Aria couldn't sleep.
She tried—God knew she tried—but every time she closed her eyes, her mind looped like a broken movie reel.
This wasn't her body. This wasn't her life. And yet, here she was… alive. Breathing. Lying in a bed that probably cost more than her old apartment.
The ceiling above her was ornate, molded with curves and spirals she bet some underpaid artisan spent weeks perfecting. Too perfect. Like everything in this house.
She turned onto her side and stared at the wall. Still didn't help.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the silk sheet. How the hell did silk manage to feel cold? Figures. Even the bedding was emotionally distant.
A soft sound broke the stillness. The door clicked open.
Aria's breath caught in her throat.
Xander.
He didn't say a word. Just walked in like it was the most natural thing in the world—loosening his cuffs, unbuttoning the top of his shirt. Like they did this every night.
Spoiler alert: they did not.
He got into the bed without a glance, his movements so precise it almost pissed her off. Not a single sound except the dip of the mattress beneath him.
She blinked at the ceiling.
Okay. Sure. This was fine. Totally normal.
"...So this is a thing now?" she asked into the silence, her voice too loud in the cavernous room.
He didn't answer.
Of course not.
"I mean, we didn't share a bed for, what, three years? But now you're suddenly Mr. Husband-of-the-Year?"
Still nothing.
Was this what it was like to talk to a wall? Because she was starting to develop a weird respect for drywall.
She rolled toward him, watching the rigid line of his back. "If this is for show, I get it. But FYI—I'm not the same woman you ignored before."
A pause. Not dramatic. Not even meaningful. Just… there.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"No. You're not."
Her breath hitched.
He didn't turn around. Didn't explain. Just dropped that truth bomb like it wasn't going to explode inside her chest.
She stared at the back of his head for a full minute, heart doing stupid things she didn't approve of.
Then she sighed and turned away too.
It didn't mean anything. It couldn't.
But still… something in the air had shifted.
Maybe not much. Maybe just a hairline crack.
But it was there.
And Aria Lin Quinn? She wasn't going to waste her second life pretending it wasn't.