The Legitimate Heir
ARIANA’S POV
"Grandpa," I whispered, "say something."
The silence between us thickened, stretched taut like a thread about to snap. His eyes, once soft with concern, looked like they’d been dipped in steel. He didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just… stared ahead, as if the weight of what I’d asked had aged him ten more years in a single breath.
I turned my body toward him fully, my grip on his hand tightening. "Please," I urged. "Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out. Not you."
He sighed.
A long, brittle sound that made my stomach twist.
Then he looked at me, really looked at me, and something in his gaze unraveled. Like a dam finally cracking under the pressure.
"Your father," he began slowly, his voice barely more than a scrape, "never wanted you to know about William. He wasn’t proud of it. Not about his mistake. Not the child. None of it."
My breath caught.
His words spun in my mind like a cyclone, threatening to tear through every childhood memory I ever held sacred.
"He… he kept it from me? Why? I had a right to know."
"You were a little girl when it happened," Grandpa said, his tone tight. "He made a mistake—a reckless mistake—and he spent the rest of his life trying to bury it. Not because he didn’t love you. But because he didn’t trust what that boy might become. Or worse—what that woman might do. He didn’t want to put you in danger."
Danger.
I felt my jaw clench. "So instead, he left me defenseless."
His gaze didn’t waver. "He thought the truth would destroy you. That it would change the way you saw him."
"It did."
The words fell out before I could catch them. Bitter and sharp. Regret immediately followed, but I didn’t take them back.
Because they were true.
I loved my father. I’d worshipped him. Modeled myself after him. But now, all I could see were shadows and cracks in the marble statue I’d built of him.
And Grandpa—he knew. Of course, he knew.
"You knew all this time," I said quietly. "Didn’t you?"
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t have to.
"You knew he had another son. You knew about William."
Still, silence.
The kind that answers everything without saying a damn word.
I looked away, my chest hollowing like someone had scooped my heart out and left the empty space to echo. All I could hear was the sound of blood rushing in my ears and my own mind screaming with one relentless thought:
What else don’t I know?
How many more lies were folded into the legacy I’d been handed like a crown made of broken glass?
Grandpa reached out and brushed my hair back gently, the way he used to when I was little and couldn’t sleep after a nightmare.
"This doesn’t change who you are," he said softly. "You’re still Ariana Miller. You’re still the only legitimate heir to your father’s name, his company, his legacy."
I blinked at him, stunned. "That’s what you care about? Legitimacy?"
He shook his head, but I didn’t let him speak.
"I could have died, Grandpa. In that car. And the man who showed up in my hospital room, looking at me like prey—he’s my brother?"
"Half-brother."
"Does that make it better?"
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stood slowly, pulling his robe tighter around him. His shoulders slumped with the kind of fatigue that didn’t come from lack of sleep—it came from years of carrying a burden you never meant to inherit.
"You shouldn’t let this consume you," he murmured, like a warning. "You’ve always been the fire. The light. Don’t let his shadow dim you."
I looked up at him, throat tight. "What if the shadow’s bigger than I thought?"
He leaned down and kissed the top of my head, warm lips pressing against my scalp with an aching tenderness.
"You’re stronger than this," he whispered. "You’re stronger than him. And don’t forget—your name still means something."
I wanted to ask what it meant now. A lie? A shield? A weapon?
But I didn’t.
I just watched him turn away, walk toward the hallway, and pause in the doorway.
"Get some sleep, Ariana," he said, without turning back. "Tomorrow will come. No matter what."
And then he was gone.
The quiet that followed him was suffocating.
I stayed rooted on the couch, eyes staring into the flickering television screen that had long since stopped making sense. Some detective was shouting at a suspect. A gun was drawn. Somewhere, someone screamed.
But I wasn’t there.
I was back in that hospital room, staring into the eyes of a man who looked at me like I was a mistake he was born to correct.
William.
He hadn’t just shown up.
He’d made a statement.
“I know everything about you. But you know nothing about me.”
He was right.
And he’d threatened more than just my peace of mind.
He’d threatened the company.
My legacy.
Everything I’d fought tooth and nail to uphold in my father’s absence.
He wasn’t just angry.
He was calculated.
And that scared me more than anything.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, hands knotted in my hair. I felt like I was unraveling, slowly, thread by thread. Held together only by sheer stubbornness and the memory of who I used to be before the cracks appeared.
A sigh slipped past my lips, broken and bitter.
I didn’t want to cry.
But God, I felt like I could scream.
And for one reckless, fragile second… I wanted to call him.
Hardin.
His name pulsed through me like a bruise I couldn’t stop pressing.
He’d called me—twice.
His voice had slid into my voicemail like a prayer I didn’t deserve to answer.
But I hadn’t listened to the messages. I couldn’t. Because hearing him would break whatever resolve I had left.
Still… the temptation itched beneath my skin.
Hardin had a way of anchoring me, even when the sea inside me was wild and raging. He always knew the right thing to say. The right way to pull me back from the edge without making me feel like I was weak for falling.
But this wasn’t just about me anymore.
It was about everything.
Everything I knew.
Everything I didn’t.
Everything I had to become.
Alone.
I glanced at my phone, just for a second. His name still sat at the top of my missed call log like a ghost I wasn’t ready to face.
My fingers hovered.
Tempted.
Achingly tempted.
But in the end, I turned it face-down.
He can’t save you from this.
I stood, the ache in my chest radiating out like a storm cloud trying to break through my ribs. My feet moved on instinct, slow steps toward the hallway that felt darker than usual.
When I finally reached my bedroom, I paused at the doorway.
Stared at the bed I hadn’t touched since I got home.
At the untouched glass of water on my nightstand.
At the stack of unread books. The unlit candles. The faint smell of my perfume still clinging to the air like a memory.
I exhaled.
Long. Slow. Unsteady.
"Get it together, Ari," I whispered to myself. "You’re a Miller. Act like one."
Because if William thought he could waltz into my life and take everything from me with a smirk and a DNA test, he had no idea who he was up against.
I wasn’t just my father’s daughter.
I was the storm he created.
And I wasn’t about to go down quietly.
Not without a fight.
I pulled off my sweater, tossed it onto the chair, and slipped into bed. The sheets felt cold. Too clean. Too crisp. Like they didn’t belong to someone who was falling apart piece by piece.
I lay back, staring at the ceiling.
And for the first time since the accident, I let the silence wrap around me like a blanket.
I didn’t cry.
I didn’t scream.
But I didn’t sleep either.
Because tomorrow, I’d face the mess my father left behind.
I’d find out what William really wanted.
And I’d protect everything that was mine.
Even if it meant tearing down every lie brick by brick.
Even if it meant bleeding for it.
Because the Miller name may have secrets…
But so did I.
And unlike my father—I wasn’t afraid to use them.
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