Chapter 28
(Aria’s POV)
The door won’t close.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the empty doorway, frustration curling in my chest. Matteo broke it down. He didn’t even hesitate. One second, I was shutting them out, and the next, he had torn through my last layer of defense like it was nothing.
And now, my door is useless.
Just like my attempts to keep them at a distance.
I should be angry. I should be storming back downstairs, demanding they fix it. But instead, I feel… unsettled.
Because no one has ever cared enough to knock down a door for me before.
And I don’t know how to handle that.
The Weight of Their Kindness
I pull my knees up to my chest, resting my chin against them. The room feels too big, too open.
The warmth of their presence lingers in the air, in the way their hands had held me, in the way their lips had pressed against my forehead–gentle, yet claiming.
They didn’t ask if I wanted comfort. They just gave it.
I should have pushed them away. But I didn’t.
Because despite how suffocating their possessiveness feels, a part of me–the part I try so hard to ignore–likes it.
Likes the way Enzo wiped that lone tear from my cheek.
Likes the way Matteo’s teasing felt more like a distraction than an insult.
Likes the way Dante, usually so unreadable, looked at me like I was something fragile but important.
It terrifies me.
Because if I let myself get used to this–to them–what happens when they decide I’m not worth the effort anymore?
Escaping in the Water
I push off the bed and head to the bathroom, needing something to ground me.
The hot water scalds my skin, but I welcome the sting. I let it wash over me, let it drown out the thoughts circling in my mind.
I close my eyes, inhaling the scent of lavender shampoo, trying to clear my head.
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But it’s impossible.
Because even here, in the silence, I can still feel them. Their hands, their warmth, their presence lingering on my skin like a whisper.
Dressed in Comfort, Wrapped in Memories
By the time I step out, my body is warm, my muscles loose–but the tension in my chest hasn’t eased.
I grab my favorite oversized sweatshirt from my bag–the one that still smells faintly of my father’s cologne.
It’s old, worn, but it makes me feel safe.
I slip it on, pairing it with black cotton shorts, and let out a slow breath.
For a moment, I feel like myself again.
But then my gaze drifts back to the door.
A Door That Won’t Close
I try to block it with a chair. It’s not enough. I shove my suitcase against it. Still not enough.
No matter what I do, the space remains open–a reminder that nothing in this house is truly mine.
That no matter how much I try to keep them out, they’ll find a way in.
And the worst part?
I’m not sure I want to stop them.
A Silent Offering
Time passes. The house grows quiet, the echoes of dinner fading into the night.
I should sleep. I need sleep.
But then, just as I start to drift off, I hear it.
Soft footsteps.
My breath catches, my body tensing. I don’t move, don’t say anything. Just listen.
The footsteps stop outside my doorway.
Then, after a pause–something rustles.
I wait. One second. Two. Then, finally, the footsteps retreat, disappearing down the hall.
Slowly, I sit up, my heart pounding as I glance toward the entrance.
And that’s when I see it.
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A folded blanket, neatly placed just inside my room. A bottle of water, untouched but waiting.
A simple, wordless act of care.
I swallow hard, my throat tightening.
They don’t just want to own me.
They want me to be okay.
And that realization is more terrifying than anything else.
Because I can’t decide what’s more dangerous–their possessiveness, or how much I want to trust it.
I stare at the folded blanket, the untouched bottle of water, and the way they were left just inside the room.
They didn’t come in. They could have. Matteo had already broken the door–what was stopping them?
Nothing.
And yet… they gave me space.
I hesitate for a long moment before reaching for the blanket. It’s thick, soft beneath my fingers, holding the lingering warmth of someone’s touch. I clutch it against my chest, breathing in a scent that’s unmistakably theirs–a mix of musk, spice, and something frustratingly comforting.
I shouldn’t accept this.
I shouldn’t let them win.
But my body is exhausted, my mind even more so.
I crawl under the covers, pulling the blanket over me despite the warmth already in the room. It’s too much, too heavy- yet exactly what I need.
I close my eyes, willing sleep to come.
But my thoughts keep drifting.
Thoughts Before Sleep
What am I doing?
I came here expecting indifference, cruelty even. But instead, they’ve given me something far more dangerous.
Attention.
Understanding.
Comfort.
I don’t know how to handle it./
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People don’t care for free. Not in my world.
I want to believe it’s a game. That they’re just doing this to pull me deeper into whatever twisted thing this is.
But… something about them–about the way they touched me tonight–felt too real.
Not ownership.
Not control.
Something else.
I exhale slowly, my grip tightening around the blanket. I can’t afford to believe in them.
And yet…
Somewhere in the quiet darkness, a small, fragile part of me wants to.
Drifting Into Sleep
The house is silent now. No voices. No footsteps. Just the faint creaks of the old walls settling.
The tension in my body eases, my thoughts growing distant, hazy.
The warmth of the blanket, the scent of them surrounding me–it lulls me into something safe, something I can’t fight.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel completely alone.
And as sleep pulls me under, I swear I hear a voice in the back of my mind.
“Good girl.”
A shiver runs down my spine.
But this time, I don’t hate it.
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