Chapter Five
The weeks that followed felt like they existed in a world separate from reality.
Aria and I didn't define what we were, but something unspoken settled between us. She'd show up at my office occasionally under the pretense of project updates. We'd steal moments over coffee or dinner, conversations flowing as easily as the wine we often shared.
But for all the quiet intimacy we were building, Aria remained guarded. She'd laugh, tease, and share stories about her travels, but there was a part of her I could never quite reach—a part that always seemed ready to leave.
I couldn't shake the feeling that I was trying to hold water in my hands, and the more tightly I held, the more it slipped through my fingers.
---
One evening, we found ourselves back at my apartment. The city stretched out below us, glowing in the soft haze of twilight. Aria was curled up on the couch, her bare feet tucked under her, holding a mug of tea I'd made for her.
"You've never been to Paris?" she asked, her tone incredulous.
I shrugged, sitting beside her. "Never had the time."
She shook her head. "That's ridiculous. You design buildings, Ethan. Paris is practically a shrine to architecture."
I chuckled. "Maybe you'll take me someday."
Her smile faltered just slightly, her gaze dropping to the mug in her hands. "Maybe."
The way she said it made my chest tighten. I reached out, brushing a thumb across her knuckles. "What are you afraid of, Aria?"
Her eyes darted to mine, wide and uncertain. "What do you mean?"
I leaned closer, my voice soft but firm. "You're here with me, but part of you is still somewhere else. You keep me at arm's length, like you're waiting for an excuse to walk away."
She looked away, her expression clouded. "It's not that simple."
"Then make it simple," I urged. "Talk to me."
For a long moment, she didn't say anything. I thought she might shut me out again, retreat behind the walls she'd built so carefully. But then she sighed, setting her mug down on the coffee table.
"I've never stayed in one place because I don't know how to," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "My whole life has been about moving—new places, new people, never settling long enough to get comfortable. It's... easier that way."
"Easier," I echoed, the word tasting bitter in my mouth.
She nodded, her gaze distant. "Because if you don't stay, you don't get attached. And if you don't get attached, you don't get hurt."
Her words hung in the air between us, raw and unfiltered.
I wanted to tell her that it was worth the risk, that the pain of losing something real would never outweigh the joy of having it in the first place. But before I could, she turned back to me, her expression hardening slightly.
"I'm not saying this to push you away," she said. "I just... I need you to understand who I am, Ethan. I don't want to hurt you."
Her honesty cut deeper than I expected.
"I get it," I said finally, my voice quieter than I intended. "But you're not running anymore. Not right now. That has to mean something."
She didn't respond, but the way her fingers tightened slightly against mine told me enough.
___---____
Two days later...
I was in the middle of a meeting when Claire knocked on my office door, her expression unusually tense.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said, "but there's someone here to see you. She said it's urgent."
"Who is it?" I asked, already feeling a strange knot forming in my stomach.
Claire hesitated. "She said her name is Sofia."
The name didn't register at first, but when I stepped out into the lobby and saw her standing there, it hit me like a freight train.
Sofia. My ex-fiancée.
She looked almost exactly as I remembered—poised and polished, her auburn hair pulled into a sleek bun. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a sharpness in her eyes that immediately put me on edge.
"Ethan," she said, her voice smooth but cool. "It's been a while."
I crossed my arms, my tone measured. "It has. What are you doing here?"
She smiled faintly, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I've been back in town for a few weeks. I thought it was time we talked."
"There's nothing to talk about."
Her gaze flicked past me, landing on Aria, who had just walked in carrying a folder of project updates.
Aria froze, her eyes darting between Sofia and me.
"Who's this?" Sofia asked, her tone laced with curiosity—and something else I couldn't place.
Aria stepped forward, her expression carefully neutral. "I'm Aria. We're working on the nonprofit project together."
Sofia raised an eyebrow, her gaze lingering on Aria for just a moment too long. "I see."
The tension in the room was palpable.
"Ethan," Sofia said, her attention snapping back to me, "I'll be staying at the Clarendon for the next few days. We should catch up."
With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving me standing there with a whirlwind of emotions I didn't know how to process.
When I turned back to Aria, her expression was unreadable.
"Who was that?" she asked, her voice steady but her eyes searching mine.
"My ex," I said simply, the weight of the word settling between us.
Aria nodded slowly, but the flicker of something in her eyes—doubt, maybe—was enough to unsettle me.
And for the first time since Aria walked into my life, I felt the ground shift beneath my feet.