CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE LINE THEY ALMOST CROSSED
Night had settled over the city like a velvet curtain, quiet and shimmering with distant traffic. Aria stood in her kitchen, fingers trembling around a glass of water she hadn't even sipped.
Damien was in her living room.
Again.
He had come after work to check on Eli, but Eli had fallen asleep unusually early, exhausted from school and playtime. Now the apartment was silent except for the low hum of the fridge and the soft rhythm of Damien's breathing from the other room.
Aria pressed her hand to her chest.
She wasn't prepared for this.
She wasn't prepared for him.
She stepped out of the kitchen slowly, stopping when she saw him.
Damien stood by the bookshelf, one hand touching the spine of a children's book. His expression was unreadable—soft, solemn, full of a longing he tried to hide. He didn't hear her approach; he was too deep in thought.
"Damien?" she whispered.
He turned instantly.
Their eyes collided—sharp, warm, electric.
Something inside her unraveled.
"Is he asleep?" Damien asked, voice low.
She nodded. "Completely."
He nodded once, looking toward the hallway with something like reverence.
Then his gaze returned to her.
The room felt smaller suddenly. The distance between them felt fragile, as if one breath too deep would break it entirely.
"Aria," he said, stepping closer, "we need to talk."
She stiffened, bracing herself.
"About what?"
"About us."
Her pulse kicked.
"There is no 'us.'"
His jaw tightened.
"You keep saying that, but the way you look at me—"
"Don't," she whispered sharply, eyes flashing.
"Don't put meaning where there isn't any."
Damien exhaled, slow and controlled, but his voice betrayed him.
"I'm trying," he said softly.
"Trying to go slow. Trying not to push. Trying not to want too much. But every day I'm here… Aria, it's getting harder to pretend this doesn't feel like something."
Her breath caught.
"Damien—"
"No," he murmured, stepping closer.
"Let me finish."
Her back brushed the edge of the table.
She hadn't even realized she was moving.
"Listen to me," he said, voice low and steady, "I'm not asking for a second chance overnight. I'm asking for honesty. Do you feel it too?"
Aria's chest tightened painfully.
He was too close now.
Close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes.
Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him in soft, devastating waves.
She tried to breathe but failed.
"Damien… please," she whispered, "I can't—"
"Yes," he murmured. "You can."
He lifted his hand—slow, careful, deliberate—and touched her cheek. Only the lightest graze of skin against skin.
Aria froze.
Her heart slammed.
Her breath fractured.
Damien swallowed hard.
"I said I wouldn't push you," he said quietly, "but I'm standing right here, and you're looking at me like you want something you're afraid to name."
Her eyes burned.
"I'm not afraid," she whispered.
He stepped even closer.
"Then say it," he breathed.
Her throat tightened painfully.
She couldn't look away from him.
She couldn't even blink.
"Damien," she whispered, voice shaking, "I don't know if I trust you."
He nodded—slow, accepting, unflinching.
"I know," he murmured.
"But trust isn't built in a day. It's built in moments. Like this one."
His thumb brushed her cheek.
Her eyes fluttered shut.
"Open your eyes," he whispered.
She obeyed.
When she did, she found him watching her like she was the first honest thing he'd held in years.
His voice broke into a whisper.
"I want to kiss you."
Her knees weakened.
She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself.
"Damien…" she breathed.
"Tell me no," he murmured, eyes locked on her lips.
"Tell me to stop."
Her body betrayed her.
She didn't move.
She didn't speak.
She didn't stop him.
Damien leaned closer—slowly, painfully slowly—until his forehead nearly touched hers. His breath mingled with hers, warm and intoxicating.
Their lips hovered.
Barely a breath apart.
Aria's heart was a frantic, terrified, desperate thing in her chest.
"Tell me no," he whispered again, voice breaking.
But she didn't.
And that was the moment everything almost changed.
That was the moment the line they'd drawn between past and present wavered—
until Eli called softly from the hallway:
"Mommy?"
Aria jerked back.
Damien exhaled sharply, stepping away like he'd been burned.
The moment shattered.
Aria rushed to Eli's room.
Damien stood frozen, chest rising and falling unevenly, hands curled into fists at his sides.
He had almost kissed her.
She had almost let him.
And if Eli hadn't woken—
They both knew what would've happened.
When Aria returned minutes later, Eli asleep again, Damien was at the door.
"I should go," he murmured.
Aria nodded, unable to look at him.
But as he stepped out, Damien paused.
"Aria," he said quietly.
She forced herself to meet his gaze.
"We're not done," he whispered.
"We will talk about this. About what almost happened. About what you didn't say."
Her heart twisted.
Then he left.
And Aria stood alone in the silent apartment, trembling, breathless, and painfully aware of one truth:
She wasn't just scared of Damien.
She was scared of herself.
She almost let him back in.
She almost wanted to.