilt, no games just this.

Her gasps. His groans. The soft slap of skin against skin.

His mouth on her neck. Her nails down his back.

And when they came — hard, together, broken — it wasn't just release.

It was claiming.

Afterward, they sat in silence on the floor, legs still tangled, wine untouched on the counter.

He brushed her hair from her face.

"What are you thinking?" he whispered.

Aria stared at him.

At the man who'd once let her go.

At the man who was now asking her to risk everything again.

"I'm thinking," she said slowly, "that falling in love with you the first time nearly destroyed me."

His throat worked.

"And I'm wondering," she added, voice quieter now, "if I survive it again… or if I even want to."

He kissed her forehead, Held her close. Didn't ask for answers because now, it wasn't just about memory.

It was about faith.

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