Torture
HARDIN'S POV
The steam from the shower still clung to my skin as I padded across the hardwood floors of my bedroom, a towel slung low around my hips. The day had drained me—emotionally, mentally, physically. Between the disaster of a meeting with Beatrice Davis, the car and the lingering image of Ariana’s face from this morning, I was ready to shut down.
I dropped the towel and pulled on a pair of boxers, the cool air licking at my damp skin as I collapsed onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath my weight, and for the first time today, my body started to relax.
The silence was a balm.
Then—buzz, buzz.
My phone lit up on the nightstand.
I reached over, expecting maybe a message from my assistant or a follow-up from legal. But no—it was her.
Ariana.
My chest tightened in that familiar way it always did when I saw her name.
‘Boss: Who is Beatrice?’
I stared at the screen for a second, and then—God help me—I laughed. Out loud. The kind of laugh that started in your gut and rolled up to your mouth before you could stop it.
She hadn’t added emojis, hadn’t followed up with context. Just four words. Direct. Protective. Laced with that quiet fire that only she could manage without ever raising her voice.
Still chuckling, I hit the call button. The line barely rang once before she answered.
“Hey,” she said, that soft voice immediately washing over me.
“Is my girlfriend already jealous of a woman she doesn’t even know?” I teased, grinning into the phone as I settled deeper into the pillows.
“I’m not jealous,” she said, a little too quickly.
“Mmm. No? Because that message felt a little… territorial.”
“I just don’t like the way you mentioned her earlier,” Ariana replied, her tone tightening just a fraction. “You said I wouldn’t like her. And you’re right. I don’t. Something about the name Beatrice makes me want to slap someone.”
I laughed again. “God, I missed you today.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Alright, alright,” I said, stretching a hand across my chest. “Beatrice Davis is the daughter of the guy I was supposed to meet today. Her father bailed and sent her instead. Apparently, she’s running part of their expansion strategy.”
Ariana was silent on the other end.
“She spent the whole meeting flirting,” I continued, voice dry. “I mean—full throttle. Leaning in, touching my hand, calling me intense. Suggested we take business to dinner. Somewhere ‘less uptight,’ her words. Tried to kiss my cheek before she left.”
“She what?” Ariana hissed.
I smiled, letting the possessiveness roll through the line like a warm current.
“She’s lucky I wasn’t there,” Ariana muttered darkly. “I would’ve broken her damn hands.”
“Easy there, tigress,” I said, chuckling. “Your angry voice is weirdly turning me on right now.”
“Hardin!” she squeaked, laughing despite herself.
“What? I’m just saying. You protecting your man? It’s hot.”
There was a pause, and then her laughter turned into a quiet sigh. “I just… hate the idea of anyone trying to touch you like that. It makes my skin crawl.”
“I know,” I said gently. “That’s why I shut it down, babe. Cold. I didn’t give her an inch. Not a smile. Not a hint. You should’ve seen her face when I said we’d cancel the deal if she kept it up.”
Ariana was quiet again, and I could imagine her biting her lip, brow furrowed, eyes dark.
“I’m proud of you,” she said softly. “I really am. Some guys would’ve... you know, entertained it.”
“Not me,” I said. “You know better than that.”
I heard her shifting on the other end, the faint creak of a mattress, the rustle of blankets. My body reacted instantly, the sound of her climbing into bed like a whisper of silk against my skin.
“You’re getting in bed?” I asked, voice low.
“Mmhm,” she hummed. “Finally.”
I groaned. “Damn, I wish I was in your bed instead of mine.”
“Do you?” she teased, voice lilting.
“You have no idea.”
“Well,” she said slowly, “if it makes you feel better… I’m wearing that nightgown.”
My brain short-circuited. “The nightgown?”
“Mmhm.”
“The sheer one?”
“Exactly.”
Another groan tore from my throat, this one more guttural. I tossed my arm over my eyes like that would somehow help me not imagine her in that slinky, barely-there slip of fabric that clung to every inch of her body and made me lose coherent thought.
“You’re torturing me.”
“I know,” she said sweetly. “But you kind of deserve it for spending your afternoon with Miss Seduce-a-CEO.”
I laughed, full and deep. “If you were there, you’d see exactly how little I wanted to be in that room with her.”
“I believe you,” she said, softer now.
My voice dipped. “You always do. That means more than I can say.”
There was a moment of quiet—comfortable, warm. The kind of silence that came when two people didn’t need to fill space just to feel close.
“I thought about you all day,” she said finally.
“Same,” I replied. “I kept seeing that look on your face this morning. The bruise.”
She didn’t speak, but I heard her exhale.
“I hate that I left,” I admitted. “I hated myself the second I walked out that door.”
“You didn’t leave me,” she said. “You respected me. That means everything.”
“I still wanted to come back and put Celia through a wall.”
“I know,” she murmured. “But you didn’t. That’s the difference between you and someone like her. You don’t use power to control people. You use it to protect them.”
I closed my eyes, her words like balm on the frayed edges of my soul.
“I’d burn the world down for you, Ariana,” I said honestly.
“You don’t have to. Just… stay mine.”
There it was again—that feeling. The kind of pull no amount of logic could resist. A soul-deep ache to be near her, with her, of her.
“I am,” I said. “Only yours. You know that, right?”
“I know. But still…” she sighed, and I heard the pillow shift under her cheek. “Bee or Beatrice or whatever she calls herself? She better stay clear of me. And of my man.”
I smirked. “Oh? I’m your man now?”
“Don’t act like you’re not already branded.”
“Branded, huh?”
“Top to bottom,” she said smugly. “Emotionally. Spiritually. Physically. Every inch.”
I let the words settle over me like a blanket, warm and grounding.
“Damn, I love when you get like this.”
“Possessive?”
“Fiery. Fierce. Deadly.”
She laughed, and the sound was music.
“Promise me something,” she said.
“Anything.”
“If she touches you again—tell me. I don’t care if I have to pull up in slippers and curlers.”
“You don’t wear curlers.”
“Well, I’ll buy some for the drama.”
I laughed so hard my abs ached. “You’re insane.”
“For you? Every damn time.”
I went quiet for a second. My smile faded into something more serious. “I wish I was next to you right now.”
“I know,” she whispered. “Me too.”
We didn’t need to say more. The distance was heavy, yes, but it was never enough to weaken what we had.
“I’ll come by tomorrow,” I promised. “Early.”
“Good,” she said. “Bring that smirk of yours.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “For you? Always.”
“Hardin?”
“Yeah?”
There was a pause, and then she said it, voice soft but firm.
“I love you.”
The world stopped. My throat tightened. And I whispered it back, low and fierce.
“I love you too, Ariana. So damn much.”
There was a smile in her voice when she answered. “Then I guess we’re even.”
I stayed on the line even after her breathing began to slow, listening to her drift toward sleep.
And even though I wasn’t in her bed, wrapped in her arms, I felt closer to her than ever.
The day had been chaos.
But this?
This was peace.
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