The Truth She's Scared Of
ARIANA’S POV
The second Beatrice stormed out, I kept staring at the door like it might suddenly swing open again and drag her venomous words back in with her.
William.
That name clung to the air like smoke from a fire I hadn’t realized had started.
My stepbrother.
The ghost from a past my father never wanted anyone to know about. A man who just appeared out of nowhere threatening to take what my father built, just because he carried the Miller blood.
So how the hell did she know?
I leaned forward, elbows on the desk, pressing my palms against my temples. The pounding in my head had returned full force, more brutal now, sharp and relentless. Between the attempted shooting this morning and now this… it was too much.
Too many enemies. Too many shadows.
And not enough time.
Was Beatrice working with him? Had William already aligned himself with my enemies? I have barely accepted the fact that he existed and he was already making himself known to me in the worst way—by threatening to take over the company my father bled for. The one I now lived and breathed.
My jaw clenched. I wasn’t going to lose anything—not to Beatrice, not to William, not to anyone.
With a deep breath, I forced myself back into my chair. My fingers danced over the keyboard as I began reviewing contracts, financial statements, merger paperwork—anything to keep my brain occupied. Anything to stop myself from imagining what else Beatrice might know… or what she might be planning.
Time blurred. Hours passed like sand slipping through my fingers.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t eat.
Didn’t speak.
I just worked—because work was the only thing I still had control over.
That, and the little voice inside me that refused to break.
I didn’t hear the phone ring at first. Not until it buzzed again—this time loud enough to jolt me out of my fog.
I blinked at the screen.
Mom.
I snatched it up and pressed it to my ear.
“Mom?”
There was silence on the other end. Then, softly—so softly I almost missed it—I heard her voice.
“Ariana.”
Her voice was trembling. Sad. Almost… broken.
My stomach dropped. “Mom, what’s wrong?”
“I just found out… about this morning.” Her voice cracked. “The shooting. The news said someone tried to kill you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I rubbed my forehead. “I didn’t want to worry you. I’m fine, Mom. I swear.”
Another silence stretched out.
Then her voice came again. This time lower. Almost as if she were talking to herself.
“You know I love you, right?”
The words settled in my chest like ice.
I sat up straighter. “Of course I know that.”
“No matter what I do… you’d forgive me, wouldn’t you?”
I froze.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
There was something in her voice I didn’t recognize. Something guilty. Frightened.
“Mom?” I whispered. “What’s going on?”
She didn’t answer at first. I thought maybe the call had dropped—until I heard it.
A muffled sob.
Then, in a shaky breath, she said, “Come meet me… at your father’s grave.”
The call disconnected.
Just like that.
I stared at the phone in my hand like it had grown fangs.
The silence in the office felt suddenly hostile. Suffocating.
My heart was thundering now, full gallop, like it was trying to warn me of something I hadn’t caught up to yet.
I shoved my laptop shut, grabbed my bag, and bolted for the door.
“Ma’am—?” Joan started, rising from her desk.
“I have to go.”
She stood, startled, as my three security guards instantly flanked me. They didn’t ask questions—they just followed.
But my mind was already gone.
Already racing toward the graveyard.
Toward the mother who sounded like she was hiding something.
Toward a truth I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear.
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