I Promise
HARDIN’S POV
I woke up to the soft hum of silence.
The first thing I felt was her. Warm, tucked against me, her leg slung over mine, her breath feathering across my chest. And the first thing I saw—before I could even register the time, the light, or the day—was her stomach.
Flat.
Still.
But suddenly holding every ounce of my attention.
Could it be? Could our child be growing there? Hidden, small, fragile. Unspoken but present.
The thought curled through my chest like smoke and settled somewhere deep. I hadn’t meant to fixate on it. But once the idea had taken root last night, it refused to let go. It changed something in me—quietly, powerfully. A shift in the axis.
My gaze lingered on her belly, and I couldn’t stop the slow, helpless smile that crept across my face.
God.
What if?
What if that curve someday wasn’t just soft from sleep, but swollen with something we made together?
I let the image bloom in my mind—Ariana storming through the house because I forgot to bring her pickles, swearing I was useless while her emotions ping-ponged like a firecracker. Her already dramatic sighs would become operatic. Her attitude? Nuclear.
She’d be a nightmare.
And I’d love every goddamn second of it.
I bent my head, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder, then lower, to the center of her stomach. Her skin was warm and smooth, and I lingered for a beat, closing my eyes.
If there was something there—some tiny new piece of us—I wanted it to know I was already here.
Then I carefully untangled myself and slipped out of bed.
I was supposed to fly out this morning. Switzerland. Meetings. Contracts. A whole string of hours filled with important, expensive things.
But none of them mattered right now.
I wasn’t going anywhere until I knew my girl was okay. Not just pretending. Not just functional.
Actually okay.
I padded to the kitchen, the floors cool beneath my feet, the penthouse still cloaked in early morning hush. I opened the fridge, pulling out eggs, some herbs, sourdough. She didn't eat dinner last night. She needed something warm. Real. Grounding.
I cracked the eggs into a bowl, beating them with a fork, the motion quick and thoughtless. But my thoughts were anything but quiet.
Whatever was going on, she was holding it in with both hands, like it might explode if she let it slip.
I didn’t need all the answers right now. I just needed to be what she could lean on. So I poured every ounce of that intention into breakfast, like the right toast could fix a nervous system and scrambled eggs might make her smile.
When I came back into the bedroom with the tray balanced in my hands, she was awake.
Sitting up.
Looking better than she had last night, though still guarded. Her eyes flicked to the tray and then to me, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips.
“You made breakfast?” she asked.
“I make a mean scrambled egg. World class, actually. Michelin-starred, probably.”
She gave me that look. The one that said I was being ridiculous and she liked it.
I sat on the edge of the bed and placed the tray gently in front of her.
“Let me feed you,” I said, picking up a fork.
She squinted at me. “I’m not a baby.”
“No. Babies are easier to handle. You, my love, are a feral little storm disguised as a woman.”
She burst out laughing, and God, I’d missed that sound. Even if it was short-lived.
She took the fork from me and muttered, “Idiot,” under her breath, but she was still smiling as she dug into the eggs.
I sat beside her and picked up my own plate. We ate side by side, knees brushing beneath the sheets, the morning sun spilling lazily through the curtains.
Every few seconds, I caught myself just staring at her.
“You’re doing it again,” she said without looking up.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like a creep.”
I grinned. “I’m admiring the mother of my potential future child. Let me live.”
She choked slightly on her orange juice. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly, taking a bite of toast. “Just saying you’re radiant.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
She rolled her eyes and shoved another bite of egg in her mouth, and for a moment it almost felt like nothing had happened. Like we were just… us. Loud. Bantering. Ridiculous.
But then the air shifted. Her smile dimmed just slightly, like a cloud passed over the sun. I watched her set her fork down, her fingers twitching around the edge of the tray.
I set mine down too.
“You okay?” I asked.
She looked up at me, her brows drawing slightly inward. “Don’t you have to be in Switzerland?”
“I was supposed to be. But I’m not going anywhere until you’re okay.”
Her eyes softened, but there was something behind them. Guilt, maybe. Or fear.
She drew a breath and said quietly, “About last night…”
I stilled.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was really… overwhelmed. The stuff with your mom—how she looks at me like I’m some stain on your life. The board’s sudden obsession with my private life. The whispers. The scrutiny. It’s just been building and building and…”
Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat quickly. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you. You’ve been nothing but good to me.”
I studied her carefully.
What she said made sense. It added up.
But it still didn’t feel like the whole equation.
Her fingers twisted in the bedsheets, and her gaze darted to the window like she couldn’t bear to look at me too long.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I said, inching closer. “Stress makes people unravel. You’re allowed to feel things, Ari.”
“I just don’t want to be… a burden.”
I reached out, cupping her cheek, turning her gently to face me. “You’re not. You could never be.”
She nodded slowly, her lashes lowering, but I could feel it—the barrier. The thing she wasn’t saying. Still tucked behind her eyes like a locked drawer.
I didn’t push.
Instead, I leaned in and kissed her—soft and certain. A reminder. A vow.
When I pulled back, I pressed my forehead to hers.
“Whatever’s going on, whatever storm is in your chest—you don’t have to face it alone. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her breath trembled against my lips.
“Promise me something?” I whispered.
She hesitated. “What?”
“Promise me that no matter what happens… you won’t shut me out. That you’ll talk to me. Trust me. And that you won’t leave me.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine, wide and glassy.
“I need to know that we’re in this together,” I said softly. “Even when it’s ugly. Even when it’s hard. Especially then.”
She stared at me for a long second, her silence so thick I could feel it pressing against my skin.
Then she nodded once.
“I promise,” she whispered.
And then she kissed me.
It wasn’t shy.
It wasn’t a thank you.
It was a sealing of something. A cementing.
Her fingers wound in my hair, her mouth urgent against mine, and I let myself fall into it—into her.
But in the back of my mind, just behind the swell of affection and the heat of her skin, something whispered:
She’s still hiding something.
And whatever it was…
It wasn’t going to stay hidden much longer.
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