Chapter Twenty-Three
Aria
Ten Days Later
I stare at my laptop screen until my eyes burn, the cursor blinking mockingly in the search bar. I've typed "Ronan Vale" so many times in the past hour that the words don't even look real anymore.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
No social media profiles. No news articles. No professional listings. It's like he doesn't exist outside of the life I knew him in. Even his construction company barely has an online footprint—just a basic website with a contact form and a few project photos.
I try "Adam Ronan" next, remembering what he'd said in that desperate confession at my door. Still nothing.
My chest tightens. What kind of person has zero digital presence in 2024? Either he's incredibly private, or…
Or he really is in witness protection like he claimed.
I slam the laptop shut and press my palms against my eyes until I see stars.
I don't know what I'm looking for. Proof that he's dangerous?
Proof that he's not? Some magical answer that will tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do with all these feelings that won't go away no matter how hard I try to bury them?
I miss him. God, I miss all of them. But Ronan especially, which makes me feel insane because he's the one who lied. He's the one with blood on his hands in those photos.
Except when I close my eyes, I don't see those photos. I see him reading to Finn, doing all the character voices, making his son giggle. I see him teaching Finn to tie his shoes with infinite patience. I see the way his whole face softens when he looks at his boy.
I see the way he looked at me.
My phone buzzes. Another text from Khloe asking if I want Thai food for dinner. I don't answer. I can't think about food when my stomach is twisted in knots.
Instead, I curl up on her couch and let myself drift, exhaustion finally winning.
In the dream, I'm back at Noah's house. The Christmas decorations are up—twinkling lights and garland everywhere. The twins are showing me their new Lego sets, talking over each other in that way they do.
"Aria, Aria, look at mine!"
"No, look at mine first!"
Then Finn toddles over, his little hand reaching for mine. His eyes are so bright, so trusting. He tugs on my sleeve until I crouch down to his level.
"Mama," he says, clear as day. "Where did you go, Mama?"
My heart shatters.
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry—"
But he's already walking away, back to Ronan, who scoops him up and holds him close. Ronan looks at me over Finn's head, and his eyes are devastated.
"We needed you," he says. "Why didn't you stay?"
I wake up with tears streaming down my face, my breath coming in gasps. The living room is dark except for the glow of the TV on mute. My cheeks are wet, my throat raw like I've been crying for a while.
"Hey, hey." Khloe's voice cuts through the fog. She's suddenly there, sitting on the edge of the couch, her hand on my shoulder.
"Aria, what's wrong?”
I can't speak. I just shake my head, more tears falling.
She doesn't push. She just sits with me, rubbing my back in slow circles until I can breathe again.
"I had a dream," I finally manage.
"About Finn. He called me Mama."
Khloe's expression softens. "Oh, honey."
"He's so little, Khloe. And Ronan—" My voice cracks.
"He's so good with him. He reads to him every night. He does all the voices. He makes him laugh. He's patient and gentle and—" I press my hands to my face.
"How can someone who's that good with his kid be a murderer?"
"Maybe he's not," Khloe says quietly.
I look up at her, surprised.
She shrugs. "I'm just saying. You've spent months with these guys. You've seen them with their kids, in their homes, when they didn't know you were watching. Does Ronan seem like a cold-blooded killer to you?"
"No," I whisper. "But the photos—"
"Who sent you those photos, Aria?"
The question stops me cold. "I... I don't know."
"Exactly." Khloe leans forward, her eyes intense. "Someone went through a lot of trouble to scare you away from him. They had you followed. They knew where you lived. They sent you evidence that was clearly meant to freak you out. Why?”
My mind races. "I didn't... I haven't thought about that."
"Maybe you should." She squeezes my hand.
"I'm not saying Ronan didn't do something in his past. Maybe he did. But if he's in witness protection like he says, doesn't that mean he was trying to do the right thing? And if someone's trying to scare you away from him now, doesn't that seem like maybe they're the bad guys?"
I stare at her, my heart pounding. She's right. I've been so focused on what Ronan did that I never stopped to think about who wanted me to know about it.
Or why.
"I don't know what to do," I admit, my voice small.
"You don't have to know right now," Khloe says.
"But maybe stop running from it. Sit with it. Feel it. And then decide."
I nod, wiping my eyes. My chest still feels tight, my hands still shake, but something has shifted. A tiny crack in the wall I've built around my heart.
I think about Finn's little face in my dream. The twins arguing over Legos. Hazel's ballet recitals. Mila's endless energy. Leo's quiet smiles.
I think about six men who somehow became everything to me.
And I think about Ronan's voice at my door, broken and desperate: Please. You have to come home.
I'm not ready to go back. Not yet.
But maybe—just maybe—I'm ready to stop running.