Aria’s POV
“Get away from me.”
The man in front of me didn’t move and neither did I.
The music from the club was loud enough to shake the floor beneath my heels, but somehow all I could hear was the silence between us.
He looked at me like I had just said something amusing, not like I had spent the last thirty seconds trying to convince him that I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself.
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m not.”
“You nearly walked into a table.”
“I was avoiding someone.”
His eyebrow lifted slightly.
“Who?”
I looked behind me and immediately regretted it.
Nobody.
Sofia had disappeared somewhere into the crowd about fifteen minutes ago, and the guy who had been bothering me had thankfully lost interest. I had only come here because Sofia had spent the entire week insisting that I needed one reckless night before I buried myself in work again. Apparently, this was her idea of helping.
I turned back to the stranger.
“I don’t need an interrogation.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Because I wasn’t planning on interrogating you.”
There was something about the way he said it that annoyed me.
Maybe it was his confidence. Maybe it was the fact that he looked completely out of place in a crowded club. Everyone else was shouting over the music, laughing, drinking and trying to get somebody’s attention. He stood there like none of it mattered.
Dark hair, black shirt, sleeves pushed up to his forearms and an expression that made him look like he had never been told no in his life. He was intimidating and for some reason, I wasn’t walking away.
“You always this annoying?” I asked.
“Only when people are determined to make bad decisions.”
I scoffed.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you came here with a friend and you’ve been checking your phone every few minutes because she’s ignoring you.”
I looked down at my phone.
No new messages.
I hated that he was right.
“And I know,” he continued, “that you keep pretending you’re having fun.”
That one hit differently.
I looked back at him.
“You really think you know me?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I think you’re trying to forget something.”
For a second, the noise around us seemed farther away.
I didn’t like that sentence because there were things I didn’t talk about and things I didn’t even like thinking about.
Three years ago, there had been a period of my life that simply didn’t exist in my mind anymore.
Three months that were just gone.
My parents had told me I had been seriously ill. I had believed them because what other choice did I have? I remembered the months before. I remembered coming home afterward and I remembered recovering.
But those three months in between were nothing. No memories, no clear explanation, just a blank space.
I had learned not to ask questions, so I smiled.
“Maybe I am.”
He studied me for another moment.
Then he asked, “What’s your name?”
I hesitated.
“Why?”
“So I know what to call you.”
“You can call me Aria.”
“Aria.”
The way he said my name made me wonder why a stranger’s voice could make a name I’d heard my entire life sound unfamiliar.
“And you?”
“Roman.”
Just Roman.
I didn’t know why I expected more.
Maybe because he looked like the kind of man whose name should come with a warning.
Instead, he offered me his hand.
I looked at it before taking it.
“Nice to meet you, Aria.”
“I haven’t decided if it’s nice to meet you yet.”
For the first time, I saw something close to a smile.
It wasn’t warm, it was worse. It made him look more dangerous and somehow, instead of walking away, I stayed. That was my first mistake.
I just didn’t know yet that this Roman would become much more than a stranger I met in a club.
The rest of the night became a blur of conversation, arguments and moments I knew I probably shouldn’t have enjoyed as much as I did.
Roman was infuriating.
He disagreed with almost everything I said, and somehow every disagreement became another reason for me to stay.
We talked about family, New York and how people with money thought they could buy their way out of anything.
That was the one conversation that changed his expression.
“You don’t believe people can change?” I asked.
“I believe people show you who they are when it matters.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“Who are you when it matters?”
His eyes held mine.
“You don’t want to know.”
Maybe I should have listened, but instead, I laughed.
By the time Sofia finally found me, she took one look at Roman and then at me.
“Oh.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re making a face.”
“I am not.”
She absolutely was.
I glanced toward Roman and he was already watching me. Not Sofia, but me.
“I’m going home,” I said.
Sofia’s eyes widened.
“Already?”
“I’ve had enough.”
Roman didn’t try to stop me and that surprised me. I expected another one of his irritating comments, but instead he simply said, “Goodnight, Aria.”
I walked away but then I stopped and hated myself for it. I turned around and when I did, he was still standing there.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why did you turn around?”
“I don’t know.”
He smiled again, and that was the beginning of my worst decision.
—
I woke up the next morning with one thought.
I had made a mistake.
Not because Roman had done anything wrong. That was exactly the problem. I had enjoyed myself, too much.
I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the unfamiliar shirt lying over the chair.
His.
I picked it up and immediately dropped it again.
“No.”
My phone buzzed.
Sofia.
Are you alive?
I typed back.
Unfortunately.
Her reply came immediately.
So it was good then?
I ignored her.
I couldn’t explain why I felt so unsettled. Maybe it was because I didn’t usually do things like this. I had spent most of my life being the daughter everyone expected me to be.
Responsible, polite, careful. The Bennett daughter. The good girl.
Last night hadn’t been that girl, I had been someone else, and maybe that was why I didn’t want to think about it. I showered, dressed and went downstairs.
My mother was sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee in front of her. When I got closer, she looked up.
“You’re home late.”
“I went out with Sofia.”
“I know.”
Something in her voice made me stop.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
My father was unusually quiet too.
I sat down and for the next few minutes, nobody said anything. Then my father placed his phone on the table.
“Aria, we need to talk.”
I looked between them.
“About what?”
My mother’s fingers tightened around her cup when my father looked at me.
“Something has changed.”
I frowned.
“What changed?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he said something that made the room suddenly feel much colder.
“Someone has been asking questions about you.”
And for the first time that morning, I forgot all about Roman.
Because my father looked afraid, and I had never seen Daniel Bennett look afraid before.