You Need To See This
ARIANA'S POV
The ride was quiet.
Too quiet.
Hardin kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting tensely on his thigh, his jaw tight as he stared out at the road ahead. I glanced at him from the passenger seat, watching the way the morning sun highlighted the strain in his expression. We didn’t talk. There was too much unsaid between us—a fragile thread stretched taut, threatening to snap.
He was trying not to ask. I could feel the words burning the tip of his tongue.
And still, he waited.
When we pulled up in front of my company building, he finally turned to look at me.
His voice was low. Careful. "What did she say to you?"
I met his gaze, summoning a smile that felt too composed, too smooth.
"Nothing I can't handle."
He didn’t believe me. Of course he didn’t.
But he nodded anyway. "Okay."
Then he leaned over and kissed me.
Soft. Slow. Like he didn’t want to let go.
I lingered for a second, fingers brushing his cheek before I stepped out. The city greeted me with its usual hum of energy and urgency, and I straightened my blazer like armor before shutting the door. The moment I did, Hardin pulled away, the tires humming against the concrete.
I watched him disappear, exhaling a long breath before turning toward the entrance.
Game face on.
The security guard greeted me with a polite nod, and I smiled in return, walking through the glass doors like I owned the place—because I did. People turned to look as I passed, some smiling, some murmuring greetings, but I didn’t stop.
Not until I reached the elevator.
The moment the doors slid shut behind me, I allowed myself a second. Just one. To lean back against the mirrored wall and close my eyes.
Inhale. Exhale.
I wasn’t going to let her get to me.
When I reached the top floor, my assistant, Joan, stood by my office door holding a digital tablet. She offered me her usual bright smile. "Good morning, Ms. Miller. I hope you had a wonderful night."
"Morning, Joan," I said with a nod, stepping past her and into my office. "Can you send me the final jewelry designs for next week’s launch?"
"Already did. They’re in your inbox."
"Perfect. Thank you."
She nodded and turned, her heels clicking away.
I sat down behind my desk, took off my blazer, and rolled up the sleeves of my silk blouse. Power always came dressed in polish, but mine was carefully stitched together. Today, it felt thinner.
Opening my laptop, I pulled up the folder Joan mentioned, the digital renderings of next week’s collection filling the screen with elegant lines and sparkling gemstones.
But my eyes drifted.
To the corner of my desk. To the small, velvet box I’d left there.
The bracelet.
I groaned softly. I’d forgotten to give it to Hardin.
The custom piece I’d designed for him and me—matching cuffs in white gold, each engraved with the words Mine. Always. And our names underneath. He didn’t know about it yet. I wanted to surprise him.
Later, I promised myself.
I turned back to the designs, clicking through the slides with autopilot precision—but the moment I hit the third file, my mind slipped.
Back.
To her.
To the cool, manicured perfection of Veronica Richards.
Flashback
"You'll never be good enough for my son."
The words weren’t shouted. They didn’t need to be. They landed like frostbite against my skin, slow and biting.
Her smile didn’t waver as she said it. Not even a flicker of doubt.
"Excuse me?" I said, folding my arms, keeping my tone even.
Veronica took a measured step closer, her designer heels silent against the marble floor. "You heard me. I don’t mince words, Ariana. The sooner you accept the truth, the less damage you’ll do."
"And what truth is that, exactly?"
She tilted her head, eyes cool. "That you and Hardin were never meant to be. That your family name stains everything it touches. That the Richardsons and the Millers are enemies—always have been."
There it was.
I felt it like a slap, even though I saw it coming.
"You think this is about bloodlines?" I asked. "About business?"
"It’s about legacy," she said sharply. "My son's future. His image. His empire."
I took a breath, jaw tight. "If you love your son, you’ll let him be happy."
Her eyes narrowed. "I am doing this because I love him. He’s too blind to see what you're doing to him. But I see it. And I will stop it."
My heart was thudding, but I didn’t flinch.
"You don’t scare me."
Elise smirked. "You should be. Because I will do whatever it takes. I will never let my son marry a Miller."
***
I blinked, the memory falling away like a fog.
Back in my office. Back in the present.
And still, the words echoed.
I sat straighter, clicking through the remaining files without really seeing them.
She hated me. Not because of who I was. But because of my name.
Because I was a Miller.
She didn't care that I loved Hardin with everything in me. She didn’t care that we were happy.
She only cared about control.
And that made her dangerous.
I rubbed my temples and leaned back in my chair.
"You're not going to come between us," I whispered, repeating my words to her like a vow.
Because I meant it.
But even vows couldn’t erase the feeling in my chest—the slow burn of frustration, the flicker of anxiety.
I loved Hardin. But what if it wasn’t enough?
What if the war she was starting would tear us apart before we even got a chance to begin?
I closed the design files, pushing the thoughts aside. I had work to do. A company to run. A launch in ten days. I wouldn’t let her throw me off course.
I turned back to my laptop.
And that’s when the door flew open.
Joan stood there, breathless. Pale.
"Miss Miller…"
I sat up instantly. "What is it?"
Her voice trembled.
"You need to see this. Right now."
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