The Ghost Between Frames

New York City – Hayden Collective, Two Weeks Before the Solo Show

Aria stood at the center of her studio, heart racing.

The final piece for her solo exhibition—Threaded Horizons—was complete. Layers of oil and acrylic bled into each other like lovers tangled between distance and devotion. The gold thread that ran through her works had become symbolic, a whisper of Ronan in every stroke.

But something was off.

Not the art. The air.

Tension hovered between her shoulder blades, an invisible pressure she couldn't name.

Until her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: "Didn't think I'd see your name again. Seems like fame suits you, Aria."

She stared at the screen, her blood freezing.

Liam.

She hadn't heard from her ex in almost a year—ever since she walked out on him after the fight that changed everything. After he grabbed her arm hard enough to bruise, after he said things that made her question the girl in the mirror.After he almost got Ronan suspended.

She blocked the number immediately.

But the ripple had already started.

That Night – Facetime With Ronan

Ronan's face filled the screen—sweaty, smiling, glowing.

"I made it."

"Barcelona?"

He nodded. "They want me on the U23 starting roster next season. I'm flying back to Paris to finalize things, then I'll come visit before your show."

She smiled, trying to match his excitement. "I'm proud of you. So proud."

But he paused. "Something's wrong. I can hear it."

She hesitated. Then shook her head. "It's nothing. Just nerves."

She wanted to tell him. But she also didn't want to give Liam any more space in their life than he'd already taken.

"I'll be there in ten days," Ronan said, softer now. "No phone screen. Just you and me."

She nodded. "Just us."

Ten Days Later – Aria's Apartment, New York

The knock on the door came just after midnight.

Aria opened it to find Ronan standing there, hair damp from the rain, suitcase in one hand, flowers in the other.

She leapt into his arms without a word.

They didn't speak for a long while. Just kissed. Just felt.

Later, curled up on her couch with his hoodie over her tank top, she finally whispered, "Liam messaged me."

Ronan tensed instantly. "What did he say?"

"Just… that he saw my name. That I looked like success suited me."

His jaw clenched. "Is he still in New York?"

"I don't know. I blocked the number."

He looked at her for a long moment, thumb brushing her cheek. "Tell me next time, okay?"

She nodded. "I just didn't want him to ruin anything."

"He won't. I won't let him."

One Week Later – Solo Exhibition Night

The gallery buzzed with critics, collectors, and creatives.

Aria floated between conversations, wine in hand, nerves held at bay by Ronan's steady gaze from across the room.

He wore a tailored black jacket over a gray tee, his usual edge softened by the pride in his eyes. He didn't talk much—but when people asked about the gold thread motif, he simply smiled and said, "That's hers."

But as Aria stepped into the back corridor to catch her breath, her skin prickled again.

She turned—and there he was.

Liam.

Older. Hollow-eyed. Dressed like someone who hadn't quite figured out how to move on.

"Aria," he said softly, stepping forward.

She froze.

"I'm not here to cause a scene," he added quickly. "I just wanted to see if you were real."

"I am," she said, her voice clear. "And you need to leave."

"I never stopped thinking about—"

She raised a hand. "No."

He opened his mouth again, but then—

Ronan appeared.

He said nothing. Just stepped between them, taller, solid, calm—but radiating protectiveness.

Liam faltered. "Ah. Him."

Ronan's voice was low. "Walk away."

Liam looked at Aria again, as if waiting for her to say something. When she didn't, he scoffed softly and turned around, disappearing into the crowd.

Ronan turned to her. "You okay?"

She swallowed hard. "I am now."

Later That Night – Aria's Apartment

They lay tangled in sheets, the sound of the city muffled through the window.

"He doesn't get to own space in your life anymore," Ronan whispered into her hair.

"He doesn't," she said softly. "Not with you here."

She looked up at him. "Promise me something?"

"Anything."

"No matter what happens—Barcelona, New York, everything—we don't disappear. We don't let the world swallow what this is."

He touched her cheek. "I'd fly through a thousand cities just to land in your arms."

She kissed him, slow and deep.

In that moment, it didn't matter where they'd go next.

It only mattered that they'd find their way there—together.