CHAPTER 56
ARIA
I stepped inside, pausing on the threshold. My fingers curled against the doorframe as I closed my eyes for the briefest moment, a silent prayer tumoring through me. Please… let him be here. Let him be alive. Let him be well.
Slowly, I opened them—only to find a stranger staring back at me, his brows lifting in mild surprise.
“Ah—can I help you with something?” he asked, voice polite but distant.
The words tumbled out before I could stop them, sharp and frantic.
“Uh ...I’m sorry—but I’m looking for someone.”
He frowned, lips moving in a mutter I didn’t catch.
Then he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, cautious tone.
“You… you do know this is VIP only, right?”
My pulse spiked, but I didn’t bother giving an explanation.
My gaze darted past him, sweeping the room, desperate for that familiar presence. Faces blurred, voices hummed—but not the one I needed.
Nothing.
Not the broad shoulders I knew by heart.
Not the impossible blue eyes that haunted me.
He wasn’t here.
My stomach dropped, and the hollow ache in my chest made the world tilt around me.
I whispered a thank you that didn’t sound like gratitude at all and backed away, pulse still thundering in my ears.
He wasn’t there.
But God, I could have sworn…
It must be the jet lag, the never-ending nightmares, the exhaustion finally catching up with me. Tiredness has taken its toll on my mind—I must be seeing things, imagining him here when he’s not.
.....
Back in the car, my colleagues tried to chatter, their voices light and meaningless, but I couldn’t make out a single word. I pressed my temple to the cool glass, closing my eyes, feigning sleep, hiding the storm tearing through me.
And then—movement.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it: a sleek black Bentley flying down the drive, tires screaming against the pavement, taillights flaring red like a final warning.
Dust rose in its wake as it disappeared into the night—
“Wow… I wonder who that was,” one of my colleagues murmured, breaking the silence.
I didn’t answer. I just stared after the vanished car, my chest tightening, a strange stutter of my heart catching me off guard.
Something about it lingered, unshakable, like a memory clawing its way back.
.....
After dinner, my colleagues started buzzing about hitting a bar. Mark lingered nearby, his gaze sharp, insistent.
“Come on, Aria,” he said, stepping closer. “One drink won’t kill you. I can even walk you back afterwards.”
I shook my head, forcing a polite smile. “Thanks, but I’m going back to the hotel. I’m not in the mood.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice, a hint of insistence threading through it. “Alone? You don’t have to be. Just one drink. Come on, don’t be like that.”
When I started to turn away, he reached out, lightly touching my arm. “Seriously, I’ll make sure you get back safe. Don’t be stubborn.”
I froze for a heartbeat, then gently pulled my arm back. “I said no, Mark. I’m fine on my own.”
He frowned, frustration flickering across his face, but finally stepped back, muttering under his breath as I walked away, letting the city’s hum swallow both his disappointment and my unease.
......
The streets were quieter than I expected, the night stretching calm and empty before me. As I passed the theatre entrance, something—or someone—caught my eye.
A man stepped out of the black Bentley, tall and poised in the hush of the night. Black hair fell perfectly into place, blue eyes catching the dim light. Every line of his face, every tilt of his stance, was etched into my memory.
My heart skipped a beat.
It was him. Every feature I remembered—but somehow… different. As if the person I once knew had been carved into someone new.
Lean?
Slightly broader than I recalled. His posture is tighter, more deliberate.
I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling my heart hammering beneath my palm.
My legs refused to move, my body frozen.
I traced his face with my eyes, searching for some hint of the boy I had known. The hair, the eyes—they were the same.
But the jawline, the shoulders, the lean strength… they were altered, unfamiliar.
He began to walk, every step measured, his gaze fixed straight ahead. I held my breath, hoping—praying—that he would notice me, even for a second.
Nothing.
Not a flicker.
Not a pause.
Not even the smallest acknowledgement that I was there.
I swallowed hard, a hollow ache spreading through my chest. The cold night air bit at my skin, carrying a faint pine scent that made my senses reel.
My hands twitched at my sides, my legs trembling, desperate to move yet rooted in place.
He passed me by, stride confident and unhurried, not a glance, not a hint of recognition—like I didn’t exist at all.
He didn’t even recognise me.
Didn’t he know me?
After four years… after everything… he didn’t even look.
I felt a pang of disbelief twist in my stomach. Every instinct in me screamed to call out, to reach for him, but my voice had vanished, trapped somewhere deep in my chest.
I remembered that sky bridge, four years ago.
The fear.
The disbelief.
The heaviness presses down on me. And now, seeing him, that same storm of emotions crashed over me, wild and relentless.
Every instinct screamed at me to call out, to reach for him, to demand recognition—but I couldn’t move.
I could only watch, frozen for a moment, my chest tight, my hands itching to do something—anything.
Do I call out?
Turn and run?
Pretend I didn’t see him?
Every instinct screamed at me to step back, to retreat to safety, to leave this impossible ache behind.
And yet… I couldn’t.
My feet moved before my mind caught up, drawn forward by a force I didn’t understand.
I followed him into the theatre, each step heavy with dread and desire, my heart hammering in my chest.
The air inside smelled faintly of polished wood and old velvet, a quiet hush pressing around me, making each footfall feel impossibly loud.
My pulse hammered in my ears as I traced him with my eyes. There he was, just a few feet away, moving through the dim light like he owned it.
He walked with effortless grace, every motion controlled and precise, and I found myself following, keeping my distance. My mind screamed at me to stop, to turn, to run—but my feet betrayed me, carrying me forward against every instinct.
What are you doing, Aria? I scolded myself, my thoughts sharp against the pull in my chest.
Maybe he’s not lean… maybe he only looks like him. This man—he’s polished, refined, every movement controlled, precise. Lean never had this… precision.
Turn around. Leave. Go back to the hotel.
My mind screamed.
But my heart refused to listen.
It thudded painfully in my chest, dragging me forward despite every rational warning.
I clenched my fists, willing sense into my body, trying to fight the invisible tether pulling me toward him.
Every step he took, every tilt of his shoulders, kept dragging me forward. My mind argued, shouted, begged me to stop—but my heart… my heart ignored it completely.
Then he stopped.
The echo of his shoes on the polished floor made me flinch.
My breath caught, and I froze.
He turned.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
His eyes swept across the room—and landed on me.
My chest tightened, my hand instinctively going to it.
My stomach lurched.
Time slowed.
Our gazes locked.
Recognition?
Curiosity?
Or something else I couldn’t name?
My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
I wanted to step forward.
To speak.
To call his name.
To close the distance that felt like miles.
But my legs wouldn’t obey.
He just stared.
And in that moment, I felt everything—fear, longing, hope, and disbelief—coil together inside me like a storm I couldn’t escape.