Secrets and More Secrets

ARIANA’S POV

They told me to rest. To sleep.

To recover.

To breathe.

But how could I?

I wasn’t just recovering from a car accident. I was recovering from betrayal. From lies. From the sudden appearance of a man who wore my father’s blood like armor and came bearing a black rose like a funeral dirge.

Sleep wasn’t going to fix that.

So I buried myself in work instead.

I was home. Safe. Or so they said. But no place felt safe anymore. Not since he walked into that hospital room and dropped a war onto my lap like it was a gift-wrapped apology.

The walls of my penthouse felt colder now. Too quiet. Too hollow.

I sat in my office, my laptop open, emails blinking at me like needy children I couldn’t ignore. My assistant had sent over the final marketing drafts for the launch of our exclusive jewelry collection slated for next Wednesday. Everything looked perfect. Too perfect. Like it had no idea how close the world around it was to falling apart.

I read every line. Double-checked every font, every placement, every damn sparkle. I responded to messages. Scheduled calls. Approved last-minute changes.

All the things I should’ve been too exhausted to do.

But exhaustion was a luxury I didn’t have the time to indulge in. Not when there was a snake crawling beneath the Miller name, ready to strike.

And not when my heart still ached for a man whose voice haunted the edges of my thoughts.

Hardin.

He’d called me. More than once.

I didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

God, I wanted to. I wanted to hear that voice. That low, husky drawl that could make my name sound like both a prayer and a sin. I wanted to pretend—for just one second—that none of this was real. That there were no videos of him with Beatrice.

That he hadn’t shattered me with a lie I never saw coming.

But reality didn’t care about what I wanted.

So I let his calls go unanswered.

Let the silence speak for me.

Let the pain settle in my chest like an unwelcome tenant who refused to pay rent.

I dragged my eyes away from the screen and stared blankly at the television, where some crime drama flickered across the screen. I wasn’t watching. I didn’t even know what episode it was. The noise was just there to keep the silence from swallowing me whole.

Until I heard footsteps behind me.

Soft. Slow. Familiar.

I didn’t turn. Not right away.

But the voice that followed made my chest tighten.

“Ariana? Why are you still up, sweetheart?”

I glanced over my shoulder.

My grandfather stood in the doorway of the living room, wrapped in his worn navy robe, silver hair tousled from sleep, concern etched deep into every wrinkle on his face.

“I’m just… not sleepy,” I said softly.

He didn’t speak for a moment. Just looked at me.

Then, with a sigh, he crossed the room and sank onto the couch beside me. He didn’t ask permission. He didn’t need to. His presence had always been a steady anchor in the storm that was my life.

He took my hand, gently, like he was afraid I’d shatter if he held it too tightly.

“We were so scared when we got the call about the accident,” he said, voice thick with something close to pain. “Your mother nearly fainted. And me…” His voice cracked. “I—I can’t bear the thought of losing you too. Not after…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

My father’s death still lingered in our family like a ghost no one knew how to exorcise.

I squeezed his hand. “I’m a Miller,” I whispered. “I can’t die that easily.”

That made him chuckle. A small, broken sound, but still a sound.

“There she is,” he murmured. “My fire-hearted granddaughter.”

We sat in silence for a while, the kind that stretched but didn’t suffocate. The kind that felt like comfort, not avoidance.

And then, without warning, I said the words that had been dancing on my tongue all day, heavy and bitter and burning.

“Did my father ever mention a certain William to you?”

The effect was immediate.

His body went rigid beside me. His hand stilled in mine.

I didn’t look at him. I didn’t have to. The silence was louder than any answer he could’ve given.

I felt it.

The tension.

The weight.

The way the air changed, like we’d stepped into a place we weren’t supposed to be.

A place buried deep beneath years of secrets and shadows.

I slowly turned to face him.

His expression had changed. The warm concern was gone, replaced by something I couldn’t quite read—fear, maybe. Or guilt.

Or both.

“Grandpa?” I pressed, heart thudding.

He opened his mouth… then closed it again.

Swallowed.

Looked away.

But I saw it.

In that moment, I saw everything.

He knew.

He knew.

And suddenly, the question wasn’t did my father mention William—it was why hadn’t he told me?

Why had the man I adored, the man I trusted, kept something like this from me?

Why had he kept him from me?

Because William wasn’t just a mistake.

He was a secret.

One big enough to start a war.

And now, the battlefield was set.

The enemy had revealed himself.

And the one person I thought would never lie to me—my father—had built this battlefield with his silence.

His face still didn’t move. Not right away. But I saw it.

The faint twitch at the corner of his eye.

The way his fingers clenched slightly around mine.

The subtle shift in his shoulders—like the weight of an old ghost had just landed there again.

I felt the answer before he gave it.

And yet, I waited.

Waited for the truth.

Waited to find out whether the legacy I’d devoted my life to was built on more secrets than I could ever survive.

And still, he said nothing.

Just sat there, silent as a tomb.
She's The Boss
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