The morning sunlight cut through the curtains like blades, illuminating the room with a glow that felt almost cruel in its brightness. Vivian stirred under the sheets, her eyes blinking open slowly as the ache in her chest returned like an unwelcome guest. It wasn't just the aftermath of the night—sleepless, restless, haunted by voices and memories—it was the weight of everything left unsaid. The cracks in her soul hadn't begun to heal. If anything, they were spreading.
She turned to the side, expecting silence. But Damien's voice drifted gently from the kitchen.
"You still take your coffee with a little honey?"
Vivian sat up, blinking away the haze. He was here. Right—he had stayed over, like he used to back when things with Julian first started spiraling. Back when Damien had been just a friend with a patient ear and no judgment. That hadn't changed. He'd offered to crash on the couch, keeping his distance, respecting the boundaries she hadn't even voiced. But she'd heard him talking to her cat in the middle of the night, his voice soothing, almost like he was talking to her instead.
She wrapped herself in a soft robe and walked out into the living room. Damien stood at the stove, flipping pancakes like it was any other Sunday.
"You're too good for me," she said softly.
He looked over his shoulder and smiled. "You just forgot that you deserve good things."
Vivian managed a tired smirk. "You always know the right thing to say."
"Yeah, but you don't always believe me." He plated the pancakes and set the coffee beside them. "Eat. You'll need the energy."
"For what? Another emotional ambush?" she muttered under her breath, sitting down.
Damien didn't push her. He never did. That was part of why she trusted him—not fully, not yet, but more than most. Especially now. She took a bite of the pancake, surprised she could still taste anything after all the bitterness she'd been swallowing these past weeks.
The apartment felt like a sanctuary again, for the first time since Julian's betrayal. It wasn't whole, not yet. But Damien's presence was like fresh air filtering through a musty room.
"Anything on your mind?" he asked carefully.
"Too much," she replied. "Aurora. Julian. Me." Her fork stabbed at the pancake like it had offended her. "You know she texted again?"
Damien's expression didn't shift. "And?"
"She says she's leaving the city soon. Something about a new opportunity overseas. An artist's residency."
"That what she called it?" he said, sipping his coffee.
Vivian tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"I just don't trust it. Not after everything. She doesn't strike me as someone who walks away without getting what she wants."
Vivian leaned back, the words sinking in. She hadn't told Damien everything Aurora had said during their last explosive encounter—the Paris reveal, the gut-wrenching details, the pictures, the casual cruelty in her tone as she tore down everything Vivian thought she knew about herself and her relationship. The way Aurora described Julian's lies so vividly. How he'd spent weeks planning a getaway with her while pretending to be swamped with work. How he'd laugh at Vivian's "innocent" texts asking when he'd be back.
Vivian clenched her jaw.
"I don't know why she keeps reaching out. She says she misses our friendship. That she regrets how she handled things."
"Regret and apology aren't the same thing," Damien said. "And neither of them undo the damage."
Vivian nodded slowly. "She said the art gallery trip in Paris was never about the exhibit. That it was... a move-in trial with Julian. That they were planning a future—while I was busy defending both of them."
Damien's brow darkened. "Viv—"
"And the worst part?" she said, voice cracking. "She made it sound like I was the obstacle. That I was too trusting. Too kind. That I never saw it coming because I didn't want to."
"She's manipulating you. Twisting the narrative to soften her guilt."
"She said Julian used to complain about me. That I wasn't adventurous enough in bed. That I was too careful, too serious." She laughed bitterly. "She made it seem like she was the one liberating him from me."
Damien didn't speak for a long time. Then he said, "Do you believe that?"
Vivian looked at him, raw and open. "A part of me does. And that's what kills me. That I'm still questioning myself because of them."
Damien walked around the counter and gently pulled her into a hug. She stiffened at first, then allowed herself to melt into the safety of his arms. His scent—coffee and something cedar-like—was grounding.
"I'm not going to tell you what to feel," he whispered. "But I know you. You are smart, strong, loyal. You didn't fail them—they failed you."
Vivian clung to him, her fingers digging into his shirt. "Then why does it still hurt so much?"
"Because you loved them. And you're human."
She stayed like that for a while. Letting herself feel small. Vulnerable. But not broken.
When they pulled apart, Damien glanced at his phone. "I've got a shoot this afternoon. Want to come with? Get out of here for a while?"
Vivian shook her head. "Not yet. I think I need to be alone today. Sort some things out."
He didn't argue. "Call me if you change your mind."
After he left, the silence returned—but it didn't suffocate her this time. She wandered back into the bedroom, pulled out the box of keepsakes she hadn't dared open in weeks. Old photos, ticket stubs, tiny trinkets from trips with Julian. A napkin from their favorite cafe. A Polaroid of her and Aurora, laughing in the kitchen, wine glasses in hand.
She stared at it.
Then, without hesitation, she grabbed a lighter and lit the photo's edge. It curled and blackened in her fingers before she let it fall into the sink.
The burn was slow. But so was healing.
Later that evening, Vivian sat by the window, journal in hand. She didn't know what to write—only that she needed to. Somewhere between the lines, maybe she'd find herself again.
A ping drew her eyes to her phone. Another message from Aurora.
"I'm leaving for Florence next week. I just wanted to say goodbye properly. Can we talk?"
Vivian stared at the screen. Not with rage, or sorrow. Just... quiet.
She didn't reply. Not yet.
But she didn't delete the message either.