The Envelope
ARIANA’S POV
I didn’t cry when I watched him leave.
Not because I wasn’t breaking inside—I was. I just couldn’t afford to fall apart again. Not after last night. Not after the way I practically crumbled in his arms, then pushed him away with clipped words and a hollow smile. I hated myself for that. Hated how easily the mask slipped when he touched me, looked at me, loved me.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles pale against the leather as I drove through the city streets. The morning sun filtered through the windshield, casting soft golden rays over everything. It felt too calm. Too normal. Like the world had no idea mine had tilted off its axis.
He hadn’t deserved my silence last night. He didn’t deserve my half-truths and guarded looks. I should’ve told him. I almost did.
But how do you look the man you love in the eyes and tell him your entire foundation has cracked? That everything you thought you knew about your life was a lie carefully tucked under your father’s expensive suits and practiced charm?
You don’t.
You fake a smile. You kiss him like it’s the last time. You send him off to Switzerland and pray to every divine power in the sky that Beatrice chokes on her smugness mid-flight and keeps her perfectly manicured claws to herself.
The memory of her waiting by the jet made my teeth grind.
She looked like a cherry-colored vulture. Lurking. Always waiting for a moment of weakness to pounce. And the way she stared at me like I was just a temporary inconvenience in Hardin’s life? I wanted to walk right up and knock those sunglasses off her surgically perfected face.
But I didn’t. Because that’s not what strong women do.
Strong women stay composed. Strong women don’t cry in the car after their boyfriend’s plane disappears into the clouds. Strong women don’t let the ghosts of their father’s secrets unravel them.
Right?
Except maybe I wasn’t as strong as I thought.
Because the truth clawed at the edges of my mind, refusing to stay buried. He was in my room. That boy. That stranger. Standing in the shadows, watching me.
My father had another child.
And he’d never told me.
Two nights ago, my world had shifted in ways I still couldn’t process. And the worst part? I’d let Hardin hold me, kiss me, comfort me—without telling him a damn thing.
Not about the stranger.
Not about the truth.
Not about the brother I never knew I had.
Because if I had told him, he would’ve gone straight into protect mode. He’d have canceled the trip, burned every bridge to keep me safe. And while I loved that part of him—the part that made me feel invincible—I couldn’t let him carry this.
Not yet.
Not when I was still trying to carry it myself.
The company building came into view, tall and gleaming against the skyline. I pulled into the underground lot and parked, cutting the engine with a sigh that felt too big for my lungs.
My reflection in the rearview mirror startled me.
My eyes were rimmed in exhaustion. My lipstick had faded. I looked like someone who hadn’t slept, someone who was barely holding it together.
Because I was.
But again—composure.
I reapplied my gloss, fixed a strand of hair that had escaped my bun, and forced my face into something that resembled power.
Then I stepped out of the car.
The moment I entered the lobby, the atmosphere shifted. Eyes turned. Heads nodded. Employees greeted me with a mix of deference and awe that always felt strange to me. As if they saw a woman who had it all figured out.
If only they knew.
I stepped into the elevator, the familiar chime greeting me as the doors slid shut. It rose in silence, the hum of the motor oddly soothing against the chaos in my chest.
Floor after floor blinked past, and finally, the doors opened onto the executive level. I stepped out alone.
Joan, my assistant, was already waiting at my office door. Clipboard in one hand, her phone in the other.
“Good morning, Miss Miller,” she said, brisk and chipper as always. “Good morning.”
I nodded, trying to summon a smile. “Morning, Joan.”
She handed me the clipboard. “You have a ten a.m. with the launching team, but there’s something else I think you’ll want to see first.”
I paused, raising a brow.
She gestured toward my office door. “A package arrived for you this morning. It’s already on your desk.”
“A package?” I echoed.
She nodded. “A medium-sized envelope. No return address.”
Something in my stomach dipped. Not fear. Not exactly. But something close to dread. Or maybe it was anticipation.
“Thanks,” I said quietly, pushing the door open.
The office welcomed me with polished surfaces, glass walls, and the faint scent of my favorite jasmine oil diffuser. Everything was exactly as I’d left it after what I and Hardin did.
Except for the envelope.
It sat dead center on my mahogany desk. Cream-colored. Slightly thick. No markings. No logo. No address.
Just my name.
Typed. Neat.
ARIANA STONE MILLER.
That was it.
I shut the door slowly behind me, the click of the latch sounding much louder than it should’ve.
My heels clicked softly as I crossed the room. The envelope looked so out of place against the sleek minimalism of the desk, like a stain on something otherwise untouched.
I stared at it.
My pulse kicked up.
Who would send me something like this?
A client?
Unlikely.
The stranger?
My half brother?
My knees almost buckled at the thought. I hadn’t seen him since that night. Just vanished as quickly as he appeared, leaving behind a void that I still didn’t know how to fill.
I reached out with hesitant fingers and touched the envelope.
It was heavier than it looked. Something was inside.
Papers? Photos? A letter?
I didn’t know.
I didn’t open it.
Not yet.
Because I needed a second. Just one more breath to prepare myself for whatever was waiting inside.
My hand curled around it, lifting it slowly.
It wasn’t sealed with tape. Just a tucked flap.
So easy to open. So easy to let everything change.
Again.
I stared at it, heart pounding, fingers trembling, every nerve in my body screaming at me to just do it.
Just rip the bandage.
But I didn’t.
Not yet.
Instead, I sank into my chair, placed the envelope gently in front of me, and stared like it might open itself.
Because whatever was in there… it mattered.
I could feel it in my bones.
And the moment I opened it?
There’d be no going back.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
