Sunlight streamed through the curtains, falling in soft stripes across the bedroom floor. Morning had come gentle and bright—a stark contrast to the morning before. Aria woke gradually, feeling more rested than she had in ages. There was a pleasing heaviness to her limbs, the kind that comes from truly deep sleep. It took her a moment to realize what felt so different: peace. For once, she hadn't awoken with a clenched knot of anxiety in her stomach.
The reason for that peace was still asleep beside her, one strong arm draped possessively over her waist. Damien's face was inches from hers on the pillow, relaxed in slumber, a stray lock of hair falling over his forehead. In the early light, with all tension smoothed away, he looked younger, almost boyish. Aria's heart squeezed with affection. My husband, she thought with wonder. Not just on paper or for convenience—truly hers, as she was his. It still felt new and extraordinary.
She allowed herself a few indulgent minutes just watching him breathe, the rise and fall of his chest under the thin t-shirt, the way his lashes brushed his cheeks. Memories of the prior night's whispered confessions and sweet touches warmed her. Eventually, as if sensing her gaze, Damien stirred. His eyes blinked open, the grey of them catching the morning light as they focused on her. A slow smile curved his lips.
"Good morning," he rasped, voice rough from sleep. He tightened his arm around her, pulling her flush against him.
"Good morning," she echoed, giggling softly as he nuzzled her neck. "Someone's in a good mood."
"I have every reason to be," he murmured against her skin. "Waking up with you in my arms… I could get used to this."
Aria's toes curled at the tender intimacy of the moment. She carded her fingers through his tousled hair, savoring its silky texture. "You'd better. I don't plan on going anywhere."
He lifted his head to meet her eyes, something earnest and a bit vulnerable in his expression. "Promise?"
She understood the deeper question—the remnants of fear that perhaps this happiness might be snatched away. She had them too. But she smiled and answered with conviction, "Promise."
Damien's smile in return was radiant. He leaned in and kissed her—a soft, morning kiss that quickly deepened with unspoken longing. Aria responded in kind, her hand sliding to rest over his heart. She could feel it thumping steadily, a reassuring cadence. If they hadn't been interrupted by a burst of childish laughter down the hall, Aria had a feeling that kiss might have escalated into something more.
They broke apart with a shared laugh as Noah's chirping, "Mamaaa! Dadaaaa!" echoed from his room. The universe—or rather their toddler—had impeccable timing.
"Saved by the bell… or the child," Damien joked, pressing a quick peck to Aria's forehead before rolling out of bed.
Aria stretched languorously, her satin nightgown sliding against her skin. Damien's eyes flicked to her, darkening appreciatively until another impatient call from Noah hastened him into action. "I'll get our little alarm clock," he said, grabbing a robe and shrugging it on as he headed out.
Aria decided to take a moment to freshen up. She wrapped herself in her own robe and was just tying the sash when she heard Noah's giggles approach, accompanied by Damien's softer tones.
She stepped out of the bathroom to find Damien carrying Noah into the bedroom piggyback style. Noah's chubby hands were fisted in the collar of Damien's robe like reins, and he was bouncing enthusiastically on his dad's back. "Giddy-up!" he squealed.
"Good grief, did you teach him that?" Aria laughed, reaching out to relieve Damien of their exuberant son. She lifted Noah into her arms and peppered his face with morning kisses as he squirmed and giggled.
"I might have shown him an old cowboy cartoon last week," Damien confessed with a sheepish grin. "Seems he remembered."
Aria shook her head in faux admonishment. "What am I going to do with the two of you?"
Damien stepped close and wrapped an arm around her waist, leaning down to kiss her (and by extension, Noah who was between them got a kiss atop his head, making him giggle anew). "Love us and keep us around forever, I hope," Damien murmured.
Aria's heart fluttered. "That can be arranged," she whispered back, eyes shining.
Their little domestic bliss was interrupted by Aria's phone buzzing on the nightstand. She frowned, shifting Noah to her hip and walking over to pick it up. A text notification from an unknown number lit the screen. Her stomach did a little flip of apprehension—unknown numbers had meant trouble lately. Damien, sensing the change in her demeanor, peered over her shoulder.
The text preview simply read: "Aria, it's me. We need to talk. Please."
No name, but Aria had an inkling, and her heart began to pound. It's me. Who in her life would assume she'd know them by that phrase alone?
Her fingers felt suddenly cold. She opened the full message.
"Aria, it's me. We need to talk. Please. -Dad"
Aria inhaled sharply. Her father. Charles Lancaster had texted her? She stared at the words, half convinced she was imagining them.
Damien's hand came to rest on her back. "What is it?" he asked quietly, though he likely already guessed from her reaction.
She wordlessly showed him the screen. His eyes narrowed. "How did he get your number?"
Aria shook her head, still processing. She had changed her number after leaving, but that was years ago. Perhaps he had quietly kept tabs enough to get it from someone, or maybe through business connections. The how didn't matter as much as the what: He wants to talk.
Her initial reaction was conflict. Part of her was angry—after all these years, after that cold statement to the press, now he wants to talk? The other part, the wounded daughter inside, trembled with nervous anticipation. Was it possible he regretted his words? Or was this going to be another round of admonishment? She had no idea, and that uncertainty made her stomach churn.
Damien gently pried the phone from her hand and set it down. With Noah still in her arms, Aria hadn't realized how tense she'd gone until Damien guided both her and Noah to sit on the edge of the bed. He crouched in front of her, one hand steady on her knee. "You don't have to respond," he reminded softly. "Not until you're ready. Not at all, if you choose not to."
Noah, sensing perhaps that grown-up matters were at hand, had quieted and was sucking his thumb thoughtfully—something he usually only did when sleepy or seeking comfort. Aria absently smoothed the toddler's hair, her mind racing. "He says he wants to talk," she murmured.
Damien's face was calm, but she could tell he was on high alert. "Do you want to talk to him?"
Did she? It was the million-dollar question. Last night she would have said a flat "no." But now, in the light of day and faced with an actual outreach from her father, her feelings were muddled. There was resentment, yes, but also that undying hope that maybe he wanted to mend fences. Or at least explain himself. Maybe seeing her publicly yesterday, hearing her perspective, had triggered something in him.
"I… don't know," Aria finally said, voice small. "I'm not sure I'm ready. But if I ignore it, will I regret it?"
Damien moved to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "If you choose to speak with him, you don't have to do it alone," he said. "I can be there with you. Or on the call. Whatever it ends up being. I won't let him upset you." The protective edge in his last sentence was unmistakable.
Aria leaned into Damien, drawing strength from his solid presence. Noah had snuggled against her chest now, sensing perhaps that his mom needed a cuddle. She kissed the top of her son's head. "Maybe…maybe I should at least see what he wants. If it turns ugly, I can always walk away. But if I ignore him entirely, I'll never know."
Damien nodded. "We could call from here, on speaker, together. Or meet in a neutral location with security nearby. Whichever makes you comfortable."
A phone call felt less daunting than in-person, at least for a first contact. Aria exhaled slowly. "Let's try a call. If he truly wants to talk, that should suffice initially."
"Alright." Damien reached over and grabbed her phone again. "Do you want to do it now, or wait?"
She appreciated that he was leaving the pace up to her. The thought of getting it over with appealed. The longer she delayed, the more anxious she'd become. And since he texted now, he was likely waiting. Perhaps better to seize the moment.
"…Now," she decided, pulse picking up. She handed Noah over to Damien gently. "I think I'd prefer Noah not to hear, just in case."
Damien nodded in complete understanding. He stood, shifting Noah up against his shoulder. "I'll take him to the kitchen, get him some juice. I'll be right back." He pressed a quick kiss to Aria's forehead. "You'll do fine. Remember, you owe him nothing. This is your choice."
Noah reached his arms out to Aria as Damien carried him away, and Aria forced a bright smile. "Mama will be right out, sweetie. Be good with Daddy."
As they left the room, Aria steeled herself. She picked up the phone, fingers hovering over the call button for the number that texted. It still felt surreal to see "Dad" as the signature.
With one more steadying breath, she tapped the number and brought the phone to her ear. The ringing seemed to go on forever, though it was only a second or two. Then a click, and a voice she hadn't heard in nearly four years came through, low and hesitant:
"Aria?"
Her throat tightened. It was him. He sounded older than she remembered, and less certain. Charles Lancaster was a man who always spoke with crisp authority; hearing even a hint of uncertainty was jarring. Aria swallowed. "Hello… Dad." The word felt strange on her tongue, a mix of bitterness and longing attached to it.
A soft exhale on the other end, almost like a sigh of relief. "You answered. Thank you." There was a pause. "I… wasn't sure you would."
Aria sat down on the bed, heart hammering. "I wasn't sure either," she admitted. Best to be honest. "Your message…surprised me."
A rueful, strained chuckle. "I'm sure it did. I suppose I deserve that." He cleared his throat. "Aria, I know this is overdue. Far, far overdue. But I'd like the chance to talk with you. Properly. Not like…not like what happened at the gala, and certainly not through the media." There was a tightness to his voice when he mentioned the media, as if the events of yesterday had shaken him too.
Aria's defenses bristled at the mention of the gala—that disastrous night. "What is there to talk about, Dad? The past? The fact that you disowned me in front of half of high society?" She hadn't intended to sound so confrontational, but the words came out sharper than she anticipated, laced with the hurt she usually kept locked away.
Charles Lancaster was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his tone was low. "I deserve that too." A pause. "I won't try to defend my actions then. I think…given what you said publicly yesterday, you've made your perspective known. And hearing it—hearing you say you left for your freedom and self-respect—it hit me hard, Aria."
She was surprised to hear a slight tremor in his voice. Her father, emotional? "I meant every word," she replied quietly.
"I know," he said. "I… always knew, deep down, why you did what you did." This confession stunned Aria into silence. Her father continued, "Back then, I told myself I was angry. That you'd embarrassed the family, thrown away your future. But part of me admired your courage even as it infuriated me. You were doing what I never had the guts to do: stand up to my own father's expectations."
Aria's mouth fell open. Her grandfather had been a stern, formidable patriarch, long passed now, but she remembered how even her father would tense around him. He had never spoken of such things to her before.
"I handled it poorly, Aria. To say the least," Charles went on, sighing. "I was so wrapped up in legacy and saving face that I… I drove my own daughter away. And then I was too proud—and too ashamed—to reach out after. I told myself it was for the best, that you were better off, that I was better off. Yesterday, when a reporter asked me for comment, I gave that cold response mostly because I had no idea what to say. 'No comment' was easier than admitting I was…hurt."
Aria felt her heart constrict. Hurt? He was hurt? "You were hurt?" she echoed, a mix of incredulity and sorrow. "Dad, I was the one—" She stopped herself. This wasn't a competition of pain. If anything, hearing him speak this way dissolved some of her anger, leaving behind the raw ache of their estrangement.
"I know, Aria," he said gently. "You were the one who suffered more, I'm sure of it. I can't imagine what these last years were truly like for you. When Victor Hayes called me recently—"
Aria stiffened. Victor called him? That snake. "What did he say?"
"He tried to… bait me, I suppose. Told me he'd ran into you, that you were married to Blackwood. That you had a child. He painted it as you hiding deliberately, living a life of luxury while spurning your family name." Charles sounded bitter. "I didn't give him the satisfaction of a lengthy reply. I simply said you were no longer part of the family and hung up. That must be what he passed along to the press."
Aria felt simultaneously furious at Victor's meddling and strangely touched that her father hadn't engaged with him. "I see."
"I want you to know," her father continued, "I said 'no comment' because I wasn't about to discuss you with that scoundrel. It wasn't… it wasn't how I truly feel."
Aria's voice trembled. "Then how do you feel, Dad?"
He sighed deeply. "Proud. I'm proud of you, Aria. Watching that conference… you've become a remarkable woman. Stronger than I ever gave you credit for. You've built a life, a family. And that grandson—" his voice hitched just a little, "—I saw a clip of him being carried into the building with Blackwood. He looks so much like you at that age."
Tears slipped down Aria's cheeks before she could stop them. She hadn't expected this—to hear words of pride and longing from her father. It unmoored her. "Noah," she said softly. "His name is Noah. He's three."
"Noah," her father repeated, voice warm. "A good name." There was another pause, filled with unsaid things. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I don't expect you to forgive me easily, or at all. I know I failed you as a father. But I'd like… I'd like a chance to know you again. To know my grandson, if you'll permit it."
Aria pressed a hand to her mouth, muffling a sob that wanted to escape. This was everything she'd secretly yearned for and yet convinced herself she'd never have. She struggled for composure. "I-I don't know, Dad. This is a lot. I'm not saying no, but I can't just…pretend everything is fine."
"I understand," he said quickly. "Truly, I do. Perhaps we could start with something small. A meeting, maybe over lunch. Neutral territory. Bring Damien if you want—I'd like to meet the man properly anyway. He seems… good. Better than the match I had tried to force on you." He sounded regretful. "Funny how I thought I knew best. Clearly, you found your own perfect match without my help."
Despite herself, Aria let out a watery chuckle. "He is pretty great," she agreed softly. She then realized, with a start, that her father just used Damien's first name casually—a far cry from the stiff "Blackwood" she'd have expected. Had he been reading up on him? On them? It seemed likely.
"I'm glad," Charles said. "Aria, I won't keep you on the phone. I just… needed you to know that I'm sorry. And that I love you. I never stopped loving you, even when I was angry. That was my failing." His voice broke slightly on that admission.
The tears were flowing freely down Aria's face now. She felt both raw and hopeful hearing those words she had missed for so long. "Dad… I— I love you too," she whispered. It was true, beneath all the hurt. That love had always been there, painful in its dormancy.
A sound that might have been a quiet sob came through from her father's end. "Thank you," he managed thickly. "Thank you, Aria." He composed himself enough to add, "I'll let you go. Think about lunch. I'll be in town for a while—actually, indefinitely, now that…well, I've been considering moving back here from the villa abroad. There's nothing for me there."
Aria recalled he had an Italian villa he'd escaped to after she left, avoiding gossip. The fact he was moving back "indefinitely" told her a lot—likely that he wanted to be closer, available if she allowed it. "I'll think about it," she promised. "Maybe… maybe next week sometime. I'll have to see."
"Of course. Whenever, or if ever, you're ready. Just call or text that number." He hesitated. "And… perhaps give Noah a hug from his grandfather, if that's alright."
Aria choked back a sob and smiled through her tears. "I will."
They said their goodbyes, tentative and gentle, and the call ended. Aria lowered the phone, her hand trembling. She sat there for a moment, trying to absorb the conversation. It felt like a whirlwind—her stoic father, apologizing, expressing love, wanting to reconnect. It was everything she'd secretly dreamed of on lonely nights, and it left her feeling overwhelmed in the best way.
She hastily wiped at her cheeks, though tears kept coming. These were not bitter tears; they were cathartic. So much pent-up emotion was releasing all at once.
A creak at the door made her look up. Damien stood there, leaning on the frame, concern etched on his face. Aria hadn't even heard him approach, lost in her thoughts. In his arms, Noah held a sippy cup, looking curiously at his mother.
"Aria?" Damien asked softly. "Are you alright? What happened?"
Aria stood, sniffing, and rushed into Damien's free arm, wrapping her own around his waist and burying her face in his chest. He held her close immediately. Noah squirmed a bit, reaching out a hand to pat Aria's arm, as if to comfort her too.
"Mama sad?" Noah asked in a small voice.
Aria quickly shook her head and pulled back enough to give Noah a reassuring kiss on the forehead. "No, baby. Mama's okay. Mama's happy, actually. These are happy tears." She realized that was exactly what they were. Happy tears.
Damien rubbed her back and guided all of them to sit on the bed again. "Tell me?" he prompted gently, brushing damp strands of hair off her face.
Sniffling and smiling at once, Aria relayed the conversation in halting but excited detail—how her father apologized, what he said about being proud and wanting to meet, how he said he loved her. Damien listened intently, his eyes softening as the story went on. By the end, he was smiling and shaking his head in a kind of amazed disbelief.
"That's…wow," he said. "I'm so glad, Aria. I know how much that means to you." He kissed her temple. "You deserve to have that relationship back, if it's what you want."
"It'll be a process," she admitted. "It's not going to magically be perfect. But… I think I'd like to try." She looked down at Noah, who was busy sipping his juice, blissfully unaware. "And I'd like Noah to know his grandfather, if possible."
Damien nodded. "Understandable." He smirked a little. "I have to say, I'm somewhat relieved. I was fully prepared to be cast as the villain who 'stole' you from your family if your father was as stubborn as I feared. It's nice to hear he's human after all."
Aria laughed softly. "I was prepared for that too. I can't believe Victor reaching out to him ended up inadvertently causing this reconciliation. Life is strange."
At the mention of Victor, Damien's expression flickered with irritation. "Speak of the devil… Not that I want to spoil this moment, but Jareth texted me while I was in the kitchen. It appears Victor skipped town last night. Probably realized his scheme was bust. He's 'on vacation' indefinitely according to his office." Damien's tone made it clear he didn't buy that for a second—it was likely Victor fleeing consequences.
"Coward," Aria muttered. It was anticlimactic, but she'd take it. Perhaps it was better this way; the villain slinking off with his tail between his legs.
"Indeed," Damien agreed. "We'll keep an eye out, but I doubt he'll show himself anytime soon. Legal is still exploring if we can nail him for something after the fact, but that might or might not pan out."
Aria sighed, but it was a sigh of relief. "As long as he stays away, I'm satisfied. I don't want to spend any more energy on him."
"Exactly. He's not worth another thought." Damien angled her face toward him with a knuckle under her chin. "Today is a new day, with new beginnings it seems."
She smiled, eyes bright. "It certainly feels like it."
Noah chose that moment to wiggle off the bed, juice finished, and toddle to his basket of toys in the corner. He plopped down and began rummaging for a specific action figure, humming a little tune around the tip of his sippy cup.
Aria watched him with pure adoration, then turned back to her husband (her husband, her heart sang) and felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude. "I don't think I'd be here—happy, hopeful, reconciled—if it wasn't for you, Damien."
He looked at her with surprise. "Me? Aria, you're the one who showed incredible courage, facing your fears and standing up for yourself. I just backed you up."
She took his hand, interlacing their fingers. "You did so much more. You fought for me even before I fully fought for myself. You saw worth in me when I was hiding, and you drew it out into the light. If you hadn't been by my side… I can't imagine how differently things might have gone."
Damien's expression filled with tenderness. "There was never a question in my mind about your worth. Even when we first… connected that night years ago, I knew there was something special in you. It just took me some time to act on it properly." He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to hers. "Loving you is the best decision I ever made, Aria."
Her eyes misted again, but she grinned. "Even if it came after a less-than-best decision of a one-night stand?" she teased.
He laughed, a rich warm sound. "Hey, that one-night stand still gave me Noah, so I can't regret it. Though I do wish I'd gotten your name and number the next morning like a sensible man, so we could have avoided some heartache."
Aria giggled, remembering how she'd snuck out of that hotel room at dawn, leaving behind nothing but memories and… well, an unexpected pregnancy. "We both had our walls then. Maybe we had to go through all this to really appreciate what we have now."
Damien nodded thoughtfully. "I think you're right." He drew her into a gentle embrace. "And I don't regret a single moment that led us here."
Aria closed her eyes, breathing him in, feeling the solidity of him and the life they shared. "Neither do I."
A small thump drew their attention—it was Noah, banging two toy cars together with great enthusiasm. He looked up at them and flashed a grin. "Play!" he commanded, holding up a car in each hand.
Aria and Damien exchanged an amused look. Their little prince was summoning them. With exaggerated sighs of resignation (and secret smiles), they slid off the bed to join Noah on the floor.
"Alright, buddy, show me what you've got there," Damien said, settling cross-legged. Noah promptly thrust a car at him.
As the morning sun climbed higher, casting a golden glow in the room, the three of them played and laughed. Later, they would make breakfast together—Aria flipping pancakes while Damien held Noah up to drop in blueberries. Later, they would take a family walk in the garden, Noah chasing butterflies as promised. In the days to come, Aria would set up that lunch with her father, and it would be emotional but healing, the first of many. In the weeks to come, life would find a new normal—a better normal—without the shadows of secrets and threats looming overhead.
But right here, right now, was what mattered most. In this ordinary, extraordinary moment, Aria felt a fullness in her heart she'd never experienced before. It was as though all the pieces of her life, once scattered and jagged, had come together in a perfect, beautiful mosaic.
She caught Damien's eye as he made a toy car vroom-vroom around Noah's knee, making their son dissolve into giggles. He winked at her, a shared understanding passing between them: We did it. This was their happy ending—or perhaps, truly, their happy beginning.
Aria's lips curved in a soft smile. If one night of passion had bound them initially, it was everything that came after—the trials, the support, the gradual opening of hearts—that bound them now inextricably. Bound by trust. Bound by family. Bound by love.
And as Noah lunged into her lap, waving a car for her to take, Aria laughed with pure joy, wrapping one arm around her son and reaching out to take Damien's hand with the other.
Whatever storms might come, they would weather them—together, as they always had. The slow burn of their love had finally erupted into a bright, steady flame, lighting the path forward.
And Aria was no longer afraid of the dark.
In the warmth of that morning, surrounded by the two people she cherished most, Aria knew with unshakable certainty: she was home