Family Secrets
ARIANA'S POV
Hardin held my hand like he was anchoring me to something unshakeable, his thumb brushing across my knuckles in slow, protective strokes as we stepped through the grand front doors. The warmth of his palm wrapped around mine, grounding me in the chaos of what had just happened. The heavy door groaned shut behind us with a finality that echoed in my bones.
Grandpa stood in the foyer, his shoulders slightly hunched, leaning on his cane, but his expression was tight with something that looked an awful lot like guilt. My mother hovered just behind me, still rattled.
"I—" Grandfather started, his voice low and weathered, "I'm sorry you had to go through that, sweetheart. Her behavior was inexcusable."
I shook my head, stepping forward, the sting on my cheek still a dull throb, but my heart full of something else entirely. "You don’t need to apologize for her. None of this is your fault."
His eyes met mine. There was something fractured in them. A kind of tiredness that didn't come from age but from heartbreak. He gave a heavy sigh, as though the weight of generations had suddenly settled on his shoulders.
"Still," he said, "this family... it wasn't always like this. We were strong once. Whole. And now..."
I didn’t let him finish. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. He tensed for a moment before his hand settled on my back. I whispered, "I’m alright, Grandpa. We’ll be alright. I promise."
Behind me, I felt Hardin watching, the kind of silent, unblinking attention that made the air pulse with unspoken promises. He didn’t say a word, just waited until I pulled away and nodded softly.
"Come on," he murmured, guiding me toward the staircase. "Let’s get some ice for your face."
He didn’t let go of my hand until we reached the second floor. Even then, it was only to open the door to my room and gesture for me to enter first. The room felt cold, even though the morning sun was peeking through the velvet drapes.
My reflection in the mirror by the dresser made me flinch. The left side of my face was inflamed, a red mark stretching across my cheekbone. It wasn’t just the pain that made my stomach twist—it was the anger in Hardin’s eyes when he saw it.
He crossed to the door and called out to the maid. "Bring us ice please."
There was no room for hesitation in his voice.
When he turned back to me, his expression was a blend of fury and restraint. His jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitch.
"It’s not that bad," I said gently, walking toward the bed and sitting down.
He knelt in front of me, both hands reaching up to brush my hair back from my face. His touch was feather-light, but his fingers trembled with barely contained rage.
"It took everything in me not to hit her back," he said, voice low and shaking. "Every damn thing. You don’t get to hurt what’s mine. Not like that. Not ever."
My breath caught. The way he said it—what’s mine.
I placed my hand over his. "I’m okay, Hardin. Really. She’s not worth your anger."
His eyes met mine, dark and stormy. "But you are. You’re worth everything."
There was a knock on the door, and the maid entered quickly, eyes lowered as she handed him a towel-wrapped bundle of ice. He dismissed her with a nod before turning his full attention back to me.
He pressed the ice gently against my cheek, watching my face with such intensity that I had to look away.
"Does it hurt here?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Only when I smile."
He gave a soft, reluctant chuckle and then leaned in, his lips brushing the other side of my face. "Then I’ll do whatever it takes to bring that smile back. Even if it means killing the next person who tries to touch you."
I stared at him. The threat in his voice wasn’t empty.
"Hardin..."
He looked up. "I mean it, Ariana. You don’t have to put up with this. Family or not, you deserve better than people who strike first and love last."
I reached for his hand again. "And yet... they’re still my family."
He nodded slowly, as if trying to understand a logic that didn’t make sense to him. "You’re stronger than all of them put together. But don’t you ever mistake strength for tolerance. Being strong doesn’t mean letting them walk over you."
"I know," I whispered.
He leaned in and kissed my cheek, just above the swelling, then moved to press a kiss to my forehead.
"I hate that I have to leave you right now," he muttered.
I blinked. "Leave?"
He nodded. "There’s a client I need to meet. It’s been scheduled for weeks. But believe me, I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important."
I straightened and forced a grin. "Don’t worry about me. Have you forgotten who I am? I’m Ariana Stone Miller. I’m not some porcelain doll."
That made him pause. Then laugh. A real laugh that pulled his lips into a soft curve. He stood up, towering over me, and tilted my chin with a finger.
"That’s exactly why I’m in love with you," he said. "But if anyone so much as breathes wrong around you while I’m gone, you call me. Immediately. No second guessing."
"Yes, sir," I said teasingly.
He leaned in again and kissed me, slow and lingering, his fingers sliding gently into my hair. He kissed me like he was reluctant to let go. Like I was the only thing anchoring him.
When he finally pulled away, his lips were just a breath away from mine. "I love you."
"I know."
He gave me one last look—dark eyes burning with something possessive and deep—before walking out the door.
I sank back into the pillows, heart still fluttering from the kiss, but the warmth quickly faded as reality crept in again.
My family was unraveling. Garry was in prison, Celia had officially declared war, and the storm behind her words still hung like smoke in the air. That look she gave my mother. That knowing look.
There was something buried. Something none of them had said yet.
And I needed to find it.
I wasn’t just Ariana Stone Miller.
I was the girl who was going to make this family face every truth they tried to bury.
Starting now.
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