Give Me Space
HARDIN'S POV
The silence between us was thick. Suffocating.
Ariana stood behind her desk, chin raised, eyes cold. I could see the fire in them, burning hotter than the collection she’d just launched. The one that the whole damn world was applauding her for.
And here I was—just a man begging for scraps of her attention. Of her truth.
“Get out,” she said, her voice tight. Controlled.
My feet didn’t move.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Her jaw tightened. “I said, get. Out.”
I took a step forward. She backed away immediately, her spine hitting the edge of the desk.
“I’m not leaving this building, Ariana,” I said, voice low but firm. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“You really want to do this now?” she snapped, her voice rising.
“Yes. Right now. Because I’ve spent days going out of my mind, trying to figure out what the hell I did wrong. I’ve gone over every word I said to you. Every second. And I keep coming up blank.”
Her eyes flared.
“Blank?” Her laugh was hollow. “You’re really going to stand there and pretend like Switzerland never happened?”
I blinked. “What?”
She reached for her phone with shaking fingers, unlocked it, and shoved it toward me.
There were photos. A video. Photos that made me want to sink into the ground.
Me. In bed. Beatrice on top of me. My head tilted back, eyes shut. Her hands on my bare chest. Her lips near my jaw. My hands around her waist.
My stomach dropped.
I stared at the screen like it was showing someone else’s life. A glitch in the matrix. A nightmare caught in high definition.
“What else do you have to say?” she asked, yanking the phone back.
My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Because I didn’t know. I didn’t understand. I hadn’t—
No.
“No,” I whispered. “No, I don’t... I don’t know how this happened.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You want to deny it?”
“I want to explain it. I swear to God, Ariana, I don’t remember this.”
“How convenient,” she bit out. “You drank too much. That was you're good to say, right? And now you don’t remember sleeping with her?”
“I didn’t sleep with her!” I roared, the words ripping from my throat. “I swear on everything I love—I didn’t!”
Her face flinched at the outburst, but she didn’t move.
I closed my eyes, scrambling, clawing through the haze of that night in Switzerland.
There had been a client dinner. Drinks. But not many. I’d felt off. Tired. Fuzzy. I remembered making it back to the hotel. Sitting on the bed.
And then... nothing.
A black hole.
My eyes shot open.
“Beatrice drugged me,” I said, the realization hitting like a freight train. “Jesus Christ—Ariana, I swear to you. I didn’t drink that much. I didn’t feel right. I went to bed early. I thought I was just tired, but... that wasn’t sleep.”
She stared at me, unmoving.
“I woke up the next morning with a headache. Like I’d been hit by a truck. My mouth was dry. My limbs were heavy. I thought maybe I was sick. But this? This explains it.”
I took another step toward her. She didn’t back away this time, just held herself rigid.
“I didn’t cheat on you,” I whispered. “You have to believe me. I would never do that to you. Never.”
“You want me to believe that?” she whispered. “After what...after what…”
“She’s obsessed. We both know that. And she hates that I chose you.”
Ariana’s eyes filled with something—grief, rage, disbelief. Maybe all of it.
She turned away, pressing her hands to her temples.
“I don’t know what to believe right now, Hardin. My head is a fucking mess.”
“I understand,” I said softly. “I’m not asking you to forgive me now. I’m not even asking for you to believe it all right away. I’m just asking you to look me in the eyes and see the truth in them.”
She turned.
And for a long, heavy second, we stared at each other.
Then I said, even softer, “Please.”
Ariana’s lips parted. Her eyes searched mine, lingering there like she was looking for cracks in a wall she built herself.
“Just leave,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Give me time. I need to process. I need to breathe.”
I nodded.
Slowly, carefully, like I was afraid to shatter her.
I stepped closer. Leaned in.
Pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek.
She didn’t move away.
Didn’t flinch.
And that—that—meant more than she could possibly know.
I pulled back, meeting her eyes one last time.
Then I turned, walking toward the door.
Just before I stepped out, I stopped.
“I love you, Ariana,” I said without turning around. “You have no idea how much.”
And then I walked out, feeling more alive than I had in days—because for the first time, I knew we weren’t broken.
Just cracked.
And cracks could be mended.
Especially when there was still love leaking through them.