Chapter 21
Her eyes met mine, and everything came rushing back—not like lightning. But like fire.
Slow. Seething. Unforgiving.
Ara.
That's what I used to call her.
Not Versace.
Not heiress of a criminal empire.
Just Ara.
The girl who once glared at me like I wasn't shit. Who pressed gauze to my ribs with shaking hands and called me old man like she meant it.
The girl who said fuck you and slammed the door so hard the walls shook.
The first girl I ever regretted letting walk away. But she wasn't that girl anymore.
Not really.
Now she stood at Aurelio's side, draped in a gown stitched from starlight and rage. Wearing the Kashani promise ring like it had always belonged to her.
I should've let Matteo run the damn background check. But I didn't.
Because back then, I didn't want the truth. I wanted the memory.
The girl who argued with me in the kitchen. Who fried eggs like she owned the place. Who held my stare like she was daring me to blink first.
I let her go. And never really searched.
Now she was here as someone else's future fiancée.
"Dom," Matteo murmured, sliding into the seat beside me. "You're staring."
"She has changed."
He smirked. "She was in your kitchen once, remember? Should've done a deep dive. Could've told you she was mafia royalty before she patched you up."
"I didn't want to know," I muttered, swirling the whiskey in my glass. "Back then, she was just a girl."
Matteo arched his brow. "She's not 'just' anything anymore."
No.
She never was.
The gala moved on like a dream on fire—opulent, slow, laced with danger.
She laughed once. Not because she was happy. Because someone told her to.
I knew that kind of laugh. I'd worn it myself.
She didn't look at me again. Not once.
But she knew.
She knew I was watching.The same way I knew she was pretending not to burn.
Aurelio guided her to the high table like he just won the damn lottery. Sat her beside him like he owned her.
My uncle leaned forward with a cold grin. "Welcome to the family. I see you've met my nephew."
She didn't blink. Didn't twitch.
But her fingers curled around her gown—tight, sharp, controlled. A silent war. Barely leashed.
I leaned back in my seat; a bitter laugh caught behind my teeth.
The last thing she ever said to me was fuck you.
God, I missed that mouth.
Then I saw him.
Aahil Khan.
Polished. Grinning. Stupid enough to think he still had a chance.
He walked straight to her, pulled her into a hug that lasted a breath too long. I didn't look away.
"Still beautiful," he said, too close to her ear. "But I know you. This isn't you. You never believed in arranged marriages."
Ara didn't shove him. She didn't flinch. She smiled.
"Oh, please," she said sweetly, stepping back. "You think a high school crush gives you a claim? Don't flatter yourself, Aahil."
His smile cracked.
Matteo leaned closer. "She just burned a bridge."
"No," I said. "She reminded him she's the flame."
The night blurred after that.
Glasses clinked. Laughter spilled. Power changed hands in whispers. But my eyes were on her.
Always.
Until she vanished.
I searched the crowd, heartbeat sharpening with every second, until I saw her.
Out on the balcony the moon caught the edges of her dress, turning her into something mythic.
I stepped out.
"Ara."
She turned.
Anger in her eyes, regret in mine. "You don't get to call me that."
Her voice was soft. Controlled. Deadly.
"I didn't know it was you," I said quietly. "Not back then. Not until tonight."
She tilted her head. "And if you had?"
I didn't answer. Because I wasn't sure anything would've changed.
"You let me go," she said, stepping forward. "You let me walk right out that door. And now what? You see a ring on my finger and suddenly remember how to chase?"
"That's not fair."
Her eyes sparked. "Nothing about this is."
Silence fell between us—thick, bitter, honest.
"I never forgot you," I said, voice low.
She laughed. Soft. Broken. "You should have."
I took a step closer. "You still call me old man?"
She didn't smile. But her lips twitched. "Not unless you want your fiancée to hear."
"She's not my fiancée." I didn't even know the woman's name. She was a prop, a formality. Not her.
"No," she whispered, walking past me. "Stay away from me, old man. You're not the only one with power now."
And just like that—she was gone.
Again.
Only this time she called me old man before she left.
And her voice? It warmed something in me that I thought had died.
I turned back toward the ballroom, eyes locking on Aurelio.
My poor, stupid cousin. Of course, he had to propose to the one woman I saw first.
He thinks he will successfully get engaged to her. Too bad I've never been the type to let anything go.