Chapter 290
Aria’s POV
The room tilted. I gripped my wine glass. "Leaving? What are you talking about?"
She took a breath, her gaze steady. "Remember at the wedding? I said I had something to tell you." Her hands twisted in her lap. "I've been... seeing Owen again."
My stomach dropped. "Owen? But he's—"
"Engaged. I know." A bitter smile touched her lips. "Or he was. At your wedding, seeing him with Chloe, I realized something. I was tired of pretending to be over him. So I did something stupid." She laughed, but it held no humor. "I contacted him. Told him I still loved him, that I'd made a mistake letting him go."
I couldn't speak. Sophia—strong, independent Sophia—chasing after the man who'd abandoned her?
"He took me back immediately," she continued. "Of course he did. Owen's always loved being wanted. We spent two weeks together. I went to his parties, met his friends, played the perfect girlfriend." Her voice hardened. "Chloe found out. Dumped him. And then yesterday..." She met my eyes. "I told him I never loved him. That I'd only come back to make him feel what I felt when he left."
"Sophia—"
"I know." She held up a hand. "It was petty. Maybe cruel. But when I saw his face—when he realized I'd used him the same way he used me—I felt free." She stood, moving to the window. "Free, and empty. Because I've spent three years in this city, Aria. Building a company with you, networking, pretending I love the hustle. But my mother's gone. Owen doesn't matter. And I don't want to be here anymore."
The confession hung between us. I stood, joining her at the window. "Where will you go?"
"Korea first." Her voice softened. "To bury my mother's ashes with her family. Then... I don't know. Paris, maybe. Tokyo. All the places she wanted to see." She turned to me, tears on her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Aria. I know the timing is terrible. But if I don't leave now, I never will."
I pulled her into a hug, my own tears falling. "You have nothing to apologize for."
"The company—"
"Melanie can step up. She's talented, and she knows the clients." I held her tighter. "Sophia, you've earned the right to choose yourself."
We stood there for a long time, two friends who'd built something together now facing different paths. When we finally pulled apart, she managed a watery smile.
"You'll be okay," she said. "You have Devon now. The baby. A whole new life."
"And you'll be okay too." I wiped my face. "Promise me you'll send pictures? And that you'll come back if you need anything?"
"Maybe." She picked up her bag. "Or maybe I won't. But Aria..." She paused at the door. "Thank you. For understanding. For not asking me to stay."
After she left, I stood alone in my apartment, processing the loss. Sophia had been my constant—my partner, my friend, the person who knew all my secrets. And now she was leaving to chase her own healing.
My phone buzzed. Devon: "You okay?"
I stared at the message, at the simple concern behind those two words. Then I called him.
"What's wrong?" He answered on the first ring.
"Nothing." I leaned against the door. "I just... wanted to hear your voice."
Silence. Then, quietly: "I'm coming over."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm already in the car."
Twenty minutes later, he stood in my doorway, still in his work clothes, hair slightly disheveled from running his hands through it. He didn't ask questions, just pulled me close, one hand cradling the back of my head.
"Sophia's leaving New York," I said against his chest. "She's leaving me."
"She's not leaving you." His voice rumbled through me. "She's finding herself. There's a difference."
I pulled back to look at him. "How do you always know what to say?"
"I don't." A hint of his rare smile. "But I know what it's like to lose people. And I know you're strong enough to let her go."
We stood there in my small apartment, surrounded by boxes I hadn't unpacked and memories I was still sorting through. Devon's arms around me felt like the only solid thing in a world that kept shifting.
"Come home with me," he said finally.
"This is home."
"No." He tilted my chin up. "Home is wherever I can make sure you and our child are safe. Wherever I can hold you when you cry. Wherever you don't have to pretend to be strong."
The tears came again, but different this time—not grief, but something like relief. Like acceptance. Like the beginning of understanding that sometimes letting go was the bravest thing you could do.
"Okay," I whispered.
He kissed my forehead, then my cheek, then finally my lips—gentle and sure and full of promises neither of us had learned how to voice yet.
As we left my apartment, I looked back one last time at the space where Sophia and I had laughed and planned and built dreams. Then I locked the door and followed Devon to the car, to the future, to whatever came next.
Some people come into your life for a season. Some for a reason. And some—like the man holding my hand now—for something that terrified me to name but felt too real to deny.
My mother had said to be strong. To be ruthless when necessary. But she'd also taught me that strength came in many forms—including knowing when to let go, when to move forward, and when to trust that the people who mattered would find their way back.
Sophia would find her way. And I would find mine. With Devon. With this baby. With the life my mother had fought so hard to give me.
The car pulled away from the curb, leaving Brooklyn behind. In the rearview mirror, I watched my old life grow smaller. Then I turned to face forward, Devon's hand warm in mine, and chose to believe in new beginnings.