Aria
Until recently, my life had felt finished.
Not complete. Not fulfilled. Just… decided.
I woke up at the same time every morning, rode the same train, sat at the same desk. I was good at my job. Reliable. Easy to work with. The kind of woman managers trusted and coworkers underestimated.
There was comfort in that.
No one asked too many questions. No one expected too much. And I'd learned, a long time ago, that expectation was where disappointment usually began.
I worked in a glass building where everything looked open but very little actually was. People smiled without warmth. Compliments came sharpened with competition. Every relationship felt transactional, even the friendly ones.
That was where Noah and Luca existed in my world.
At first, separately.
Noah had been there longer than I had. Analytical. Observant. The kind of man who spoke rarely but noticed everything. He never flirted. Never crossed lines. But when he looked at me, it felt deliberate, as if he were filing something away for later.
Luca was newer. Confident without arrogance. His presence shifted rooms subtly, like people stood a little straighter when he entered. He spoke easily, laughed freely, and somehow managed to be warm without being careless.
Neither of them belonged to me.
That was the rule I lived by.
So when I caught Noah watching me during a meeting — really watching me — I told myself it was nothing. When Luca lingered by my desk longer than necessary, I dismissed the small thrill that followed.
I didn't question it.
I didn't question anything.
That was my mistake.