A Brother?
ARIANA’S POV
I didn’t even realize I’d left the restaurant until I was already in the car, hands shaking on the steering wheel. The doors were shut. The world was quiet. And for a second, it felt like I was suspended in a void where nothing made sense anymore.
A brother.
I had a brother.
The words echoed in my skull like they belonged to someone else’s life. Not mine. Someone else’s dramatic, tragic, messed-up life—not the one I’d carefully tried to patch back together after Dad died. Not the life I’d been forcing into order, brick by brick, routine by routine.
I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t start the car.
I just sat there, staring blankly. My forehead leaned against the cool leather of the wheel, breath fogging the space between us. The silence in the car was deafening, the kind that made your thoughts scream louder just to fill it.
He had a son.
Not just a fling. Not just a mistake hidden in Paris.
A son.
Someone who carried his blood. His DNA. Someone who existed all this time while I sat across from Dad at every breakfast table thinking I was the only child. The center of his world. The one who inherited the best and worst of him.
A ring. A secret. A child he never looked in the eyes.
And now… he was here. Watching me. Breaking into my room like a shadow from a life I never signed up for.
I clenched the steering wheel, knuckles white.
It didn’t make sense. Why now? Why appear now? If he’d stayed hidden this long, what changed?
The money? The inheritance? Or something deeper?
My stomach churned.
I reached for my phone and unlocked it before I could talk myself out of it.
Hardin.
His name was right there at the top of my recent calls, bold and comforting in its familiarity. I could picture him so clearly—those knowing eyes, the way he always leaned forward slightly when I spoke, like every word I said mattered. He’d listen. He always did.
But I couldn’t press call.
Not this time.
Not with this.
I hovered over the screen, thumb twitching.
He’d want answers. He’d go into protect mode. He’d drop everything, pace around his office like a caged animal, call in favors, track every surveillance feed in the city. And when I told him what I’d found out—that I had a brother who wore my dead father's ring and snuck into my room while I was asleep—he would lose his mind.
He’d never let it go.
He’d worry constantly. Follow me. Fight shadows. And worst of all, he’d look at me like I was fragile. Breakable. I couldn’t stand that.
This was my mess to deal with. My father’s mess.
And dragging Hardin into it would only make it worse.
I swallowed hard and dropped the phone onto the passenger seat like it had burned me.
Tears pressed behind my eyes, hot and humiliating.
I blinked them away.
No.
No crying.
Not now.
I had to stay sharp. Stay focused. This wasn’t the time to fall apart. It never really was.
I looked at my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes were red. My mascara had smudged slightly beneath the lower lashes, making me look like I hadn’t slept in days. Maybe I hadn’t.
“You’re okay,” I whispered to myself, voice cracking. “You’re fine.”
The lie didn’t even try to convince me.
What would Mom say if she found out? Would it shatter her? Would she feel like her whole life was a lie? Or would she look me straight in the eye and tell me she’d known something all along? That she felt it, even if she couldn’t prove it?
No. No, she didn’t know.
I was sure of that.
I leaned back in the seat and exhaled, air rattling out of my chest like I’d been holding it for years. My nails dug into the leather, grounding myself, trying to anchor my spiraling thoughts.
What was he planning?
Why show up now, after all these years of silence?
What did he want from me?
From us?
If this was about money, If this was about revenge—what for? He was the secret. The one who was hidden. My family didn’t steal anything from him. We didn’t even know he existed.
Unless that’s what hurt the most.
That we never even knew to include him.
My father’s face hovered in my mind again. His laugh, deep and rare. His silence, heavier than most people's shouting. The way he used to place his hand on my shoulder and squeeze once—always once—as if that single touch held everything he couldn't say aloud.
Was it guilt behind those eyes all along?
Had I missed the signs?
The late nights, the unexpected trips, the locked drawers in his study? Had they all been pieces of a truth I never dared to guess?
I grit my teeth and shook my head. No. I wouldn’t go down that road. Not now.
I needed clarity.
Focus.
The only place that ever gave me that was work.
Cold, sterile, familiar work. Meetings. Data. Reports. Strategy decks. Problems I could actually solve. Numbers that didn’t lie. People that didn’t crawl through your window wearing your father’s ring like a threat carved in metal.
I picked up my phone again—this time not to call, but to check the time. I would bury myself in work, that was best right now.
I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to dream. I didn’t want to close my eyes and see his face again—whoever he was. My brother. My ghost. My threat.
The engine purred to life beneath my fingers. I eased the car into drive, pulling onto the quiet road like I was escaping something even I couldn’t name.
As the city lights slid past the windows, something cracked open inside me. Not a sob. Not quite. More like the soft tearing of something stitched too tightly for too long.
Why didn’t he tell me?
My father had secrets. I knew that. I’d lived with it. But this? This was something else. A child isn’t a mistake you hide in a box and pray no one opens. A child is a choice. Even when it’s unplanned. Even when it’s complicated. Even when it threatens everything.
So why didn’t he tell me?
Why didn’t he trust me?
Was I that sheltered? That protected? Or just not worth the truth?
I turned the wheel harder than necessary, blinking back the sting in my eyes.
Maybe he didn’t want me to hate him.
Too late.
The thought came and went, sharp and uninvited. I didn’t even know if it was true. I didn’t hate him. I couldn’t. But I didn’t know how to forgive him either.
I should’ve called Hardin.
I should’ve told someone.
But the truth was—I didn’t want comfort.
I wanted control.
And comfort didn’t solve mysteries.
Did this boy—this brother—know who I was? Had he studied me from afar? Followed me? Was I a name on a file? A photo in a dossier? Or just a person he resented by default because I got the life he didn’t?
My chest tightened.
Was this about inheritance? Or something darker?
A warning?
A challenge?
A declaration?
I gripped the steering wheel tighter and pressed down on the accelerator, the tires humming as I pushed forward, away from the restaurant, away from the truth, toward something that felt like stability even if it was fake.
My thoughts raced with the blur of traffic lights. And yet, underneath it all, one terrifying truth rose louder than the rest.
This wasn’t over.
He didn’t come to say hello.
He came to send a message.
And I’d heard it loud and clear.
But I wasn’t sure I was ready to answer.
Not yet.
Because if I did, if I turned around and looked him in the eye, I wasn’t sure who I’d be anymore.
Daughter?
Sister?
Target?
Or something else entirely.
I drove faster.
And behind my eyes, I could already feel the next storm building.
Whatever this was—it wasn’t done with me yet.
And God help whoever tried to pull me under with it.
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