(Glass Hearts & Sharp Truths)
The sea had a way of pretending everything was fine.
It glittered under sunlight, stretched endlessly, whispered calm—like it didn't hold storms beneath. Aria Larkspur stood by the grand piano in the villa's living room, fingers hovering over the keys, her reflection faint on the polished surface.
Look at you, she thought dryly. Smiling like nothing shattered. Oscar-worthy performance.
And she played.
Soft notes flowed out, delicate, controlled, precise. The staff gathered nearby exchanged relieved glances. Their young miss—finally stepping out, finally speaking, finally breathing like a human instead of a ghost.
"Miss Aria is amazing…"
"She plays like she's telling a story…"
"Feels… a little sad though, right?"
Of course it did.
Aria's lips curved faintly as she hit the final note, closing the lid with a soft click.
Sad? Darling, that's called emotional damage with background music.
She stood, stretching lazily. "Alright, show's over. Go do something productive—like not staring at me like I'm a museum exhibit."
They scattered immediately.
Good. Less audience, less pretending.
---
She walked toward the balcony, phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly.
System's voice popped up, annoyingly calm:
"Your emotional fluctuation remains unstable."
Aria snorted. "Wow, what a diagnosis. Next you'll tell me water is wet."
"You are recovering slower than expected."
She leaned against the railing, staring at the waves crashing below.
"Correction," she murmured. "I'm recovering exactly how I want."
A pause.
Then—
"You still think about Ethan Vale."
Her smile sharpened.
"Think? Sure. Like how people remember stepping on glass barefoot."
---
Downstairs, Dominic Reyes was arguing with someone on the phone.
"Cancel it." His voice was firm, edged with steel. "We're not leaving yet."
A pause.
"No, I don't care about the schedule. I care about her."
Aria rolled her eyes from above. Overprotective much?
Still… her chest tightened slightly.
Stop that.
---
Later that evening, dinner was quieter than usual.
Dominic placed food onto her plate without asking. "Eat."
Aria raised a brow. "What am I, five?"
"You act like it."
She smirked. "And you act like a retired dad who just discovered emotional expression."
He gave her a look. "At least I didn't run off with a walking red flag in a tailored suit."
"Ouch." She clutched her chest dramatically. "Careful, my nonexistent dignity might cry."
Dominic leaned back. "If he shows up again—"
"He won't," she cut in smoothly.
A lie.
Both of them knew it.
---
Night fell heavy.
The wind outside picked up again, rustling leaves, tapping faintly against the glass.
Aria sat cross-legged on the floor, controller in hand, completely invested.
"Come on, come on—don't die, don't die—"
Game Over.
"…Fantastic." She dropped the controller. "Even pixels betray me now."
She stood, heading toward the balcony.
The door slid open with a soft sound.
Cold air rushed in.
And then—
A shadow moved.
Fast.
A hand caught her wrist.
Aria's eyes sharpened instantly. "Bold. Breaking into a private villa? You've got—"
She stopped.
Of course.
Of course it's him.
Ethan Vale stood there, breath uneven, eyes bloodshot, like he hadn't slept in days. His usual sharp perfection? Gone. Replaced by something raw. Messy. Real.
Honestly?
He looked terrible.
She tilted her head. "Wow. Vale Cooperation not paying you enough to afford sleep?"
He didn't respond.
Just pulled her into a tight embrace.
Too tight.
Like if he loosened his grip, she'd disappear.
For a moment—
Just one—
Her body froze.
This again.
Her fingers curled slightly.
Then relaxed.
Then stilled.
"Let go," she said quietly.
He didn't.
"I said," her voice sharpened, "let go."
Slowly, reluctantly, he did.
They stood facing each other.
Wind howled outside. Curtains danced wildly. The sea roared faintly in the distance.
Perfect dramatic backdrop.
How cinematic, she thought bitterly.
---
"Aria…" His voice cracked. "I—"
She held up a hand. "Pause. Before you start your emotional TED Talk, let me guess."
She began counting on her fingers.
"Regret. Love. Mistake. Pain. Redemption arc. Did I miss anything?"
His jaw tightened. "This isn't a joke."
"Everything is a joke," she shot back. "Some of us just weren't told we're the punchline."
Silence.
Heavy.
Then—
"I love you."
There it was.
Aria blinked once.
Twice.
Then laughed.
Not loud.
Not hysterical.
Just… sharp.
"Congratulations," she said flatly. "You finally learned a new word. Want a gold star?"
Ethan stepped closer. "I mean it."
"And I mean this—" She leaned in slightly, eyes cold. "You don't get to rewrite history just because your feelings showed up late."
His hand clenched. "I was wrong."
"Groundbreaking." She clapped slowly. "Truly revolutionary behavior. Man realizes he messed up—more at ten."
---
He reached for her again.
She stepped back.
Distance.
Clear.
Defined.
"Don't," she warned.
His voice dropped. "Give me another chance."
Aria stared at him.
Really looked.
At the exhaustion.
The desperation.
The guilt.
For a second—
Something flickered.
Then—
Gone.
"You had chances," she said quietly. "Plural."
Each word landed clean.
"You just kept choosing yourself."
---
Silence stretched.
Then she exhaled softly.
"Alright," she said. "You want honesty? Here it is."
She stepped closer.
Too close.
Her voice dropped.
"I liked you."
His breath hitched.
"I trusted you."
His eyes flickered.
"I waited for you."
His expression cracked.
Then—
She smiled.
Cold. Beautiful. Merciless.
"And you failed. Repeatedly. Impressively. Almost artistically."
---
He looked like he'd been hit.
Good.
She wasn't done.
"You didn't lose me, Ethan," she added calmly. "You wasted me."
That one?
That one landed deep.
---
For a moment, neither moved.
Then—
He whispered, "I'll fix it."
Aria laughed again, softer this time.
"No," she said. "You won't."
She turned away, walking back inside.
Paused.
Then added without looking back—
"And don't climb balconies anymore. It's desperate. Not romantic."
---
Behind her, silence.
Heavy.
Then—
A quiet sound.
Footsteps.
Retreating.
Gone.
---
Aria stood still.
Counting.
One.
Two.
Three.
She walked back to the balcony.
Looked down.
Empty.
Of course.
---
She shut the door.
Locked it.
Pulled the curtains closed.
Her reflection stared back at her.
Calm.
Unbothered.
Perfect.
Her hand trembled slightly.
She stilled it.
Control, she reminded herself. Always control.
---
System's voice echoed softly:
"Emotional suppression detected."
Aria smirked faintly.
"Correction," she murmured. "Damage management."
Then she picked up her controller again.
"Now," she muttered, "round two. Let's see who ruins me faster—you or life."