Chapter sixteen

Before the Fire

Aiden never thought the quiet moments would be the ones to haunt him.

Not the arguments, not the slammed doors or raised voices — but the quiet.

The stillness of Sunday mornings.

The way Emily used to hum under her breath while making coffee.

The soft rustle of her skirt brushing past his leg when she'd walk by without speaking.

The way her laughter slowly disappeared from their home.

That's what stayed.

He remembered the first time he noticed it — the distance.

It wasn't dramatic. It didn't announce itself.

It crept in like fog, barely visible, until one day he woke up and realized she hadn't kissed him goodbye.

And he hadn't asked why.

That morning, the house had been unusually bright.

Sunlight poured through the bay windows of their living room, catching in the curls

of Emily's hair as she read quietly on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her.

She looked peaceful. But not with him.

With herself.

She hadn't looked up when he entered the room.

"Coffee?" he asked, holding up the mug in his hand.

"No, thank you."

Something in her voice struck him as odd — formal, too careful. Like she was rehearsing neutrality.

He stared at her for a moment. "You okay?"

She looked up then.

Her eyes lingered on his face, like she was searching for something he hadn't offered in a long time.

"Yeah," she said finally. "Just tired."

Aiden had wanted to push. To say her name, close the distance, hold her until

whatever was buried between them cracked open. But he didn't.

Instead, he just nodded. "I'll be in the study."

And he walked away.

That's when I started losing her, he thought now. Not when she died.

Not when she left. But when I stopped asking.

Back then, Liam had still been around. His best friend.

His brother in all but blood. '

three of them had been inseparable once — dinners together, long weekends by the coast, laughter over late-night wine.

But even Liam had changed.

Or maybe Aiden had just stopped noticing the signs.

There had been one particular evening — a small celebration in their apartment.

Emily's manuscript had just been picked up by a publisher.

She was radiant that night, glowing with pride.

Aiden had wrapped his arms around her in front of everyone and told her how proud he was.

But later that night, he caught a look.

A single glance exchanged between Liam and Emily.

Brief. Unreadable. Gone before he could place it.

Still, it lodged itself in his chest like a splinter.

A week later, Liam canceled a trip they'd planned together — no explanation.

Emily grew quieter. Her phone screen started turning face-down more often.

And Aiden, so focused on work and pressure and everything else, told himself not to be paranoid.

He told himself she loved him.

He told himself Liam would never.

Until the night it unraveled.

He came home late.

The apartment was dark except for the flickering glow of the television — left on, sound muted.

Emily was curled up in a blanket on the couch.

Her eyes were red. She looked at him like she'd been waiting for hours.

"Aiden," she said quietly, "we need to talk."

He remembered the way his stomach dropped.

The dread that settled in, heavy and silent.

She didn't deny it. Not when he asked the question he never thought he'd speak aloud.

"Is it Liam?"

Her silence was the answer.

"I didn't want to," she whispered. "I didn't mean to."

That hurt the most — that it wasn't even premeditated. Just something that happened. Something she couldn't stop.

"How long?" he asked, voice raw.

"Three months."

Three months.

Three months of pretending. Of laughter, of shared space, of holding her while she dreamed of someone else.

He had walked out that night.

Not out of rage — out of survival.

Out of the crushing realization that he no longer knew the woman he'd loved more than anything.

Liam tried to explain the next day. Left voicemails.

Showed up at his office. Sent a letter Aiden never opened.

Aiden didn't respond.

Not until it was too late.

Emily's accident happened six weeks later.

And though the official report said the brakes failed — that it was just bad timing, a tragic turn of fate — there had always been something off.

A feeling. A gut-deep warning he could never shake.

And Liam?

Liam disappeared from the city not long after the funeral.

Vanished like a ghost.

Aiden had told himself to move on. Had buried it all. '

Emily's betrayal. Liam's betrayal. His own guilt for seeing it coming and doing nothing.

And then Hazel appeared.

And everything started again.

The face. The voice.

The way she smiled when she was nervous, or bit her lip when she was thinking. Her laugh.

It was like fate had resurrected Emily — not as she had been at the end, broken and distant — but as she had been when they first fell in love.

And it terrified him.

Because fate didn't bring people back without a price.

And Aiden had a feeling he was already starting to pay it.