The first thing I noticed was the sound.
Water.
The steady hiss of the shower running behind the closed bathroom door. It was soft but jarring in the morning silence — like the world dared to keep turning when mine had collapsed.
For a moment, I forgot where I was. My eyes fluttered open to unfamiliar surroundings. The sheets beneath me were untouched. I had sat on the edge of the bed for hours last night, too haunted to lie down, eventually curling up against the headboard like some scared animal. I must have drifted off sometime after Austin left.
Now, the golden light of dawn spilled through the half-open curtains, brushing against the ivory walls of his room.
No, our room now.
I sat up slowly, my body aching like I'd run a marathon through memories and grief. The air smelled faintly of cedarwood — his cologne — and something clean, like soap. My eyes flicked to the door. It was ajar, steam slipping through the crack in ghostly wisps.
So he had come back. Sometime in the night, without me noticing.
The thought unsettled me more than I cared to admit.
I pressed my palms into my lap, feeling the raw indentations of my nails against my skin. I should have left before he returned. Or maybe he should have had the decency to stay away
The water stopped.
I froze.
For some stupid reason, I didn't move — didn't flee, didn't speak. I just sat there as the silence returned, heavy and loaded. Moments later, the door creaked open and he stepped out, towel around his waist, dark hair dripping down his forehead.
Austin Walther.
The boy I once knew was buried under the broad-shouldered man who now walked past me without a word. The same man who had stood in front of a mourning crowd and claimed me like a transaction.
He reached for the closet, pulled out a shirt, and then finally — finally — glanced my way.
"You didn't sleep," he said.
It wasn't a question.
I stared at him, hollow and brittle. "Neither did you."
He held my gaze for a second too long. "You should eat something."
"Do you always take care of people you trap?"
His eyes darkened. "I didn't trap you."
"No? You stood in front of everyone and declared it. You didn't even look at me before you did.
He sighed, brushing a hand through his wet hair. "Do you really think I wanted this, Aria? Any of this?"
I opened my mouth — but what could I say? That I didn't know what he wanted anymore? That I no longer understood this man who once laughed at inside jokes and snuck me cupcakes at midnight?
"Why did you do it, Austin?" I asked, voice barely above a breath. "Why marry me?"
His jaw clenched again. "Because someone had to."
"That's not an answer. That's an excuse."
He pulled on his shirt and turned away, his movements sharp. "It was a mess. You were breaking, my parents were losing it, the media was already circling like vultures. If I hadn't—"
"You'd rather bind me to a life I didn't choose than let them gossip?"
He turned back around, eyes flashing with something unreadable. "I did it to protect you.
I laughed. Bitter. Cold. "By locking me in a cage?"
He stepped forward, just a little. Just enough that I felt the change in the air. "By shielding you from worse. You think they were just whispering, Aria? They were planning to destroy you. Headlines. Scandals. Rumors that you—" he stopped himself. "It would've broken you. And I wasn't going to let that happen.
I stood up, facing him. "Then don't pretend this is kindness. You didn't save me, Austin. You buried me with him.
He didn't flinch. But he didn't deny it either.
We stood there in the heavy silence, two broken souls bound by something neither of us had asked for. And for a moment, I wondered — not if I could survive this — but if we could. If this forced beginning had the seeds of something more… or if we were just ghosts clinging to a lie
"I'm going to get dressed," I said flatly. "I want to leave this room."
"Where will you go?"
"Anywhere but here."
He nodded once. "Fine. I'll have breakfast brought to your room. The guest one."
That stung more than I expected.
Your room. Not our room
And maybe that was better. Maybe it was what I needed.
But somehow, it still felt like another goodbye.
I didn't wait for him to say anything else. I turned, numb legs carrying me toward the dresser. With trembling fingers, I picked up the only thing I had left of Aiden that mattered in this godforsaken house — our photograph. It was a candid one, taken at a picnic Austin had dragged us to months ago. I was mid-laugh, head thrown back, and Aiden… Aiden was looking at me like I was the only thing in the world worth watching.
I clutched it to my chest like it could fill the hollow inside me. Like it could anchor me before I shattered all over again.
Then I grabbed the folded paper I'd tucked under my blouse — a small snapshot from my dressing table that morning — the last picture we took separately. I stared at his face for a second too long, then turned on my heel and left that room behind
Austin didn't stop me
He just watched me go.
The hallway outside felt colder. Quieter. I walked down it like a ghost, my fingers gripping the photo so tightly the edges dug into my palm. When I reached the guest room — the one they had prepared for relatives but never used — I slipped inside and shut the door behind me
It was brighter here, warmer in color, but that didn't matter.
Nothing did.
I sank to the floor, back against the door, and pulled my knees up to my chest. The photograph remained pressed to my heart as though I feared letting go would mean losing him again. My breathing turned shallow, each inhale scraping against my ribs like broken glass.
My throat ached.
It was happening again — that crushing wave. The kind that starts in your chest, crawls up your throat, and strangles you until all you can do is shake in silence
I pressed my forehead to my knees, struggling to swallow the scream that built inside me.
And then I heard it — the memory.
Not out loud. Not real. Just… echoing in my mind like a cruel joke
"Please be happy no matter what… with me or without me."
That was what he said.
His voice had been calm, gentle, even though it was his wedding day. I'd been in front of the mirror, adjusting my earrings when he called. I thought he was nervous — normal groom jitters. I had laughed, told him to stop being dramatic and hurry up because I was all ready and waiting.
But now, in the blistering silence of grief, the words hit differently.
He knew.
He knew.
Why else would he say something like that?
Why else would a man, hours before marrying the love of his life, sound so… final?
Had he been threatened? Followed? Had he been warned not to come?
Or worse — had he accepted it?
I buried my face deeper into my knees, hot tears slipping down, silent and searing.
I'd ignored it. Brushed it off with a laugh and told him to drive safe, to hurry. I didn't ask him why he sounded off. Didn't read between the lines. Didn't stop to wonder why his voice carried the weight of goodbye.
And now, those were his last words to me.
Not "I love you."
Not "I'll see you soon."
Just a plea wrapped in quiet sorrow: Be happy. With me… or without me.
But I couldn't be. Not without him. Not like this.
The world had stolen my future, painted me as a villain, and chained me to his brother like it was some poetic punishment. And in the center of all this chaos was a single truth no one saw:
I was still waiting to wake up.
Still hoping this was a dream.
Because if this was real, then that meant Aiden was truly gone. That meant those eyes — the ones that looked at me like I was magic — were closed forever. That meant there would be no more late-night texts, no more quiet hand-holding under the dinner table, no more promises whispered against my skin.
Only ashes.
Only silence.
Only pitying eyes and headlines soaked in venom.
I didn't know how long I stayed like that — curled on the floor, fingers tangled in the fabric of my gown, whispering his name like a prayer I didn't believe in anymore.
The only thing I knew was that my heart had stopped with his.
And now I was breathing only because my body hadn't learned how to stop.