I'm Not The Enemy
HARDIN'S POV
Two days.
It had been two days since I last saw her.
Two days of silence.
Two days of her not picking up her calls, of texts left on read, of nothing but echoing memories and haunting thoughts.
I told myself I was giving her space. Told myself she needed time to process, to feel safe, to cool off. I told myself it was the right thing to do. That if I loved her, I’d let her breathe.
But space was killing me.
Every second without her felt like sandpaper dragging across my chest. Every minute that passed was like bleeding slowly in a room full of bandages I wasn’t allowed to touch.
And now, here I was—sitting in my office, staring at a glowing screen filled with headlines.
MILLER JEWELS LAUNCHES 'ETERNAL FLAME' COLLECTION: A MASTERPIECE OF MODERN DESIGN.
ARIANA MILLER REDEFINES ELEGANCE WITH HER LATEST LINE.
THE FACE BEHIND THE FIRE: MEET THE DESIGNER TAKING THE INDUSTRY BY STORM.
My heart thumped as I read each one, over and over.
Ariana had outdone herself.
Again.
She always did. But this—this wasn’t just good. It was genius. The kind of collection that made the world pause. The kind that cemented a legacy. And I had been there when she first scribbled down the ideas, eyes bright with passion, hands flying with energy.
"I want this one to burn," she had said, brushing her hair from her face as she showed me the sketches. "Not just sparkle—burn. I want people to feel it. Like fire trapped in gold."
She'd done it.
I should be sitting beside her right now, watching her eyes light up as the articles came in. I should be the first one she called when the numbers soared and the stores sold out.
Instead, I was sitting alone, in a silence I could barely breathe through.
I closed my laptop and stood abruptly. My chair rolled back with a sharp screech.
Enough.
I grabbed my jacket from the coat stand and shrugged it on with one fluid motion.
“Cancel all my meetings for the day,” I told my assistant, who blinked up at me from her desk as I stalked past.
“Sir? Your eleven o’clock with—”
“I said cancel everything.”
Her eyes widened, but she nodded. “Yes, Mr Richard.”
The elevator doors opened just as I arrived. I stepped in without a backward glance. As the doors shut, I leaned against the glass wall, my hands clenched into fists.
How the hell had I waited this long? How did I even survive the last two days?
By pretending.
Pretending I was okay. Pretending I could focus. Pretending I didn’t want to drive to her, fall on my knees, and beg her to let me in again.
The drive was a blur.
Red lights. Horns. Swerving traffic. None of it registered.
I drove like a man possessed, like a soldier chasing a war he was born to fight.
And when the Miller building finally came into view, towering and sleek, I parked haphazardly in front and stepped out like a storm given flesh.
The receptionist barely had time to register me before I was inside.
Joan, Ariana’s assistant, stood as I approached her desk.
"Mr Richard—"
"Is she in?"
She blinked, then nodded slowly. "Yes, but she’s currently in a meeting—"
"I’ll wait."
She hesitated, then gestured toward the glass double doors that led to Ariana’s office. “You can wait in there, sir.”
I walked in, heart thudding like a war drum, and sat.
And waited.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Forty.
An hour.
I didn’t check my phone. Didn’t pace. Just sat there, letting my rage settle beneath my skin, cold and sharp like ice.
And then finally—
The door clicked open.
And she walked in.
Ariana.
Her heels were quiet against the marble floors. Her hair was pulled into a sleek bun, earrings subtle, dress tailored to her every perfect line. She looked powerful. Radiant. Untouchable.
The moment her eyes landed on me, they narrowed.
"What are you doing here?"
There was no warmth in her voice. No curiosity. Just a sharp edge of annoyance that cut me deeper than I was ready for.
I stood slowly.
"I needed to see you."
She let out a short, humorless laugh. "Really? You needed to come here and sit in my office like some sort of stalker?"
"Don’t do that."
"Do what?"
"Talk to me like I’m the enemy."
She crossed her arms. "Then stop acting like one."
That landed.
I took a breath. “Ariana, I saw the headlines. The launch—it’s a massive success. You did it."
She blinked once. “Thank you. If that’s all, I have work to do.”
“No, that’s not all.”
She moved behind her desk, but her movements were stiff, controlled.
"I’m not leaving until you talk to me."
She looked up sharply. “You don’t get to demand that anymore.”
“I’m not demanding. I’m begging.”
Her eyes flashed. "You should’ve thought about that before you broke me, Hardin."
I felt like the floor tilted beneath me.
“Come on Ariana, what exactly did I do?"
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