Chapter 4
The sound of clinking glasses and murmured conversations fills the air as I step into my mom’s penthouse.
Her annual fashion party is in full swing, with models, designers, and influencers draped in couture sipping champagne like it’s water.
I adjust the hem of my dress—a simple black number I threw on in a hurry—and scan the room.
My mom spots me immediately, her sharp eyes narrowing before she smiles and glides over, her sequined gown catching the light with every step.
“Aria, darling,” she coos, pulling me into a light hug that smells like expensive perfume, “You came. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Yeah, well,” I mutter, stepping back. “I didn’t have much else to do.”
Her smile falters for a second before she smooths it out.
“You look… tired. Are you eating enough? Sleeping?”
I sigh. “Mom, please don’t.”
She frowns, tilting her head. “I’m just worried. I heard about the… incident at the wedding.”
Of course, she has. Gossip spreads faster than wildfire in her circles.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say firmly, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.
“Aria,” she presses, lowering her voice.
“Brandon called me. He’s devastated. He told me he’s been trying to reach you, but you won’t answer.”
“Because I don’t want to talk to him,” I snap, the bitterness in my voice surprising even me.
My mom purses her lips. “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh? People make mistakes.”
I set the champagne down on a nearby table, my stomach twisting.
“A mistake is forgetting my birthday or showing up late to dinner. Cheating on me and getting someone else pregnant isn’t a mistake–it’s a choice.”
Her expression softens, but I can see the conflict in her eyes.
“Sweetheart, I just don’t want you to throw away something that could be fixed.”
“There’s nothing to fix,” I tell her, crossing my arms, not ready to change my decision.
“I’m done with him, Mom. I deserve better than that.”
For a moment, she just looks at me, her sharp features unreadable. Then she sighs, nodding. “Alright. If that’s how you feel.”
“It is,” I say and let out a deep sigh.
“Fine,” she tells me, smoothing her dress. “But promise me you’ll at least try to move on. Don’t let this ruin you.”
“I won’t,” I say, though the words feel hollow.
A few days later, I find myself at the local stadium, camera in hand.
My editor has sent me to cover a football game for the sports section, which isn’t exactly my area of expertise, but I’m not in a position to argue.
The crowd is electric, the air buzzing with excitement as fans cheer and wave banners.
I work my way to the sidelines, snapping pictures of the players warming up, the coaches yelling instructions, and the crowd’s raw energy.
“Hey, you again,” a familiar voice says, pulling me out of my focus.
I turn to see Harry standing a few feet away, holding a hot dog and looking amused.
He’s dressed casually in a leather jacket and jeans, his dark hair slightly messy in a way that somehow makes him look even better.
“Harry?” I say, blinking in surprise.
He grins. “Didn’t think I’d see you here. What, you a football fan now?”
“Not exactly,” I admit, gesturing to my camera. “I’m covering the game for work.”
“A journalist, huh?” He looks impressed. “That’s cool. So, what, you’re writing about touchdowns and penalties now?”
I roll my eyes, but a small smile tugs at my lips.
“Something like that. What about you? What are you doing here?”
“Big fan,” he says, holding up his hot dog as if it were proof. “Season tickets Couldn’t miss it.”
We stand there for a moment, the noise of the stadium swirling around us.
“Want to hang out after the game?” he asks suddenly, his tone casual but his eyes hopeful.
Thesitate, glancing at my camera. “I don’t know. I’ve got a lot of work to do-”
“Come on,” he says, cutting me off. “One drink. You can even bring the camera if you want.”
I laugh despite myself, “Fine One drink”
The bar near the stadium is packed with fans celebrating their team’s victory, the atmosphere loud and lively.
Harry and I manage to find a small booth in the corner, where we can actually hear each other talk.
“So,” he says, leaning, back in his seat with a beer in hand. “How’d you end up as a journalist?”
1/2
Chapter 4
I shrug, sipping my soda. “I’ve always loved writing. Telling stories, digging for the truth–it just felt right, you know?”
He nods, his gaze thoughtful. “Makes sense. You seem like the kind of person who’d want to make a difference.”
I snort. “Not sure how much of a difference I’m making by covering football games.”
“Hey,” he says, grinning. “You’re making a difference to me. I wouldn’t have run into you otherwise.”
His words catch me off guard, and I feel a blush creeping up my neck.
“You’re ridiculous,” I mutter, looking away.
“Maybe,” he says, his tone teasing. “But you like it.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling.
It feels like weeks, or like thousands of years. But I don’t know, I can’t tell, I feel… okay.
Like maybe I’m not as broken as I thought. And probably I think I can move forward, if that’s just it.
