Part - 2 Is he going to kiss me?

Ariana's POV

Inhale, exhale.

I tried to calm myself, repeatedly reminding myself to do so since I opened my eyes and found myself in a bizarre environment. I looked around, hoping to find something helpful, but nothing stood out. Frustrated, I sat down, and the first thing I did was check my dress. Relief washed over me as I realized my dignity was intact. It wasn't solely based on the observation of my clothes, but rather the absence of physical pain in the lower part of my body.

Thank you.

Expressing gratitude to God, I held my head, which felt heavy as if it had been burdened with thousands of kilograms. I squinted my eyes, attributing this headache to something trivial compared to the next question that demanded an answer—where am I?

Attempting to find the answer, I mustered the strength to get out of bed and approach the door. But before I could take a step, I heard the sound of someone's footsteps. Agitation and fear overwhelmed me, as all sorts of negative thoughts, which I had been suppressing, flooded my mind.

What if it's Joseph?

Or

Some of his men?

As far as my memory served me, the driver's expression clearly indicated that he was not going to be my savior. So, the likelihood of someone else coming to rescue me was almost nonexistent.

Instead of wasting time pondering over the identity of the person, I decided it would be better to find a hiding place. There was nothing better than hiding behind the cupboard, where I could potentially discover who this person was.

Why me? Wasn't it enough to have my parents taken away from me at the age of 13? Or to be adopted by an uncle whose sole interest lay in my father's insurance money? Or to endure my aunt's treatment as a servant? Or to have Joseph's unsettling gaze upon me?

I was lost in cursing my fate when I was startled by someone yelling, "What the fuck is this? Now, where did this girl go?"

It wasn't Joseph's voice, but it could be one of his men who had come to search for me. No, I couldn't get caught. Feeling the weight of worry, I glanced around and sighed in relief upon spotting a vase.

Nervousness and anxiety filled my heart as I entertained thoughts of escaping from this situation.

Hit him with the vase.

Throw the vase to distract him, then push him and run.

The second option seemed better, but before I could even reach for the vase, the man grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards him.

My heartbeat nearly stopped as I thought I was done for, with no one to save me.

"Please, let me go. I don't want any trouble," I murmured, slightly opening my eyes, hoping to evoke some sympathy. However, when I fully opened them, I saw him looking at me as if I were an alien.

Was he going to kill me with his gaze? His dark eyes pierced through me, sending shivers down my spine.

"Aren't you one of Joseph's men?" I asked, as he didn't seem like them. He had a vicious yet classy demeanor, and his lips maintained a smirk that I usually encountered at parties where my uncle took me and introduced me as a princess. But he forgot that I was more like Cinderella, a servant.

It might be absurd to draw any conclusions, but it seemed clear that he was someone wealthy. Connecting the dots, I formed a new opinion—he was my savior.

Thank you for saving me.

I wanted to say those words, but before I could, something unexpected happened.

"Who are you?" he yelled at me, gripping my hand and giving me a look that is usually reserved for sluts.

"Ariana... Ariana Gray," I stuttered, not used to stammering, but overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions flooding through me.

One thing I deduced was that he was aggressive. I wasn't the type to judge people quickly, but what should I do when someone yells in such situations instead of trying to reassure and make someone feel safe?

"Cut the crap, I'm not interested," he angrily retorted, twisting my hand and jerking it, causing me to fall and fresh tears to well up in my eyes.

First, he asked for my identity, and when I responded, he pushed me as if I were a slave who had made a mistake.

Jerk, arrogant, devil... the list went on.

He embodied all of these qualities and fell into the same category as Joseph—a douchebag.

"I will go now," I said, not wanting to listen to any of his nonsense or reply anything to him because I know a man like him. They think themselves as a righteous and greek god who has rights to behave the way they want.

Cramp! Yes that awesome thing happened to my leg but I forced myself to stand and in this process a sin happened, touching greek god's hand which he immediately took back and blew air.

Wait! Did some dirt go on his hand? Or he has some kind of OCD, whatever I have to go from here.

"Stop your drama, I know girls like you want money, that's why you purposely came towards my car," he said, hurting my self-respect and started checking his purse, perhaps for money. I thought to give him some answers but again, I am feeling dizzy.

Ariana, my darling, please don't get unconscious again. You need to give him an answer as it is enough after that you can get unconscious and the best you can do is fall over him so your body weight can at least give him physical pain.

I was trying to make myself understand but it wasn't working, my knees were getting weak and eyes heavy and the next thing was my body striking the surface.

"Not again," I could hear his mumbling when I was in a semi-conscious state and felt his breath falling over my face. I and my gutter mind again got into some thoughts, is he going to kiss me? But before I could push him or understand anything, it was already late.

………………..

Aiden's POV

After stepping out of the washroom, I scanned the bed for her presence, but she was nowhere to be found. For a moment, I sighed, thinking she had left on her own, and my eyes shifted towards the closed door.

She's still here.

There was no doubt in my mind that she was still in the room. Along with searching for her, I noticed that my wallet and mobile were missing.

Huh! So she falls into the greedy category. Anger and indignation surged within me. How dare she lay her eyes on Aiden's belongings?

Scanning the room again, I spotted my wallet on the floor and my mobile on the recliner.

She must have thought of making an escape after stealing my things, but fortunately, I arrived in time to prevent her from succeeding. Only that scenario makes sense.

There she was, near the cupboard, her shadow cast on the adjacent wall. With slow steps, I approached and grabbed her forcefully.

She trembled in my grip, her eyelashes fluttering rapidly in fear. Then, she fully opened her acorn brown eyes.

Acorn brown? Am I really describing normal eyes like this?

She mumbled something, but I couldn't hear it clearly as I was battling with my inner thoughts. However, her next words brought me back.

"Am I Joseph's man?"

I tried to think. Do I know any Joseph? I searched my memory palace, wondering if he was a rival of mine and if this girl had been sent by him. Or perhaps he was some puppet of Ryan's, and this puppet sent her here. But shaking off those thoughts, I recalled her exact words. How dare this girl think of me as someone's paid lackey?

I looked at her, ready to scold her, but she opened her mouth again. I was in no mood to entertain any nonsense, so I asked her directly, "Who are you?"

"Ariana Gray," she replied, stuttering, and her brown eyes blinked at me. Her eyes were causing something to stir within me, tightening my muscles. So, I jerked her hand, yelling at her to cut the crap, as I had no interest in her.

She fell to the floor, looking at me accusingly, but she didn't say anything or fight back as I had expected.

"I'll go," she said after some time, attempting to stand but stumbling. She reached out and held my hand, which I quickly freed as it was sweaty. I blew air over it, trying to ignore the strange sensation.

She looked at me again, her eyes darting around, as if she were contemplating something. I shook my head, thinking it was just good acting, and yelled at her once more, searching for some money to give her in order to be rid of her.

But before I could do so, she fell and hit the ground.

"Not again," I muttered, crouching down to carefully examine her. I hesitantly touched her forehead, realizing she had a fever.

If I'm being honest, I had actually forgotten about her condition. My behavior towards her was not driven by concern, but that realization didn't change anything.

Was I really capable of showing fake care and being polite? I asked myself, coming to the conclusion that even if I had remembered, I wouldn't have behaved any differently. In my 30 years of life, I had never done such a thing.

At this moment, I needed to get her onto the bed so her condition wouldn't worsen. I had to tolerate her presence. After doing so, I went to call for room service and the manager, who still hadn't sent a doctor. But before I could do so, there was a knock at the door.

"Mr. Connell, the doctor is here," the manager said, knocking again.

I opened the door and arrogantly instructed, "Check her."

The doctor nodded and entered, immediately attending to her with his stethoscope. I averted my gaze, focusing on the magazine, but I was interrupted by the doctor's words, "Is she your girlfriend?"

My girlfriend? And her? Seriously, I had a very good taste. I furrowed my brow and responded, "What? My girlfriend?"

"Sorry, Mr. Connell," the doctor said, turning his attention back to Ms. Gray and continuing his examination. After a while, he stood and looked at me, bowing his head, before saying, "She seems weak, perhaps she hasn't eaten anything. I've prescribed some medicine. Please give it to her with some juice. She should be fine by morning. You can get the medicines through room service. Thank you."

I sighed and called for room service, handing them the doctor's note and ordering wine for myself and orange juice for the troublesome girl who had become my headache.

About 10 minutes later, my order, along with her medicines, arrived. I sat near her, raising an eyebrow and chuckling at the absurdity of the situation. I had to make her drink the juice so she could take her medicine, at least ensuring that she would leave tomorrow. Or who knows, maybe she would faint again. Actually, I should give her another nickname: "Fainting Girl."

My train of thought was interrupted by her cough. She opened her eyes slightly as I attempted to make her sip the juice. I raised an eyebrow, about to say something, but her words stopped me.

"Thank you, Mr..."

"Connell," I replied, her meek voice still sounding melodious to my ears.

She squinted her eyes twice, trying to speak again, but slowly, her eyes closed.

"Sleep," I said, understanding that she wouldn't regain consciousness so easily. I moved away, taking my wine with me, and settled into the recliner, pouring it into a wine glass.

Tomorrow was definitely going to be hectic for me. First, I needed to head to my villa, then attend a seminar at the college, and participate in a conference. But most importantly, I needed to visit my mother's grave, as it would be her fifth death anniversary tomorrow.

I perspired at the thought of her death and reached for the wine glass, hoping to divert myself.

To be continued.