Aria's POV
I dropped my phone and ran.
Not toward Damien—away from him. My feet hit the pavement as his voice called out behind me, sharp and commanding.
"Aria! Wait!"
But I couldn't wait. Couldn't think. The message burned in my brain: Ask him where he really was the night of the fire.
What if he wasn't the hero I remembered? What if he was part of whatever nightmare I'd stumbled into?
My car keys fumbled in my shaking hands. I had to get out of here. Had to—
A hand caught my arm, gentle but firm.
"Don't run from me." Damien's voice was different from the boy I remembered—deeper, more controlled. "Please."
I spun around, yanking my arm free. "Don't touch me!"
He stepped back immediately, hands raised. Up close, he was even more intimidating than his photos suggested. Tall enough that I had to tilt my head back. Shoulders broad enough to block out the sun. Eyes that looked like they could see straight through me.
But those eyes... they weren't cold anymore. They looked almost... broken.
"You came," he said quietly. "I wasn't sure you would."
"I shouldn't have." My voice shook. "I need to go."
"Aria." The way he said my name made something crack inside my chest. Like he'd been holding it in his mouth for five years, tasting it, missing it. "Five minutes. Give me five minutes. If you still want to leave after that, I won't stop you."
I should've run. Every survival instinct I'd learned from Marcus screamed at me to get away from men who looked at me like that—like I was something precious and terrifying all at once.
But this was Damien. Sweet, gentle Damien who'd held my hand during scary movies and brought me flowers just because it was Tuesday.
Except he wasn't that boy anymore.
"There's a café across the street," he said. "Public place. Lots of people. You'll be safe."
The word "safe" almost made me laugh. I hadn't been safe in five years.
"Fine," I whispered. "Five minutes."
The café was small and crowded with the lunch rush. Damien guided me to a corner table with his hand hovering near my back but never quite touching. He ordered coffee for both of us without asking what I wanted.
"Black with two sugars," he said when the server left. "You still drink it that way?"
The fact that he remembered such a tiny detail about me made my throat tight. "Yes."
We sat in silence until the coffee arrived. I wrapped my hands around the mug, needing something to hold onto. Damien watched me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"You look exhausted," he finally said.
"Gee, thanks."
"I didn't mean—" He ran a hand through his dark hair, frustrated. "You look beautiful, Aria. You always did. But you also look like you haven't slept in days. And you're too thin. And there are shadows under your eyes that shouldn't be there."
"Maybe that's what happens when your dead best friend starts sending you postcards." The words came out sharper than I intended.
His entire body went rigid. "What did you just say?"
I pulled the postcard from my purse and slid it across the table. Damien picked it up with careful fingers, his jaw clenching as he read it.
"When did this arrive?"
"Yesterday. And then I got a video message." I showed him my phone, watching his face as he watched Kira. "She said I was there the night of the fire. That Marcus made me forget. But that doesn't make any sense because I was home with Marcus that night. Wasn't I?"
Damien's expression turned to stone. "Has Marcus seen this?"
"No. Why does everyone keep asking about Marcus?"
"Because your ex-husband is a dangerous man." Damien leaned forward, his voice dropping low. "And if Kira really is alive and reaching out to you, he's the last person who should know about it."
My stomach twisted. "What are you talking about?"
"Kira called me the night before she died." The words came out flat, controlled. "She said she'd found something about Marcus. Something dangerous. She was going to show you the next day. She never got the chance."
The café spun around me. "You never told anyone this?"
"I tried. I went to the police. I was eighteen, grieving, and I had no proof—just a phone call from a girl who died twelve hours later. They wrote me off as a traumatized kid looking for answers." His hands clenched into fists on the table. "And then you married him three months later, and I realized you'd chosen Marcus over me. So I left."
"I didn't choose him!" The words burst out before I could stop them. "I was pregnant, Damien. I was terrified and alone and he promised to take care of me. You were gone. Everyone was gone. It was just me and—"
I stopped. I'd never told anyone the real reason I married Marcus. Not even Sophie.
Damien's face had gone pale. "Pregnant?"
"Lily. She's four now. She's the only good thing that came from that marriage." Tears burned my eyes. "And he's trying to take her from me. The custody hearing is in two weeks, and if I can't prove I'm stable, I'll lose her forever."
Something dangerous flashed across Damien's face. "He's not taking anything from you. I promise you that."
"You can't promise that. You don't know what he's capable of—"
"Yes, I do." Damien's voice turned cold as ice. "I know exactly what Marcus Bennett is capable of. I've been investigating him for three years."
My blood froze. "What?"
"Did you think I just forgot about you? That I moved on and built my life and never looked back?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I've thought about you every single day for five years. And when I became a psychologist, when I started working with abuse survivors, I recognized the signs. The gaps in your social media. The way you disappeared from everyone's lives. The hospital records I shouldn't have been able to access but did anyway."
"You've been watching me?"
"I've been trying to protect you from a distance because I thought that's what you wanted. But now..." He pulled out his own phone and showed me a photo that made my heart stop.
It was Marcus. Yesterday. Getting into his car.
And sitting in the passenger seat was someone with red hair.
"That's impossible," I whispered. "That's—"
"Kira. Or someone who looks exactly like her." Damien's eyes burned into mine. "Marcus has been meeting with her for months. Whatever game he's playing, Aria, you're right in the middle of it."
My phone buzzed. Both of us looked down at the screen.
Another message from the unknown number.
This time it was a photo of Lily.
My baby girl, leaving daycare with Sophie.
And in the background, barely visible, was a figure with red hair watching them.
Below the photo: "Midnight tonight. Pinehaven Cliffs. Come alone, or she learns what her mother really did. —K"
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. They had a photo of my daughter.
"Aria." Damien's hand covered mine, warm and steady. "Look at me."
I forced my eyes up to meet his.
"You're not going alone," he said, his voice absolutely certain. "And whatever happened that night, whatever Marcus made you forget, we're going to find out the truth together. I'm not leaving you again. Do you understand?"
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that the boy I'd once loved had become a man who could save me.
But the message on my phone said something else.
It said everyone in my life was a liar.
And I was running out of time to figure out who was telling the truth.