CHAPTER 66
ARIA
I couldn’t shake the words from my ear, the way they had landed, subtle yet unmistakable:
“Be careful.” The words slid against my ear, light but deliberate. My chest tightened, and for a split second, my mind couldn’t help but drift. That tone… it was so familiar. So achingly familiar.
It reminded me of him—the creature I had once cared for so deeply.
Lean.
My Lean
The way he would speak when upset or worried, soft but firm, full of an innocent, unrefined kind of affection.
Protective, raw, simple. There had been no polish, no calculation, just the way he was—genuine, untamed, and completely devoted in his own way.
And yet… here was Professor Lian. Polished, precise, a product of refinement and elite upbringing.
His manners, his composure, and his every movement exuded control and sophistication.
Nothing naive about him. Nothing untamed.
And still, that one phrase… it carried a flicker of the same care, the same concern that had once made my heart twist for Lean.
I shook my head, trying to dismiss it. Impossible.
The creature I knew could never be him—not with that sharp intellect, that measured poise, that command over every situation.
Lean had been innocent, unrefined, honest in a way that couldn’t be taught.
Lian was the opposite.
And yet, the memory of that tone lingered, forcing a question into the back of my mind I wasn’t ready to answer.
Could there be… some connection?
Or was my heart just fooling me, chasing echoes of the past?
......
The restaurant was alive with the low hum of conversation, the clatter of cutlery on plates, and the occasional laughter spilling over from nearby tables.
Candlelight flickered on polished surfaces, casting a warm glow across the faces of my colleagues.
Mary was animated, waving her hands as she described a frustrating scheduling mix-up back at the conference.
Mathew was leaning back in his chair, smirking at some joke Mark had just told, and Mark himself was mid-argument about the superiority of European coffee blends over American, his hands slicing through the air with theatrical flair.
And yet… none of it reached me.
I sat with my fork hovering halfway to my mouth, frozen in place, but it wasn’t hunger that kept me still.
My mind was elsewhere—adrift in a swirl of memory, thought, and confusion. My gaze flickered around the room. Everyone was immersed in laughter and chatter, yet I couldn’t enjoy the evening.
My thoughts kept returning to the haunting similarities between Lean—the creature I had once known—and Professor Lian. That same presence that had unsettled me so thoroughly earlier in the day.
Mark leaned slightly toward me, nudging my shoulder gently. “Hey… you okay?” he asked softly, a trace of concern in his voice.
“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” I murmured quickly, forcing a small smile, even though my pulse refused to calm.
I tried to focus on the conversation at the table, even forced a few polite nods and murmured agreements, but the words bounced off me, empty and hollow.
I was listening, yes, but I wasn’t processing. Mary leaned forward, gesturing wildly at her plate.
“…and then I told them, ‘No, you can’t just switch the sessions like that!’” she exclaimed, her voice high with exasperation.
“Seriously?” I murmured absentmindedly, keeping my gaze fixed on my wine glass, tracing the deep red liquid with the tip of my finger.
“Yeah! I mean, I thought it was obvious!” Mary laughed, oblivious to my detachment, clearly enjoying her own story.
Mathew snorted.
“Obvious to you maybe, Mary. Some of us actually have to keep track of things.”
Mark chuckled, shaking his head.
“You two should start a podcast: ‘Conference Chaos and How to Survive It.’”
I smiled faintly, just enough to maintain appearances, but inside I was spiralling.
My fingers tapped against the table, tracing patterns I wasn’t even aware of.
My heart felt tight, coiled around a lump of unease I couldn’t name. Every flicker of movement outside the window made my chest skip. Every shadow. Every pedestrian passing by.
And then, just for a heartbeat, I thought I saw it—a figure. Tall, poised, his presence unmistakable even from a distance. Staring right at me. My breath caught. I froze, fork midair. My mind screamed at me, No, it can’t be. Could it?
I stood up abruptly, chair scraping against the tile, murmuring something about grabbing a moment outside, and my colleagues barely noticed.
Mary was still mid-laugh,
Mathew gesturing at something on his plate, Mark absorbed in explaining why European coffee was superior.
None of them even saw me slip past, my chest tight and eyes scanning.
I stepped outside onto the pavement, the cool night air rushing against my skin.
The restaurant lights spilt out onto the sidewalk, washing the space in golden hues, and I scanned, heart hammering in my chest.
“Lian?” I whispered under my breath, the words tasting absurd in the quiet street.
Nothing. Just the soft flicker of a neon sign from across the road, the occasional car passing, a distant shout somewhere down the street.
My stomach sank.
My hands clenched at my sides, gripping the straps of my bag.
Had I imagined it?
I shook my head, pressing my palm against my forehead as if that would clear the fog in my mind.
Did I really see him?
The figure, so impossibly familiar, so impossibly real… or had it all been some trick of the light, the wine, my frazzled nerves?
My chest tightened, a mix of frustration and disappointment coiling low in my stomach.
Maybe I’d had too much to drink. That had to be it.
My thoughts raced, trying to convince myself it was a hallucination—my mind spinning stories out of nothing.
The wine, the exhaustion from the day, the endless conference chatter—it all made sense. It had to be nothing.
My eyes flicked back toward the restaurant window, and I froze for a moment. Inside, my colleagues were still laughing, animated and oblivious to my absence.
I didn’t want to go back in.
The warmth, the chatter, even their smiles felt suffocating now. I couldn’t face the normalcy after what my mind insisted I had just seen.
I shook my head and turned, letting the night air hit my cheeks, cool and bracing, as I began walking toward the hotel.
The street was quiet, empty except for the distant glow of a neon sign and the occasional car passing by. Each step echoed, loud in my ears, a reminder that I was alone, that the world had moved on while I chased shadows.
Every so often, I glanced over my shoulder, heart racing, convinced I’d see him again, standing there.
But there was nothing.
Just empty sidewalks, the cool night pressing against my cheeks, and the faint hum of the city in the distance.
I muttered under my breath, voice rough from nerves and dryness in my throat.
“I’m imagining it. Just… imagining it.”
My hands fumbled with the straps of my bag, gripping and unclipping them as if I could anchor myself to reality.
The closer I got to the hotel, the heavier my chest felt—not from the cold, but from the strange, insistent pull that refused to loosen its grip.
My stomach twisted with the memory, the way my heart had jumped just catching that fleeting figure outside the restaurant window.
By the time I reached the lobby, my hands were trembling as I tugged the door closed behind me.
The warmth inside washed over me, but it didn’t calm the fluttering unease in my chest. I forced myself to take a slow breath, telling myself it was nothing, that I’d imagined it all.
I slipped my coat off, letting it pool at my feet, and moved toward the bathroom.
My hands shook slightly as I ran the water, splashing my face, hoping the cold would jolt me back to some semblance of normalcy.
I changed quickly into soft pyjamas, the motions automatic, almost mechanical, my mind still trapped on the memory of the figure outside the window, on Professor Lian, on the impossible pull I felt.
Back in my room, I sank onto the edge of the bed, hugging my knees for a moment, trying to steady my breathing.
My chest still felt tight, my stomach knotted with that lingering unease. I reached for the blanket, tucking it around myself, willing the warmth to push away the restless thoughts.
I lay down, staring at the ceiling, replaying the day in fragments—the crowded elevator, the flicker of gold in his eyes, the closeness I hadn’t been prepared for.
My hands flexed and unclenched at my sides, the tension refusing to leave.
“Stop it,” I whispered to myself, pressing my eyes shut, wishing the pull, the ache, the memory could just… stop.
But it didn’t. It lingered, twisting in my chest, pulling my mind in directions I didn’t want to go.
Finally, slowly, my eyelids grew heavy. I hugged the pillow closer, letting the exhaustion of the day seep into my body. The racing thoughts dulled, the tension eased just enough that my heartbeat slowed.
And at last, I slipped into sleep—not peaceful, not free of unease, but quiet enough that the world could wait, and my mind could rest, even if only for a little while.
THIRD POV
Night had settled over the hotel, and Aria lay asleep, her breath soft and even. On the balcony, the mysterious figure lingered, silent and still.
Golden eyes fixed on her through the glass, wings tucked close, every movement measured. It watched her sleep, unmoving, as if guarding—or waiting—while the world inside remained unaware of its presence.