Boiling Rage

ARIANA'S POV

The door slammed shut behind me, echoing like a gunshot down the hospital corridor. My heels clacked against the floor in sharp, angry beats as I stormed toward the exit. I was breathing too hard. Too fast. My chest rose and fell like I had sprinted through fire, and in a way—I had.

Garry.

That bastard.

Even with a knife wound, shackled to a hospital bed, surrounded by guards, he still managed to infect the air around him like a disease. Still smug. Still in control. Still one step ahead. And worst of all—still threatening everything I had left.

I shoved open the glass doors, stepping into the crisp afternoon air like it owed me something. I didn’t care about the people passing by. Didn’t care if anyone recognized me, or stared, or whispered. All I could think about was the bile rising in my throat and the pulse hammering behind my eyes.

I needed air.

I needed to scream.

Instead, I pulled out my phone with trembling fingers and hit Hardin’s contact.

He picked up before the second ring.

"Ariana?"

I didn’t even say hello. "He’s still playing games, Hardin. You were right. He’s not done. He’s not scared. He’s planning something."

There was a pause. Then his voice, low and steady, wrapped around me like a tether. "Breathe, Ari. Just take a breath, baby. Tell me what happened."

I sucked in a sharp breath, let it out through my nose. "He said it. Said he passed the torch. That this was never about him. That I’d come looking for whoever he handed it off to. He’s taunting me, even now."

Hardin’s voice was like a balm, cool and grounding. "He’s trying to get in your head. That’s what he does. That’s all he has left. He’s locked up, Ariana. He can’t get to you. He can’t get to your mother. He can’t get to us."

Those last two words calmed me more than anything. Us.

He always did that. He always knew exactly what to say, when to say it. While the rest of the world made me feel like I was walking a tightrope over lava, Hardin was the one thing that made me feel like I had solid ground under my feet.

I let out a long breath. "I hate that he can still get under my skin. Even now. After everything."

"That’s because you’re human," Hardin said. "And you care. You care about your mom. About the truth. About making things right. That’s your strength, not your weakness."

"He’s pushing her toward a breakdown," I said softly. "I see it in her eyes every time I come home. It’s like she’s slowly drowning and pretending she’s fine."

"We’ll help her. We’ll get her through this. You’re not alone in this fight, Ari. You’ve got me. Always."

My chest loosened. Just a little.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"You don’t have to thank me for loving you," he replied.

God. What did I ever do to deserve him?

We stayed on the phone for another minute, just listening to each other breathe. Then I murmured, "I’m heading to the office. I need to get out of my own head."

"Okay," he said. "Call me if you need anything. Or even if you don’t."

"I will."

I ended the call, tucked the phone back in my bag, and walked to my car. The engine roared to life, and for a few minutes, I drove in silence, letting the hum of the tires and the occasional street honk drown out the storm in my brain.

By the time I pulled into the parking garage beneath the office building, I had constructed the mental fortress I needed to get through the day. Work mode. Professional mode. Ice queen when necessary.

The elevator ride to the twelfth floor was smooth, clinical. I barely registered the chirp as the doors opened.

"Good afternoon, Miss Miller," Georgia greeted me the moment I stepped out. Her dark curls were pulled into a sleek bun, and her clipboard was already in hand. Organized. Sharp. Everything I needed in this moment.

"Georgia," I said, forcing a tight smile. "Let’s keep today light. Just the essentials."

She nodded. "Of course. I’ve already filtered out anything non-urgent. Your 1 PM meeting with the design team is still on. They’re waiting in conference room B."

"Perfect."

I walked down the hall, past the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. Usually, I loved that view. Today, I didn’t even glance.

The conference room buzzed with nervous energy when I entered, but I waved off the formalities.

"Let’s get started."

Designs were laid out—sketches, samples, prototypes. New pieces for the winter line. Normally, I’d take my time, give detailed feedback, get involved in the craftsmanship. But today, I couldn’t focus. I approved what I needed to. Rejected what clearly missed the mark. And all the while, the back of my mind looped like a broken record.

You’re wasting your time chasing the dead.

I’ve already passed the torch.

Who? Who could he possibly trust enough? Everyone loyal to him was either behind bars or buried. No one survived the fall of his empire. At least… not that I knew of.

My mother’s face flashed behind my eyes—tired, pale, thinner than she used to be. Her eyes, hollow. Her smile, forced. Her voice growing quieter each day. What if he knew that? What if this was his final revenge? Letting the guilt, the past, the threat fester until it broke her?

The meeting ended, but I stayed behind in the conference room, pretending to review documents. I needed the quiet. The illusion of control.

Back in my office, I buried myself in work. Emails. Vendor approvals. Supply chain updates. A hundred decisions I didn’t have the energy for but forced myself through anyway.

Until the phone rang.

I ignored it.

It rang again.

And again.

With a sigh of irritation, I reached for the handset—only to pause when I saw the caller ID flash across the screen.

My breath caught in my throat.

I stared.

The name burned into my eyes.

My heart skipped a beat.

The ringing continued.

The air. The noise. The thoughts.

It was just me and the phone.

If she was calling by this time, it wasn't good.

******

Guess who?
She's The Boss
Detail
Share
Font Size
40
Bgcolor