The Dinner
ARIANA'S POV
The mirror didn’t lie.
For once, I looked like the woman I used to be—before the threats, before the paranoia, before every step outside felt like walking into crosshairs. The red dress clung to my body like a promise, elegant and sharp, with a slit that dared the world to try me. My hair cascaded over one shoulder in soft waves, and my lips matched the color of the silk that kissed my skin.
When I stepped out of my room, I heard my heels tap against the marble stairs. Slow. Intentional. Powerful.
Hardin stood at the bottom, and the look on his face nearly brought me to my knees.
His eyes widened—dark, molten, and locked on me like I was the only thing that existed. He didn’t speak at first. Didn’t have to. The air between us said enough. His hands twitched at his sides, and I could see his jaw work like he was trying to remember how to breathe.
“You…” he breathed out. “You look… breathtaking.”
A slow smile curved my lips. "Don’t act so surprised."
He laughed under his breath, stepping forward, offering his arm. "Let’s get you out of here before I change my mind and cancel dinner."
We walked out together, his hand resting gently at the small of my back. He opened the car door for me like a man born to protect, to serve—and maybe to worship. The air inside the car was cool, scented faintly with his cologne. Rich. Clean. Comforting.
The city lights glimmered as we drove. I let my head fall back against the seat, eyes closed, breathing in the stillness. Hardin’s fingers brushed against mine over the console, not quite holding, not quite innocent either. I turned my hand, laced my fingers through his.
When we arrived at the restaurant, a valet opened my door, but Hardin was already there, hand outstretched. The building loomed above us—glass and steel and elegance. A place for powerful people to pretend they didn’t have demons in their closets.
Hardin led me in. Every movement was calculated. Controlled. He pulled out my chair, ordered my drink without asking—because he knew. He always knew.
For the first time in days, I felt the fog lifting.
We laughed. We teased. He told me about the first time I introduced him as my boyfriend to my mother —how terrified he’d been that she’d see right through his sarcasm and find the boy who wasn’t sure he deserved me.
"You’ve always deserved me," I told him, voice low.
His eyes met mine—dark and soft. "I still don’t know if that’s true. But I want to spend the rest of my life proving it."
It was perfect.
Until it wasn’t.
A voice like venom sliced through the hum of the room.
“Well, isn’t this sweet?”
The blood drained from my face before I even turned.
Andrew.
Hardin’s cousin.
And walking poison.
He stood at the edge of our table, dressed to impress but reeking of ego and entitlement. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. It never did.
“What do you want?” Hardin’s voice turned cold, each word clipped like a knife.
Andrew ignored him. His eyes found me instead.
“And Ariana Miller,” he said with mock admiration. “Didn’t think I’d see you here. But then again, the perks of being with the new family golden boy are… substantial, aren’t they?”
My spine stiffened. “Excuse me?”
He smirked. “Oh come on. We all know what marrying Hardin means—for your precious company, for your social status. You’re a smart girl. Would’ve been stupid not to fall in love with the CEO, right?”
The slap I wanted to give him echoed in my head. But I held still. I stood, instead.
“How dare you?” I said, each syllable dipped in ice. “I loved him when he was a sarcastic assistant who wouldn’t shut up about how I'm never satisfied. I loved him before the title. Before the power. Before you had any reason to care.”
Andrew’s eyes flicked to Hardin. “Touching. But come on, cousin. We both know this act won’t last. You’re not built for the top. That seat was never meant for you.”
Hardin rose, slow and lethal. “And yet, here I am. Sitting in it. Running the company you never had the balls to lead.”
Andrew’s smile didn’t waver, but something flashed in his eyes. Something dangerous.
He leaned closer, palms flat on our table, his voice dropping to a whisper only we could hear.
“Enjoy it. All of it. The dinners. The girl. The throne. Because sooner or later, you’ll lose them all.”
Hardin took a step forward, his fists clenched. Rage rolled off him in waves. I stood quickly, placing a hand on his chest.
“Hardin,” I said, my voice low but firm. “He wants you to lose it. The cameras. The press. One swing and they’ll write your downfall before dessert arrives.”
His chest heaved. His jaw ticked. But slowly, he nodded. Just once.
Then, without turning to Andrew, he said, “Fuck off.”
Andrew’s laugh was soft. Mocking. "Touche."
And then he walked away, back to whatever rock he’d crawled out from.
We sat in silence.
My hand stayed on his chest until he covered it with his own.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “You didn’t deserve that. Not tonight.”
“No,” I said. “But neither did you.”
He shook his head. “He’s just waiting to see me fail.”
“He’s going to keep trying. You know that.”
“I do. Which is why I need you. To remind me why I’m doing this. Why it’s worth it.”
I looked at him for a long moment. Then I leaned in and kissed him. Soft. Certain.
“Because love isn’t a title. And you’re not alone anymore.”
The waiter came with our food. Neither of us touched it.
The evening was no longer about food or laughter.
It was war.
“I don't think I want to be here anymore,” Hardin suddenly said and the look in his eyes told me what exactly he wanted.
“Then let's go home," I whispered as my hand rested on his.
“I know exactly how to make you feel better."