Bonus chapter. :)
ARIAThe weight of what I've uncovered changes everything.I wake with a jolt each morning, immediately checking for signs of intrusion. Each night, I lie awake cataloging potential threats and planning countermeasures.I've become hypervigilant, seeing danger in every unexpected phone call, every lingering glance from Eleanor or her people.I've installed my own security system in my private quarters: motion sensors, cameras, and alarms that alert only my burner phone.I've even started taking self-defense classes three times a week, telling Xavier it's for stress relief.But more than my own safety, I find myself increasingly concerned about Xavier. The emotional damage I once attributed to simple coldness or arrogance now reveals itself as the product of genuine trauma—a child who lost his parents and brother, who's been manipulated by the very person who may have orchestrated it all.His trust issues, his emotional detachment, his occasional bouts of unexplained melancholy… they a
ARIAThe Harrington family estate has become more comfortable, less like a museum and more like a place I could actually call home. I’ve spent time exploring the vast property. However, there are still rooms that feel forbidden. Eleanor's private study is one of them—a sanctum I've never been invited to enter.I'm passing by its heavy oak door when I hear my name spoken in Eleanor's crisp, authoritative tone.I pause, not intending to eavesdrop yet unable to move away when I realize she's speaking to Xavier."You're becoming distracted by Aria," Eleanor says. "The board has noticed. I've noticed.""The board is pleased with our performance," Xavier responds with an edge I recognize as defensiveness. "Our stock is up seventeen percent since the Kazakhstan deal.""This isn't about business performance." Eleanor's voice sharpens. "It's about your performance. The way you look at her during meetings. The rooftop dinner for her birthday. These gestures go far beyond our arrangement."I sho
ARIAThe storm hits Midtown with unexpected ferocity, turning the afternoon sky an ominous slate gray.I should have rescheduled my meeting with Westlake Pharmaceuticals, but their CEO is flying to London tomorrow, and securing their distribution partnership for our Kazakhstan facilities is too important to delay."You could videoconference," Michael suggests when he sees me collecting my portfolio. "The weather warning's been upgraded to severe.""Westlake’s CEO is old-school," I explain, checking that I have all the necessary contracts. "Mr. Harrison won't sign anything without a handshake first."Michael frowns at the rain lashing against the office windows. "At least take the company car instead of yours. They have better traction.""Mine has all-wheel drive," I assure him, though I appreciate his concern. "And I grew up driving in harsh winters. This is nothing."My car glides smoothly through the downpour, and by the time I arrive at Westlake’s glass tower, the valet is already
"These can't be right."Aria hunched over the quarterly reports, the numbers swimming before her eyes. Each column told the same story—a downward spiral that had begun years ago, almost to the day her father had married Victoria Pierce.She tucked a strand of dark curls behind her ear. Her fingers left a smudge of ink on her cheek, unnoticed as she recalculated the figures for the third time.The office around her had emptied hours ago. At twenty-four, Aria was often the first to arrive and the last to leave, desperately trying to keep her father's legacy from crumbling beneath the weight of mounting debt.The business degree she'd worked so hard for at State University—scholarship-funded, unlike Vivian's designer education was being put to use in ways her professors had never covered: how to stretch payments, which creditors to prioritize, when to beg for extensions.Her phone vibrated on the desk. A notification from Instagram. Without thinking, she tapped it open.Vivian Pierce's p
A sudden call at 2:17 AM jolted Aria from a restless sleep filled with dreams of drowning in red ink and balance sheets."You need to come now!" Victoria's voice was brittle with fury, lacking its usual veneer of false warmth. "Immediately.""What's happened? Is it Dad?" Aria was already fumbling for the light switch, heart hammering against her ribs."Just get here." The line went dead after that.Outside, the night had turned hostile. Rain lashed against Aria's windshield as she navigated the winding road up to the mansion, each lightning flash illuminating the path ahead for terrifying seconds before plunging her back into darkness.Her wipers fought a losing battle against the downpour, much like her struggle to keep her father's company afloat.By the time she reached the house, Aria was soaked from the brief dash from car to door.The housekeeper didn't greet her this time; instead, Victoria herself stood in the marble foyer, still dressed in evening clothes, her perfect makeup
Morning light filtered through the blinds, casting prison-bar shadows across Robert Taylor's sleeping form.Aria shifted in the uncomfortable chair where she'd spent the night, her neck stiff, her mind foggy from fitful sleep interrupted by nurses' checks and the steady beep of monitoring equipment.The doctor had called it a "cardiac event"—not quite a heart attack, but a warning shot across the bow. "His heart is weakening," Dr. Winters had explained in hushed tones outside the room. "The stress, his age, his previous attack... He needs calm and stability. Another episode like this could be fatal."Aria rubbed her eyes, smudging yesterday's mascara further.Her phone showed seventeen missed calls from the office. Monday morning, and for the first time in her working life, she wasn't there to open the doors.The click of expensive heels announced Victoria's arrival before she appeared in the doorway, immaculate in a dove-gray suit, not a hair out of place despite the early hour.She
Elysium Boutique occupied the penthouse floor of the city's most exclusive shopping district, accessible only by private elevator with an attendant who checked names against a list before allowing entry.Victoria was greeted by name while Aria was assessed with a quick, dismissive glance."Mrs. Pierce-Taylor," the boutique manager, a rail-thin woman with a severe chignon, glided forward. "We received your urgent request. How may we assist today?""Claudette, we have an emergency," Victoria confided, as though sharing state secrets. "My stepdaughter requires a complete wardrobe. Immediately."Claudette's gaze swept over Aria with the clinical precision of a butcher evaluating a subpar cut of meat. "I see. And the... dimensions?""Whatever you have in your largest sizes," Victoria replied. "We're working with significant constraints, both in time and... material."Aria felt her cheeks burn as the two women discussed her body as though she weren't present."Perhaps Madame would be more c
Xavier Harrington's office was a monument to power. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city he was systematically conquering, furniture of dark leather… not a single personal photograph or memento to suggest the occupant was human rather than a perfectly engineered corporate machine.The man stood with his back to the door, speaking quietly into a phone while gazing out at his domain. Tall and broad-shouldered, his bespoke suit emphasized a physique maintained by expensive personal trainers and ruthless self-discipline.When he turned, Aria's breath caught—not because of his conventional good looks, but because of the absolute coldness in his ice-blue eyes.Those eyes barely registered Aria's presence, focusing instead on Victoria as he concluded his call. "Meeting later. Pierce priority."With that, he set down the phone without saying goodbye."Victoria. I expected this meeting four hours ago." His words fell like ice shards into the silence."A family emergency," Victoria exp
ARIAThe storm hits Midtown with unexpected ferocity, turning the afternoon sky an ominous slate gray.I should have rescheduled my meeting with Westlake Pharmaceuticals, but their CEO is flying to London tomorrow, and securing their distribution partnership for our Kazakhstan facilities is too important to delay."You could videoconference," Michael suggests when he sees me collecting my portfolio. "The weather warning's been upgraded to severe.""Westlake’s CEO is old-school," I explain, checking that I have all the necessary contracts. "Mr. Harrison won't sign anything without a handshake first."Michael frowns at the rain lashing against the office windows. "At least take the company car instead of yours. They have better traction.""Mine has all-wheel drive," I assure him, though I appreciate his concern. "And I grew up driving in harsh winters. This is nothing."My car glides smoothly through the downpour, and by the time I arrive at Westlake’s glass tower, the valet is already
ARIAThe Harrington family estate has become more comfortable, less like a museum and more like a place I could actually call home. I’ve spent time exploring the vast property. However, there are still rooms that feel forbidden. Eleanor's private study is one of them—a sanctum I've never been invited to enter.I'm passing by its heavy oak door when I hear my name spoken in Eleanor's crisp, authoritative tone.I pause, not intending to eavesdrop yet unable to move away when I realize she's speaking to Xavier."You're becoming distracted by Aria," Eleanor says. "The board has noticed. I've noticed.""The board is pleased with our performance," Xavier responds with an edge I recognize as defensiveness. "Our stock is up seventeen percent since the Kazakhstan deal.""This isn't about business performance." Eleanor's voice sharpens. "It's about your performance. The way you look at her during meetings. The rooftop dinner for her birthday. These gestures go far beyond our arrangement."I sho
ARIAThe weight of what I've uncovered changes everything.I wake with a jolt each morning, immediately checking for signs of intrusion. Each night, I lie awake cataloging potential threats and planning countermeasures.I've become hypervigilant, seeing danger in every unexpected phone call, every lingering glance from Eleanor or her people.I've installed my own security system in my private quarters: motion sensors, cameras, and alarms that alert only my burner phone.I've even started taking self-defense classes three times a week, telling Xavier it's for stress relief.But more than my own safety, I find myself increasingly concerned about Xavier. The emotional damage I once attributed to simple coldness or arrogance now reveals itself as the product of genuine trauma—a child who lost his parents and brother, who's been manipulated by the very person who may have orchestrated it all.His trust issues, his emotional detachment, his occasional bouts of unexplained melancholy… they a
ARIAI reach out to a man named Jasper Griffith who agrees to meet me with surprising ease when I mention James Harrington's name the next day. As Harrington Consolidated's former security chief, he potentially has information that could confirm or disprove Xavier's suspicions about his parents' deaths.We arrange to meet at Café Lucerne, a small establishment across town, away from any Harrington-affiliated locations.I spend the morning preparing, researching Griffith's background. His twenty-two years with Harrington security was abruptly terminated six months after the "accident" that killed James and Catherine. No public explanation was given, and he's been working as a private security consultant since then, though his client list is notably devoid of major corporations.My phone rings with a blocked number two hours before our meeting."Mrs. Harrington. I need to cancel our appointment," Griffith's voice sounds tight, almost strangled."Is everything alright, Mr. Griffith?" I pr
ARIAEleanor's warning echoes in my mind as I sit alone in the library three days after the charity gala.The gentle ticking of the antique clock, a Benson & Wilcox from the 1890s that Xavier's great-grandfather imported from London, is my only companion at 2:37 AM.I'm surrounded by newspaper clippings, financial reports, and archived articles I've been collecting since that night at the gala when Eleanor cornered me with her veiled threats.The smell of old paper and leather bindings mingles with the faint scent of the Earl Grey tea that's gone cold beside me.Xavier's revelations at the mausoleum last week still haunt me.I run my finger along the timeline I've created, starting with the accident that killed James and Catherine Harrington thirteen years ago. The official story seemed straightforward at first, but as I dig deeper, inconsistencies emerge like fractures in glass.The accident occurred exactly three days before James was scheduled to announce a major company restructuri
ARIAThe storm shows no sign of abating as midnight approaches.Rain hammers against the stone roof of the mausoleum, and wind howls through cracks in the ancient mortar.I've lost feeling in my legs hours ago, but I don't dare move and disturb Xavier's fitful sleep.His head remains heavy in my lap and his breathing occasionally catching on what sounds suspiciously like suppressed sobs.When he finally stirs, the disorientation in his eyes is immediate. He blinks rapidly, trying to place his surroundings, then freezes when he realizes his position.The vulnerability I witnessed earlier begins to shutter behind his usual visage of control."How long have I been out?" His voice is rough, throat raw from emotion and whiskey."A few hours," I answer softly. "The storm's trapped us here."He sits up abruptly, wincing at what must be a splitting headache. "You should have woken me." The words are accusatory yet lack their usual bite."You needed the rest."Xavier runs a hand through his dis
ARIAThe nightmare incident stays with me in the days that follow.Xavier behaved as if nothing happened the next morning, discussing upcoming meetings with his usual precision. However, something fundamental has shifted. I've glimpsed the wounded man beneath the cold exterior, and I can't unsee it.Occasionally, I catch him watching me when he thinks I'm not looking, his expression thoughtful, perhaps wondering what I'm thinking about what I witnessed.I also find myself watching him more carefully, noticing the subtle signs of exhaustion that suggest it wasn't an isolated occurrence: the almost imperceptible shadows beneath his eyes, the extra cup of coffee he requires in the mornings, the way he occasionally loses focus during conversations with his mind clearly elsewhere.Xavier doesn't show up for the quarterly board meeting. His absence is like a black hole at the head of the conference table, drawing everyone's attention despite Timothee Cartoon’s attempts to proceed normally.H
ARIATime fly by since that humiliating morning fight with Xavier.The memory of his cruel words about my body being "too unattractive" still burns. Yet in these weeks, something unexpected happens. I discover my own power.The transformation begins at the Harrington Foundation Gala when Eleanor collapses mid-speech.I move with efficiency, discreetly signaling security, clearing a path for medical personnel, and redirecting attention from the spectacle with social grace."You handled that like you were born to it," Eleanor tells me later from her hospital bed, her shrewd eyes reassessing me.This single moment shifts everything. Eleanor begins inviting me to join her morning financial discussions. "My grandson may have married you for convenience," she says one morning, sliding the quarterly reports toward me, "However, we underestimated what you can bring to the table."Xavier seems determined to prove her wrong. He assigns me Atlantic Boutique Hotels, a failing chain the board had a
ARIAMy consciousness swims to the surface from a deep sleep the next morning.Something's wrong. The mattress beneath me feels unusually firm, almost unyielding against my back, nothing like the plush comfort I'm accustomed to sinking into each night.There's also a strange pressure on my lower abdomen, something solid and warm pressing insistently against me.Confusion clouds my mind as I struggle to orient myself.My eyelids feel heavy, reluctant to open as if weighed down by invisible anchors. I force them apart slowly, blinking away the haze of sleep, expecting to see the familiar pattern of my bedroom ceiling.Instead, I find myself staring directly into a pair of eyes. Blue eyes. Cold, piercing blue eyes like shards of winter ice, watching me with an intensity that sends a jolt of adrenaline straight through my body.They're mere inches from my face, close enough that I can see the darker ring around his irises, the flecks of steel gray near the pupils.Xavier!"What the—!" The