The hotel room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Eli had fallen asleep curled against her, his little hand tucked beneath her chin, his breathing soft and even. But Aria couldn't sleep. She hadn't even changed out of her work clothes.
She just sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the city lights blinking through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
So much had happened in one day.
Seeing Elias again had felt like brushing up against the edges of a memory she had fought hard to bury. Sharp. Cold. Familiar.
And dangerous.
She ran her fingers through her hair, tugging lightly at the roots. Her scalp ached. Maybe from the tension. Maybe from the guilt.
She looked over at Eli.
Peaceful.
Oblivious.
Safe.
And that was all she wanted—for him to remain safe. Untouched by the war she had once fought to survive in her heart.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
She picked it up without thinking.
A message from Sadie: How did it go? Need wine? Or something stronger?
Aria managed a tired smile and typed back, Later. He was exactly who I remember—just in a better suit.
Sadie replied instantly: Still devastatingly attractive?
She rolled her eyes but didn't answer.
Because yes. He was.
But it wasn't the tailored suits or the clean jawline or the way his eyes stayed unreadable. It was the way he still managed to see everything without saying anything. Like silence was his native tongue. Like he knew more than he let on.
She wrapped her arms around herself.
He had looked at her with more than surprise.
There had been hurt—quick, buried—but there.
And curiosity.
Too much curiosity.
Aria rose and walked to her bag. She opened it and retrieved the folder she'd handed him earlier, just to double-check she hadn't forgotten anything.
That's when she saw it.
Eli's drawing.
Her heart dropped.
"No…"
She knelt and rifled through the documents again, more frantically this time.
The drawing had been in the folder. She'd tucked it in by accident during her last-minute packing rush. She was sure she had taken it out.
But she hadn't.
And now Elias had it.
Aria sat still on the carpeted floor, one hand over her mouth.
Did he see it? Did he connect the dots?
Would he?
She thought about his eyes when he looked at her. There had been something simmering beneath that calm exterior.
He knew.
Or at least, he suspected.
Panic edged into her chest.
What would he do?
Would he confront her? Demand answers? Worse—take Eli?
No. Elias wasn't impulsive. If anything, he was calculated. He'd wait. Watch. Then strike.
And the most terrifying thing was that Aria didn't even know what he'd be fighting for—her or the truth.
Or both.
She walked back to the bed, pulled the covers over Eli, and kissed his forehead.
"I've protected you this long," she whispered. "I won't stop now."
The next morning arrived with a crispness in the air and a call from the front desk.
"Miss Collins," the concierge said, "you have a delivery."
"A delivery?"
"Yes, ma'am. It's already been brought to your suite."
Aria frowned.
She hung up and turned to find a white envelope on the side table by the door. There was no logo. No name. Just her name written in familiar, sharp lettering.
She opened it slowly.
Inside was a note:
We need to talk. Tonight. 7PM. The Rose Room. Come alone. –E.B.
Her pulse quickened.
Of course he wouldn't say more. Of course he wouldn't explain.
Elias Blackwood never did.
She held the card like it might burn her fingers.
He wanted to talk.
That meant he knew something.
Or suspected enough to force a confrontation.
She stared at the note for a long time before folding it in half and slipping it into her coat pocket.
There was no question about whether she would go.
Only about what she was willing to say when she got there.
At exactly 7:00 PM, Aria walked into the Rose Room.
The private lounge on the thirty-third floor of Blackwood Tower was dimly lit, with glass chandeliers and red velvet accents that whispered wealth and intimacy.
Elias was already there.
Of course he was.
He stood as she approached, but he didn't offer his hand. Just nodded. His expression unreadable.
She sat opposite him at the small round table. A single candle flickered between them.
"Elias," she said first, quietly.
"Aria."
There was a pause. A stretch of silence. And then he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
The drawing.
He slid it across the table without a word.
Aria didn't touch it.
She didn't need to.
Her heart was already pounding.
"I found this in your folder," he said, voice low but steady.
She met his gaze. Said nothing.
"Is he mine?"
The question landed between them like thunder.
She looked down, then up again, slowly.
"He has your eyes," he added.
Aria took a breath. Held it. Let it out.
"Yes," she whispered.
Elias closed his eyes for half a second. When he opened them again, they were steady.
"How old is he?"
"Four. He turned four in January."
Another pause. Another flicker in his eyes.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She swallowed. "Because I didn't want him to grow up with a father who didn't know how to love."
It was cruel.
And honest.
Elias didn't flinch.
"I would have tried," he said.
"You didn't try, Elias. Not with me. Not when it mattered."
He looked at her then—not with anger, but with the ache of old wounds.
"You walked away."
"Because you let me."
"You think I didn't care?" His voice was still calm, but there was steel beneath it. "You think I didn't feel it when you left? Every single day?"
"Then why didn't you come after me?"
He didn't answer right away.
"Because I thought I was doing the right thing," he finally said. "I thought giving you space was mercy. I didn't know you were carrying my son."
The candle between them flickered.
"I wanted to tell you," Aria said softly. "So many times. But I was afraid."
"Afraid of me?"
"Afraid of what loving you again would cost me."
Elias leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "I want to meet him."
Aria's chest tightened.
"This isn't about want," she said. "This is about what's best for him."
"I am what's best for him," Elias replied. "And you know it."
She searched his face for arrogance, for presumption—but there was none. Only quiet conviction.
"He's not ready," she said. "He doesn't even know what a father is supposed to be."
"Then let me show him."
Aria looked down at her hands. They were shaking.
"You can't just walk in and demand this, Elias."
"I'm not demanding," he said. "I'm asking. But make no mistake—I won't disappear again."
"I don't know if I trust you with him."
"Do you still love me?" he asked.
The question caught her off guard.
"That's not the point—"
"It is to me."
She didn't speak.
"I know I failed you, Aria," he said quietly. "But I won't fail him. You don't have to let me back into your life. But let me into his."
She blinked fast, fighting the burn behind her eyes.
"I'm not the same woman I was, Elias."
"And I'm not the same man. Maybe we both needed the time apart to become the people we needed to be."
Aria leaned back, breath shaky.
"I'll think about it."
"That's all I ask."
A pause.
Then she added, "He likes dinosaurs. And fruit snacks. And he hates bedtime."
Elias smiled faintly. "I'll keep that in mind."
She stood. "I should go."
He rose as well. "Aria."
She turned back.
"I meant what I said. I want to be part of his life."
She nodded slowly. "We'll see."
And then she walked away, not knowing if she was walking toward the beginning of something new—or the resurrection of something she thought had already died.