I Trust You
HARDIN'S POV
I sat in the private dining suite, fingers tracing the rim of my wine glass, my mind elsewhere. The low hum of classical music played in the background, but it didn’t calm me. Nothing could. Not with the headlines still burning holes in the media.
Ariana was late.
Not unusual—she always had a million fires to put out—but tonight felt different. Heavier. Tense. The fallout from that damn news that had hit harder than I expected. And I hated it. Hated how it made her question everything. Hated how the world dared to twist what we had into something strategic, as if love was a business ploy.
My jaw tightened just thinking about it.
Then, finally, the door opened.
She stepped in like a shadow gliding across glass—elegant, poised, and heartbreakingly beautiful. She was still in the blue suit from this morning that fit her perfectly and made her look like every man’s undoing.
But her eyes…
Her eyes told the real story.
Tired. Guarded. Bruised.
Not physically. No, she looked like a goddess. But the toll of the day—the media storm, the whispering halls of corporate wolves—was there in every tight blink, every carefully controlled breath.
"Hey," I said, rising.
She offered a soft smile. The kind that barely reached her eyes.
"Sorry I’m late. PR briefings and a last-minute board update. Joan’s working overtime."
"So is my sanity," I muttered, stepping toward her. "Come here."
She hesitated for half a second—then let herself be folded into my arms.
I held her close, my chin resting atop her head, breathing in the scent of her perfume. It was subtle—jasmine, maybe vanilla—but it grounded me. It always did.
"I’m sorry," I murmured. "About everything."
She pulled back slightly, enough to look into my eyes.
"It’s okay. Really."
But it wasn’t.
I could see it in her posture, the way her shoulders stayed tight, the way her fingers trembled just slightly when she let them go slack by her side.
"Ari..." I whispered. "Don’t lie to me. Not you."
She let out a shaky breath and nodded.
"I won’t lie. It hurt," she admitted. "Not the headlines. Not really. I’ve seen worse. I’ve survived worse. It’s how they twisted us. Like... like we’re a tactic, not people."
I reached for her hand and guided her to the table, then gently pulled her onto my lap.
She went willingly, curling against me, her arms wrapping around my neck like they belonged there. And they did.
"We’re not a headline," I said softly. "And we’re not a strategy."
She nodded against my chest. "I know. True love always has obstacles, right? This... this is ours. And we’ll overcome it. All of it."
I smiled and touched her cheek, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"That’s my girl."
She gave a soft laugh and slid off my lap, returning to her seat just as the waiter came in with our dinner. We thanked him, and once we were alone again, silence settled between us—but it wasn’t cold. It was comforting. Like the calm after a storm, or maybe the quiet before another.
We ate for a few minutes, each bite grounding us back into the simplicity of the moment.
But then I remembered.
I set my fork down and cleared my throat.
"There’s something I need to tell you."
She looked up immediately, wary but open.
"What is it?"
"The Richards finally signed the partnership with the Davis Group."
Her brow arched slightly. "That’s good news, right?"
"Yes," I said. "Except... there’s a meeting in Switzerland next week. And I’m supposed to go. With Beatrice."
Her expression didn’t change at first. She blinked. Took a slow sip of her water.
"Beatrice."
"Yeah."
A beat.
Then she sighed, setting her glass down.
"I trust you. It’s her I don’t. But more importantly... you should go."
I tilted my head. "What?"
"Hardin, come on," she said gently. "If you don’t go, it’ll be used against you. Your mother will say I’m holding you back. That I’m a distraction. And you already know how she feels about me."
"That doesn’t mean I have to give them what they want."
"It’s not about them. It’s about you. About the company. About your integrity."
She reached across the table and placed her hand over mine.
"Go. Show them you’re still the man who can separate business from personal. And I’ll be here when you get back."
I stared at her, my heart thudding like a war drum.
God, I loved her.
I couldn’t even remember what life was like before her.
She pulled something out of her purse and slid it across the table.
"I was going to give this to you last night at the party, but I forgot it at the office and we got kinda busy.”
Yeah, busy tangled up in the sheets all night.
I picked it up. It was a bracelet.
A simple bracelet, masculine, but with an intricate silver clasp. Our initials engraved discreetly inside.
"You made this?"
She nodded, eyes bright for the first time since walking into the room.
"Designed it myself. Had it custom made."
I turned it over in my hands, smiling.
"It’s beautiful. But not as beautiful as you. You know that, right?"
She blushed. Actually blushed.
"You’re cheesy."
"I’m in love. There’s a difference."
I fastened the bracelet around my wrist, then leaned across the table.
"But for the record, you’re the best birthday gift I’ve ever had."
Her eyes softened. Her smile widened.
I reached for her again, and she met me halfway. Our kiss was soft, slow, full of everything we couldn’t say with words.
When we pulled apart, our foreheads pressed together, I whispered, "Forever, right?"
"Forever," she promised.
And in that moment, I believed it.
No scandal, no mother, no Beatrice or boardroom or battlefield could touch us.
We were fireproof.
Even if the storm came tomorrow, even if the whole world turned against us—
We’d stand.
Together.
Always.
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