Aria's POV
The door was thin. Too thin. Every word outside slipped through it like air through cracks, and I swear I could feel my heartbeat in the wood itself. I stood frozen, fingers pressed so tightly against Damon's desk that my knuckles ached. Something trembled inside me, something sharp and metallic, the kind of fear that tastes like old coins at the back of your tongue.
I didn't want to listen.
But I couldn't not listen.
I heard a voice I'd never heard before. Soft. Calm. Familiar in a way that made my chest tighten.
"Hello, Damon."
My breath stuttered and pain shot right through me. A woman's voice. A voice that sounded like it belonged to someone who had never been afraid a single day in her life.
My heart dropped lower when she spoke again.
"Is she inside?"
She meant me.
She was talking about me.
For a second I forgot how to breathe.
I took one small, shaky step backward, bumping into the edge of the couch. My hands flew to my chest because the pain there felt too real, too sharp, like someone reached inside and pulled something loose.
Who was she?
I knew.
Even before I wanted to know.
Even before my mind dared to think it.
Liana.
The woman he lost.
The ghost he chased.
The reason he looked at me like he was trying to remember something that wasn't mine.
My palm covered my mouth as a tiny sound escaped me, barely a breath. The room felt too tight, air thinning like it wanted to choke me.
Damon didn't answer her right away. I heard footsteps shift. A slow exhale from him. The kind he made when he was trying not to lose control.
"Liana," he said.
Her name in his voice broke something in me.
He didn't sound relieved the way someone sounds when they see the love of their life alive.
He didn't sound shattered or desperate.
He sounded… confused.
Guarded.
Hesitant.
But hearing her name from his mouth felt like someone pressed a hot iron into my skin.
I pressed both hands against the desk now, leaning forward, my breath coming too fast. My thoughts raced so wildly they didn't feel like thoughts at all—just fragments, static, panic, little spirals of No no no this can't be happening. Not like this. Not when I just—
I swallowed hard.
I couldn't even finish the sentence in my own head.
Their voices were muffled again, mixed with the clink of metal from the hallway—someone adjusting something, maybe a security guard, maybe Damon moving. I couldn't tell.
Then her voice drifted in again.
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
A bitter laugh slipped out of her, low and unsettling. The sound crawled up my arms and left goosebumps in its wake.
I shut my eyes, wishing the door were thicker, wishing I didn't have to hear any of this, wishing she hadn't chosen today, of all days, to walk back into his life.
I heard Damon shift again. "Where have you been."
His voice wasn't soft.
Not loving.
Not broken.
Demanding.
She answered calmly. "I came home."
Home.
His home.
His world.
Not mine.
My stomach twisted. I wanted to sit but I couldn't bring myself to move. My legs felt heavy and numb at the same time.
There was a tiny pause.
Then her voice slipped under the door again, too smooth.
"And you replaced me."
Replaced.
The word slammed into me so hard I flinched.
She was talking about me.
She meant me.
She was standing out there, talking about Damon like he belonged to her, like the universe owed her something, like she had some right to come back and claim him.
My chest tightened. I pressed my fingers into the desk until it hurt.
Damon's breath traveled through the door, low. "What are you talking about."
"I saw her."
Liana's tone dropped into something cold.
"In your office. You didn't tell me you found someone else who looks like me."
My knees buckled.
I caught myself on the couch.
So she had seen me.
She knew.
She knew I existed.
And not just existed. She thought I was some cheap imitation. A copy. A replacement.
My vision blurred for half a second before snapping into sharp focus again. I shook my head, whispering to myself, "No. No I'm not. I'm not her. I'm not anyone's replacement."
But the words felt tiny compared to the shadow of her existence.
Damon's voice came again, strained. "You weren't here. I didn't know you were alive."
The hallway went quiet.
Too quiet.
Then Liana spoke again, softer, almost whispering through the wood.
"Then why is she trembling behind your door."
My blood went cold.
She knew I was listening.
She knew I was here.
She knew exactly where I stood.
I stumbled back, my spine hitting the glass wall. My breath hit my lips in short bursts. A sour taste washed up my throat, fear or shock or something worse, something heavier.
Footsteps approached the door.
One set.
Then another.
I backed up further without meaning to, my heel catching the edge of the rug. I reached behind me blindly, fingers brushing the cold windowsill.
A shadow moved under the doorframe.
Then another.
The handle turned.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
My pulse hammered so loudly I felt it in my teeth.
Damon's voice cut through the silence, sharp.
"Liana, wait—"
Too late.
The door swung inward.
And she stepped inside.
Cold air rushed in with her.
Her eyes landed on me instantly.
A perfect match to mine.
Just older.
Sharper.
Colder.
For a moment we just stared.
Two versions of a life I never asked to share.
Her lips tilted into a soft, terrible smile.
"So," she whispered,
"you're the girl wearing my face."