Temptation of her Flame ✔️

chapter thirty one

ily

(tired by beabadoobee)

ARIA

Where should one turn when they hit a dead-end?

I had two choices that resembled dangling and withering vines soon to snap. The first was an act of foolish courage—confrontation. I would be stepping back into hell, hoping not to burn. The second: hiding. I was a master at it, and it'd done wonders for me until this moment.

If I excused myself, would he search for me? I was certain he would, if only to drag me back into daily nightmares.

My father was here. I didn't want to believe it, but my eyes did not lie.

Did Vincenzo get through the list of invitees? Why wouldn't he? Why did he allow this?

Absently, I knew I was trying to find someone to blame because tonight was too great to be ruined. I needed to speak with Vincenzo as soon as possible to remove my father from the premises. I might have the power to do that; Vincenzo wouldn't deny me of that right. But I didn't want to step any closer to the man who attempted to break my skull and get away with it.

"Sweetheart, hey," someone whispered—a distant voice I barely registered. "What's going on?"

"My father," I managed to choke out, quiet but too loud. It was a confirmation that I wasn't ready to accept.

Cole swivelled, blocking my sight and looking on his own. Hate so evident rose to his face quicker than a flood, and a devious sparkle told me enough of his thoughts.

"Not here, Cole," I said, shaking my head, looking everywhere for Emma, Damon and Vincenzo. There were suddenly too many people in the room, and I couldn't breathe. "Not now. I need to...I need to get him out. Gods, where are they?"

"Aria, calm down." His hands on my shoulders shook back to reality, but my panic didn't dissipate. "You're going to give yourself an anxiety attack. Hold on. I'll help you look."

He held me to him like one would cradle a fragile infant, and pressing my face against his chest brought me back to times before the mansion and my mother's death. He smelled like wood and masculinity, lost-youth and cowardice. He smelled like the urge to hide from the inevitable because I was too weak for it.

Then, I remembered—the gun Emma gifted me was strapped around my thigh. I had joked about it being a sort of lucky charm, but oh, did I have the courage to kill him? In public, no less. Was my past hate for him strong enough to sacrifice my future?

I peeled myself away from him, ignoring several prying gazes of interest. I stared straight at my father, a bubble of both fear and boldness rising into my throat. My hand twitched; a little dare for myself to do it, do it, do it.

My father was amused.

"He's back there," Cole muttered. "With a model, I think." He looked back at me and baulked. "Whatever plan you have in that pretty head, drop it. There are too many people here for foolish decisions."

I sighed, a furious sound from my nose.

I didn't waste another second before darting towards his previously stated direction. My dress pooled around me like servants curtsying to a master, a beautiful thing that weighed me down like boulders. I was sensitised to every odd look, and I was too aware of my father's presence in this large area.