Shattered Heart
ARIANA’S POV
The door had barely clicked shut when the silence began to settle.
Heavy. Thick. Complete.
Even the beeping of the monitor faded into the background as I stared at the space Matthew had just left behind. It was as if the air he’d occupied hadn’t decided whether to stay warm or cold.
He lingered in the room long after his body was gone.
I exhaled slowly, letting my eyes drift to the side table where he’d left my phone. It looked foreign, out of place in this sterile space.
My hand moved before I could think. Fingers curling around the edges of the phone like it might bite. My thumb hovered above the screen for a second, reluctant to wake it from its slumber.
And then—vibration.
A sharp buzz against my palm. I flinched.
The screen lit up with a new message.
Unknown Number.
My heart ticked louder than the machines.
Curiosity stirred beneath my ribs, but something colder curled next to it. A prickling sense of dread, like the universe was about to tilt sideways.
Still, I swiped the notification open.
‘Hope you like it.’
That was all.
No name. No explanation.
Just a sentence that tasted like poison.
My brows furrowed. Confusion coiled tight in my chest as I tapped the message.
And then I saw them.
Photos.
The first image opened automatically, and everything in me went still.
Hardin.
Asleep.
His face turned slightly to the side, hair tousled, lips parted in that peaceful way I’d memorized a hundred times. Only this time, he wasn’t lying beside me.
Beside him—Beatrice.
She was half-covered by the bedsheet, her face angled toward the camera, lips curved into something smug. Her lips were brushing against his cheek. A kiss frozen in time.
He was naked. The sheet pooled low on his hips. His arm limp across the mattress.
My breath caught. My fingers trembled.
No.
No, no, no.
My thumb shook as I swiped.
Another photo.
Same room, same lighting.
Beatrice, sitting up now, snapping a selfie with Hardin behind her, still asleep, his chest bare, the imprint of a pillow against his cheek.
Another swipe.
And another.
Each one worse than the last. Each one twisting the knife a little deeper.
The final image was a blur of skin, tangled sheets, her face pressed to his shoulder as if they’d just—
No.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt. My ribs throbbed under the pressure.
It couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be what it looked like.
Hardin wouldn’t—
He couldn’t.
Not to me.
A knock on the door snapped my head up.
Joan’s voice followed. “Boss? I got you the coffee. Should I come in?”
My throat clenched. “No—give me a minute. Please.”
A pause. “Okay. Sure.”
Footsteps retreated, and then silence returned, merciful and cruel all at once.
I turned back to the phone.
There was one more thing in the message.
A video.
My stomach flipped.
Don’t open it.
Leave it.
Pretend none of this happened.
But my finger moved anyway, possessed by something darker than logic—something desperate and self-destructive.
The video loaded.
It was shaky at first, like someone was trying to steady a hidden camera.
And there they were.
Beatrice.
And Hardin.
She was on top of him, bare skin against bare skin, her back to the camera, his hands around her waist.
She was moving.
She was moaning.
Saying his name.
His deep voice responded—groaning softly, a sound that used to be mine.
The sheet covered them barely. Her head fell forward, hair cascading down her back.
The camera shook again.
I didn’t realize I’d stopped breathing.
I didn’t realize the tears had started.
I didn’t even notice the phone slipping from my hand until it hit the bed with a dull thud.
I stared down at it like it was a snake.
The video kept playing.
But I couldn’t watch anymore.
I couldn’t move.
Hardin.
The man who once knelt and kissed my palms like I was made of stars.
The man who told me he would never let anything in this world touch me unless I wanted it to.
The man I defended. Chose. Trusted.
Shattered.
Gone.
I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth, trying to hold the pieces of me together.
But the sob broke through anyway.
A horrible, sharp thing. Raw and wet and real.
It tore out of my chest and bounced off the hospital walls like a scream.
I pulled the blanket up to my face, muffling the sounds, my entire body shaking.
God.
Why?
Why would he do this?
What had I done wrong? What had I missed?
I thought we were fine. I thought we were—
I thought I was enough.
The tears came harder now, each one dragging pain behind it like a rusted chain.
My shoulder burned. My ribs ached. But nothing hurt more than the image of Beatrice, moaning his name while he touched her.
I didn’t even know how long I cried.
At some point, I curled into myself like a child, knees pulled up as far as my injuries would allow, the sheets tangled around my legs like they were trying to strangle me.
Hardin.
Oh God.
My thoughts spiraled—memories colliding into each other like glass:
His smile when he kissed my forehead.
The nights he told me I was the only peace he’d ever known.
All of it meant nothing now.
All of it was a lie.
And the worst part?
A small, aching part of me still didn’t believe it.
That part whispered soft, traitorous things.
He looked asleep.
His hands weren’t moving.
His face looked... Tired. Off.
No. Stop.
I forced the thoughts down.
I couldn’t afford hope right now. Hope was dangerous. Hope made fools out of women like me.
And Beatrice.
Beatrice.
How long had she waited for this?
How long had she smiled in my face while plotting to take everything from me?
She knew what Hardin meant to me. She knew.
And now she had him.
Or at least—she had enough to destroy us.
I should’ve been angry. Furious. Screaming her name like a curse.
But all I felt was hollow.
Like something had scooped me out and left a shell behind.
I stared at the ceiling for a long time, my tears drying against my skin like salt. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
Eventually, the door creaked open.
Joan poked her head in, holding the coffee cup in both hands.
Her eyes found me—saw the mess.
She rushed forward. “Oh my God, Miss Miller—what happened? Are you okay? Did something—”
“I’m fine,” I rasped, voice wrecked.
She blinked. “You’re crying.”
“I said I’m fine.”
She hesitated, clearly torn between respecting my boundaries and trying to comfort me.
“Do you... want me to call someone? Should I get the nurse?”
I shook my head. “No. Just—leave it. Please.”
Joan hovered awkwardly for a moment longer, then placed the coffee on the table and quietly stepped back.
“Alright. I’ll be outside if you need me.”
The door closed again.
I exhaled shakily, my hand inching toward the phone once more.
But I didn’t touch it.
I couldn’t.
Not yet.
Instead, I stared at the blank white ceiling and whispered his name under my breath.
“Hardin…”
And this time, it wasn’t a curse.
It was a prayer.
One I wasn’t sure would ever be answered.
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