Crossfire Vows

Rain thrummed against the car's windshield as Aria pulled into the cemetery parking lot. With her, She carried two bouquets of Lilies, flowers that were most loved by her parents. She hugged her coat tighter, not from cold, but from memory—her parents' voices still echoing in her mind like a song half-remembered.

The gates loomed ahead, rusted and silent. Beyond them, the Drevans' private burial ground lay tucked beneath a cluster of beautiful, well-maintained weeping trees. Aria stepped out, her boots crunching in the mud, ignoring the water that was soaking into her stockings.

Two headstones stood side by side:

LENA DREVAN, 1970–2010

MICHAEL DREVAN, 1968–2010

Her parents' deaths had been declared a car accident. Fog. Brake failure. A tragic malfunction. But Aria knew better. Her father hadn't just been a veteran or a businessman. Michael Drevan had spent years as a covert government asset, doing the dirtiest work in silence, something he excelled at. After retiring, he opened a private security firm and attempted to lead a clean life.

But it hadn't mattered.

One night, en route to pick Aria up from school, he and Lena stopped at a convenience store since Lena was unwell. Back in the car, they had not moved a kilometer before the car started to speed up; the brakes had failed. The car didn't stop. Neither survived. Aria had only been eleven, but she remembered the phone call. The sterile voice. The empty silence afterward.

She knelt before the stones, fingertips brushing their names. The lilies were laid down gently. "Mom. Dad." Her voice cracked. "I'm doing okay. I promise." From her coat, she pulled a small, weathered envelope and tucked it between the stones. The letter inside was old—a note she'd written to herself, years ago, during the worst of it. To my fierce girl, don't hide your fire.

"I've got a plan now," she whispered. "I'm safe. Or… I will be."

A gust rattled the trees. She stayed until the sky turned to ash, then rose, brushing damp earth from her knees. "I'll be okay."

Back at Elysian Petals, Nova met her behind the counter with a bouquet still crinkled in cellophane.

"You good?" she asked.

Aria gave a tired nod. "Visited my parents today. Told them everything. That I'm not hiding behind flowers anymore." I am planning to get married to a man I hardly know!, But maybe they knew him, it doesn't matter.

Nova laid a hand on her shoulder. "Did it help?"

"Maybe." I just need to speak my mind out, and who better than them? Nova responded, "You know I am always there for you." I know, and thanks for being there. "They'd probably think I've lost it."

"Are you doing the right thing, and who is the man you are marrying?"

Aria hesitated. "I need this marriage. Not the man—just the leverage, Damien Cross. Visibility. A cover no one can penetrate." "What? Damien, your rain and shining mud?" Okay, I don't know what to say

Nova studied her. "You're not usually scared." "I'm still not. Just... wary."

Nova smirked faintly. "You always do come back from the fire."

Aria nodded. "I'm just hoping I don't burn with it this time."

Later that night, Aria tucked herself into the back office. Delivery forms, receipts, permits—the day-to-day clutter of her fake, safe life. It felt like armor now. Like lies with petals.

The chime rang softly. Nova stepped in, holding a mug of chamomile tea. "Thought you might need this." Aria accepted it with a grateful smile. "You know me too well." Nova leaned against the shelf. "Tomorrow, will you need me to accompany you to the lawyer's office?

Aria sipped. "Not really, it's not a complicated process. But thanks for the offer".

"I flagged two PR blogs prepping wedding spreads. Damien Cross's mystery fiancée—it's already trending." "Fuck that bustered, we haven't even signed the marriage contract, and he has hinted to the media already? This means we will have to lay low for a while. Damien is a full-time employee at this marriage; to him, it is a way of gaining more investors.

"Perfect," Aria said dryly. "Let them think it's a fairytale."

"You ever think," Nova asked softly, "what if it starts to feel real?"

Aria's breath caught. "I'm not letting it."

Nova gave a half-smile. "Just don't let the cameras see you bleed."

Aria looked away. "Too late."

Outside, the rain began again—soft, steady, relentless.

Aria finished her tea in silence, then walked alone to a bed of white tulips and closed her eyes.

"I'm not doing this for love," she whispered. "I'm doing this for survival."

But even as she said it… Her heart didn't quite believe her.

Nova lingered in the doorway, watching her friend. "You know," she said gently, "we don't have to be what the world expects just to stay safe. Do what your heart wishes."

Aria looked at her, eyes shadowed. "But what if safety only comes through playing their game?"

"Then change the rules," Nova replied. "You've done it before."

Aria smiled faintly. "I used to believe I could disappear behind petals and smiles. No one questions the florist. No one looks twice."

"Damien Cross. He isn't just another target or another shield. There's something there. I saw it in the restaurant."

Aria snorted softly. "He's arrogant, smug, and insufferable." "And he looked at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle he was desperate to understand." "I believe his mind was thinking of ways he could manipulate me to be his lap dog." Nova gave her a knowing look. "Be careful not to let your mask slip."

"I won't," Aria said. But even as she spoke, she wasn't certain she believed it.

A gentle breeze slipped through the open window, rustling the curtains like fingers brushing against flesh. The city outside went on, oblivious and noisy. Yet indoors, the quiet clung to them.

"Promise me something," Nova said. Aria turned. "What?" "If it becomes too risky, emotionally or otherwise, walk away. Even if it requires burning everything."

Aria nodded slowly. "I promise."

Nova stood, smoothing her shirt. "Good. Because you don't owe anyone your destruction, Aria. Not even for safety." Left alone again, Aria stared at the wall.