Second First Love

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The private jet shrieked above, tearing a cruel line through the flawless blue sky, and my stomach churned itself into a hard, unpleasant knot.

I waited at the private landing strip's far edge, arms crossed, sunglasses protecting my eyes from the late afternoon sun-and more to the point, from him.

I hadn't laid eyes on Liam Hart in six years.

Six years since he'd torn through my life like a hurricane, leaving only devastation and silence in his path.

Six years since I'd reconstructed myself from the ground up, brick by painful brick, right here on Moonfire Island-*my* island.

And now he thought he could just fly back into my life as if nothing had happened?

I lifted my chin higher, spine straight.

No. Not today. Not ever.

The plane taxied to a stop, the metal glinting like a blade. A few minutes ticked by, then the door opened and a staircase dropped down. My heart thudded dully against my ribs as I watched him step out.

Liam Hart.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Hair a little longer than I remembered, messier. His jaw was stubbled, his golden tan a little faded, as if the sun had tried and failed to scorch the darkness out of him.

He wore faded jeans, a plain black T-shirt that clung tightly to muscles leaner, more finely honed than the ones I remembered. A duffel bag was slung over one shoulder.

He looked ruined. Wrecked.

Good.

I wanted him to stay that way.

Liam stopped at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes-those dangerous, storm-grey eyes-finding mine across the stretch of asphalt.

There was silence. A long, slow inhalation where the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

I didn't move. Didn't blink.

Didn't let him see even a flicker of emotion.

"You have five minutes," I said curtly, my voice echoing into the stillness. "Then you're getting back on that plane."

He dropped his bag to the floor with a thud. His mouth twisted into an almost-smile. Bitter. Amused. Tired.

"Still the same Aria Vale," he said. His voice was rougher than I remembered, a little rougher around the edges. "Cold as hell."

"And you're still the same Liam Hart," I shot back, stepping in close enough to notice the fine lines etched at the corners of his mouth. "Ruining everything you touch."

His gaze flickered, just for a second. A slight crack in that arrogant exterior.

Good.

I turned on my heel, my white sundress flying around my legs in the sea air. My heels clicked neatly on the pavement as I walked away.

If he had something to say, he could follow me.

If he was intelligent, he'd get back on that idiot plane and disappear.

I heard his footsteps behind me a moment later.

Of course.

Because Liam Hart never knew when to give up.

***

The island's main house loomed in front of us, sleek and modern amidst the jungle. A huge glass-and-stone monstrosity that had taken everything I had to build-and had been worth every single penny.

Moonfire wasn't just my home.

It was my empire.

My salvation.

And I would be damned if I let *him* defile it.

Inside, the air conditioning chilled my skin. I led him into the lounge without looking back, falling into one of the white leather armchairs.

Liam stayed standing, hands shoved in his jeans pockets. He looked absurdly out of place-too rough, too worn, too real among the gleaming marble floors and shining steel fittings.

I hated how good he looked.

Hated how my body reacted instinctively, traitorously, to being in close proximity to him again.

Focus, Aria.

"I'll make this easy," I said, crossing one leg over the other and tapping my nails lazily against the armrest. "State your business. Briefly."

He rubbed a hand through his hair, exhaling a sharp breath.

"I need work."

I blinked once, slowly.

Of all the possibilities of what he might say, that one hadn't even been on the list.

"You're kidding me," I said.

"I'm not."

"You want *me* to hire you?" My laughter was low, slashing, merciless. "After everything you did?"

He shrugged, the movement stiff, almost defensive. "You built an empire here. I don't need charity. I can stand on my own two feet."

I rose, slowly, purposely, and closed the distance between us until we were barely a foot apart.

It was a mistake.

Up close, I could smell him-that same maddening mix of fresh soap, salt, and something darker. Something sinfully male.

I clenched my fists at my sides.

"You think you can just. waltz back into my life," I spat, voice shaking with suppressed anger, "and I'll just invite you to sit at my table? After you *left*? After you *ruined everything*?"

"I didn't have a choice-"

"Don't," I barked, stepping back before I did something stupid like slap him-or worse, kiss him. "Don't you dare stand there and pretend like you were some kind of victim."

He flinched, barely, and I hated that I noticed.

"I'm not looking for forgiveness, Aria," he grated. "I'm just asking for a chance."

I stared at him, my heart pounding in my throat.

Half of me wanted to scream at him, to throw him out and never look at him again.

But another half-the damaged, treasonous half that still remembered what it was like to be *wanted* by Liam Hart-hesitated.

God, I was an idiot.

"Do you want to stay?" I said, my voice low and icy. "Fine."

His shoulders tensed.

"You'll work from the ground up," I continued. "Maintenance. Janitorial. Manual labor. No special treatment. No exceptions."

His jaw clenched, but he nodded.

"You'll report to my people. Not to me."

He nodded again.

"And if you so much as *look* at me the wrong way." I let the threat hang in the air.

"I won't," he said quietly. "I swear."

I stared at him for a long time.

I didn't trust him.

Not for a second.

But letting him stay.

Letting him see what I'd built without him.

Letting him suffer in silence under my roof.

That might be the sweetest revenge of all.

"Report to Mateo in the morning," I barked. "Be ready to get your hands dirty."

I turned on my heel again, heading for the stairs.

"Aria," he said behind me.

I stopped.

His voice was shattered, raw.

Different.

I didn't turn around.

"What?" I said over my shoulder, my voice icy.

"I'm sorry," he said.

I shut my eyes for a moment, letting the words breach my defenses before I shook them off.

"Sorry doesn't rewrite history," I said to him. "And it sure as hell doesn't rewrite tomorrow."

Not awaiting a response, I went up the stairs, my heart pounding, my legs shaking a bit beneath me.

The silence behind me stretched and contorted, packed with all the things neither of us could speak.

I did not look back.

I could not.

If I did, I wasn't sure I'd survive it.