Boundaries
HARDIN’S POV
The silence in the car was almost a relief.
Beatrice sat beside me in the back seat, legs crossed, fingers twitching around her phone as she kept stealing glances in my direction. Every few minutes, she’d open her mouth like she was going to say something, then think better of it.
Good.
If she wasn’t going to talk about business, I had no interest in hearing a single damn syllable out of her mouth.
Outside the tinted windows, Switzerland glided by in quiet elegance—snow-capped mountains in the distance, winding roads lined with fir trees, the sun soft against the glass. The kind of postcard setting that should’ve brought a sense of peace. Instead, it felt like the backdrop to a prison sentence.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Ariana.
The way her lips had pressed to mine like a claim.
The way she’d whispered, “Try not to strangle her mid-flight.”
God, I missed her already.
“Lovely weather,” Beatrice said suddenly, voice light and sugary.
I didn’t look at her. “You done?”
A pause. “Excuse me?”
“The small talk. You got it out of your system?”
Her laugh was tight. “You know, you don't have to treat me like this.”
I ignored her.
Her smile disappeared. Good.
We arrived at the hotel a few minutes later—a towering blend of glass and stone nestled in the Swiss hillside, elegant in a cold, impersonal way. The kind of place people came to pretend they had no problems because the sheets were Egyptian cotton and the mini bar was stocked with overpriced whiskey.
The driver unloaded our bags while I headed straight to the front desk. Beatrice stood a little too close behind me, enough to make my skin crawl.
Two key cards. One for me. One for her.
We didn’t say a word as we stepped into the elevator.
The silence in that space wasn’t awkward—it was charged. Like static waiting to crack the air open. She kept stealing glances, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a look back.
When the elevator dinged on our floor, I stepped out first, walking down the hall until I found my room—suite 1206.
She moved toward the one across from mine.
Perfect.
“Try to get some rest,” she said lightly. “Big day tomorrow.”
I didn’t answer.
Just slipped my card into the lock and stepped inside.
The suite was sleek, sterile, tastefully modern. A king-sized bed, floor-to-ceiling windows, a sitting area with a bottle of champagne on ice I had no intention of touching.
The door clicked shut behind me.
I threw my bag on the couch at the foot of the bed and exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
Finally.
I stripped out of my shirt, my fingers moving absently, my thoughts tangled in Ariana’s voice, her eyes, her touch. The way she’d clung to me last night. The way her body had trembled under mine. And then—just as quickly—the guarded look in her eyes this morning.
What was she hiding?
I scrubbed a hand over my face. Not now. I had to focus. Impress the board. Keep my mother from ruining everything. Then I’d be on the next flight home.
Still, my chest ached.
I headed for the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped under the hot spray, hoping it would burn the tension off me. It didn’t. The water hit my skin, steam curling around my head, and all I could see was Ariana’s face when she told me she was “okay.”
She wasn’t. I knew it.
But I’d left anyway.
I let the heat roll over me for another few minutes, then turned off the water and stepped out. My towel was wrapped low around my waist as I ran a hand through my wet hair, walking back into the suite.
And then I stopped cold.
Beatrice was sitting on the arm of the couch.
In my room.
Looking straight at me.
“What the hell?” I snapped, the sharp edge of my voice echoing off the walls. “How the fuck did you get in here?”
She had the audacity to smirk. Her eyes flicked down my chest to where the towel hung loosely at my hips, and I saw the exact moment her pupils dilated.
“There’s a connecting door,” she said with a shrug, like that explained everything. “Between our rooms. Didn't you notice?”
I turned slowly toward the wall near the minibar.
Sure enough, there it was. A narrow wooden door, slightly ajar.
Son of a bitch.
“I didn’t know it was there,” I said, my voice sharp, jaw clenched. “You don’t get to just waltz in here, Beatrice.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Come on. It’s not like anything’s going to happen. You hate me, remember?”
“Damn right, I do.” I grabbed a T-shirt from my open suitcase, yanked it over my head without turning my back to her. “So why are you here?”
“I thought maybe you’d want to have a drink. Loosen up a little. You’ve been tense since we landed.”
“I’m tense because I’m trapped in Switzerland with a woman who doesn’t know how to respect boundaries.”
“Boundaries,” she repeated, as if the word offended her. “Jesus, Hardin. I’m trying to be civil.”
“You don’t get to be civil now, not after last night,” I snapped. “You tried to use the fact that we were alone to get into my pants.”
Her smile faltered.
I took a step closer, keeping my voice low, deadly calm.
“I don’t want to drink with you. I don’t want to talk to you. I want you to get the fuck out of my room before I call the front desk and make damn sure this never happens again.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then stood, straightening the sleeves of her cream blazer like nothing had happened.
“Well,” she said, heading for the connecting door, “maybe tomorrow you’ll be in a better mood.”
“Don’t count on it.”
She turned, her eyes sharp now. “She’s going to break your heart, you know. Girls like her always do.”
I froze.
“She’s too perfect,” Beatrice said, voice laced with envy. “Too shiny. She’s going to slip the second someone sees the cracks. And when she does, you’ll realize you threw everything away for a fantasy.”
I walked toward the door and slammed it shut in her face.
Locked it.
Turned the deadbolt.
And then I stood there, seething.
Breathing hard.
Every muscle in my body tight with restraint.
How dare she?
How fucking dare she come into my space, try to manipulate me again, then spit venom about the woman I—
No.
No, I wasn’t doing this.
I grabbed the hotel phone, pressed zero. The front desk picked up immediately.
“Yes, Mr Richard?”
“I want my room changed,” I said, biting off every word. “First thing tomorrow. No connecting doors. No proximity to 1205.”
“Understood, sir. We’ll arrange that.”
I dropped the phone and sat heavily on the bed, chest still heaving. My reflection in the mirror across the room looked like someone ready to break something.
But I wouldn’t.
I couldn’t afford a scandal.
Not now.
Not with this contract. Not with my father watching from the shadows. Not with the vultures waiting for any excuse to pounce.
I dragged a hand over my face.
Ariana.
I needed to think of her.
Her laugh. Her fire. Her fucking strength.
She’d told me not to strangle Beatrice mid-flight and I’d laughed, thinking she was joking.
She knew.
She always knew.
And somehow, I was supposed to sleep tonight knowing she was hiding something from me—and I was a continent away from doing a damn thing about it.
I got up, grabbed my phone, and stared at her name in my messages.
I wanted to call.
To hear her voice.
To ask again what was wrong.
But I didn’t.
I just typed: I miss you.
No reply.
I lay down on the bed, stared up at the ceiling, and tried not to think about how much I hated this room. This hotel. This entire trip.
Tried not to think about Ariana flinching when I asked if she was okay.
Tried not to think about the fact that, for the first time since I met her, I was genuinely afraid of what she might be keeping from me.
Sleep didn’t come easy.
But morning would.
And then, at least, I’d have a distraction.
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