Ariel's fists were clenched so tightly that her nails pierced her skin, drawing small crescent moons of blood. The storm inside her boiled hotter than ever before. Betrayal. Humiliation. Rage. The cocktail of emotion was dizzying, and Fiona's smug little smile was the spark that lit the fuse.
She could hear her pulse in her ears, loud and furious, like war drums. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, but there wasn't enough air in the room to calm her. Composure was supposed to be her shield what kept her above all this.
But right now, composure felt like a prison.
Without warning, Ariel took a single step forward, her body moving before her mind could catch up. Her fingers reached out and wrapped around Fiona's expensive curls, yanking her back with enough force to make the crowd gasp.
"What the hell—" Fiona shrieked.
Smack!
The slap echoed like thunder in the stunned silence. The room froze. People turned, wide-eyed, phones half-raised, mouths open in disbelief.
Fiona stumbled back, clutching her cheek in shock.
"This is the end of our friendship," Ariel spat, her voice low but seething, every syllable dipped in venom. "Next time, it won't just be a slap."
Gasps rippled through the air like falling dominoes, but Ariel didn't flinch. She turned sharply on her heel and stormed out of the restaurant, her heels striking the floor like gunshots. She didn't stop. Not even when the rain hit her face like cold slaps of reality.
The downpour was relentless, icy, merciless, but she welcomed it. Let it drench her. Let it numb her skin. Let the entire world see her pain. She didn't care anymore. Not about the crowd behind her. Not about the whispers. Not about the fact that Alex's oversized white shirt now clung to her body like a second skin.
It was like the sky was crying for her. Or maybe with her.
Let it rain, she thought. Let it drown everything.
---
Inside the restaurant, the silence broke with a low whistle.
"Yo," a young man muttered, eyes wide as he stared at the screen of his phone, "Master Girl just served."
His thumbs moved quickly as he tapped 'Send' and the video was off, traveling through the digital void to one person.
Alex Moretti.
---
Meanwhile, at Saint Ezra's Private Hospital...
The room was dimly lit, the sterile scent of antiseptic clinging to every inch of air. Machines beeped softly, steady and monotonous. Alex sat in a leather armchair next to his mother's bed, his sharp profile illuminated by the cold glow of his phone screen.
His mother was still unconscious, though her breathing was steady. The doctor said it was a matter of time she was stable now. But that didn't stop Alex from sitting vigil, silent and unmoving.
Then, his phone buzzed.
He opened the message. Watched.
Ariel.
His lips pressed into a hard line as he saw the drink tossed in her face.
His fingers curled around the phone, knuckles white.
Then— the slap.
His heart thudded once. Hard. The sound of it made something primal stir inside him. He leaned forward slightly, watching her walk out into the rain in his shirt, soaked through, revealing more than she probably intended.
But it wasn't just her body that captivated him, it was her fire. The way she didn't flinch. The way she fought back.
His girl.
A smirk played at the edge of his lips.
He rose to his feet.
"You heading out, boss?" one of the men at the corner asked.
"About time," another said. "Your brooding is depressing."
Alex didn't respond. He just gave a single, sharp nod toward his mother.
"I'll be back tomorrow. Take care of her."
He turned for the door, but a soft voice made him pause.
"Bye, son…"
It was barely a whisper. Her eyes never opened.
Still, it made him stop. He turned his head slightly, lips parting.
"Rest, Ma. You don't need to fight anymore."
---
The inside of Alex's car was cool and dark, the windows fogging lightly from the difference in temperature. Rain tapped against the roof in a slow rhythm. He rested back into the seat, eyes closed for a moment then reached for his phone.
One number. One call.
"Any luck?" he asked, voice low and edged.
"Yes, boss," Charles replied. "Simon's files are dirty as hell. Drugs, bribery, off-the-record deals. I've got footage, documents, testimonies, all of it."
Alex's eyes glinted. "Make it public. Let the media tear him to shreds. Send the rest to the cops anonymously."
"Yes, sir."
A pause.
"One more thing," Alex added, voice darkening. "The video from today... Edit it. Keep only the part where Fiona throws the drink at Ariel. Then pair it with those videos from Italy."
Charles sounded uncertain. "The club ones? Where she—"
"Yes. Make her infamous. Make it ugly. I want her reputation to rot."
Charles let out a soft whistle. "Understood."
Alex hung up without another word, the wheels of revenge already spinning.
Nobody touched his girl and got away with it.
---
Hours Later...
Ariel's heels clicked softly against the marble floors of the mansion, her soaked clothes squishing against her skin. Her hair dripped down her shoulders, each drop a reminder of how broken she felt inside.
She didn't belong here. Not in this world of chandeliers, high ceilings, and priceless art. It was too much. Too cold. Too empty.
Her eyes fell on the garden swing just outside the glass doors. For a moment, the world stopped spinning.
She stepped outside, barefoot now, the cold tiles slick under her feet. The swing rocked gently in the breeze, inviting her like a forgotten memory.
She sat down.
The rain was softer now, more like a mist. Her hands gripped the chains as she rocked slowly, her head tilted to the sky.
"Simon…" she whispered. "Why did you do this to me?"
The air shifted.
A voice cut through the silence, low and chilling.
"You're calling another man's name... in my house?"
Ariel jolted upright, her heart leaping into her throat. She turned, eyes wide.
"Y-You're back…"
Alex stepped into the garden like a shadow with purpose, every inch of him dangerous and powerful. His gaze locked onto hers, but then dropped slowly to the shirt clinging to her body.
His smirk was dark. "You're wearing my clothes."
"I—" she stammered, arms crossing over her chest.
"No bra." He took another step forward. "Soaked. Dripping. Seductive as hell." His voice lowered. "Are you trying to seduce me, angel?"
Her face went crimson. "W-What?! No! I didn't mean—"
His eyes glittered. "Could've fooled me. You're standing in the rain looking like a fantasy... My fantasy."
"Shut up," she snapped, pulling the shirt tighter.
He moved closer, so close she could smell the rain and leather on him.
"Make me," he whispered. "Use those lips for something useful."
Before she could fire back, he bent, lifted her into his arms like she weighed nothing. She gasped, gripping his shoulders.
"Put me down!"
"Not a chance," he said, already carrying her toward the mansion.
A couple of maids gawked from the hallway, their eyes wide. Ariel buried her face in his chest, cheeks burning.
"They've never seen me carry anyone before," he said with a wink. "You're special."
He placed her gently in a velvet armchair by the fire. The warmth kissed her skin, chasing away the cold.
He crouched in front of her, brushing a wet strand of hair from her cheek.
"You went out while I was gone," he said. "Where?"
She hesitated. "Just a walk. I needed to think."
His jaw tightened, and something shifted in his eyes. "So, you still don't trust me."
She looked away.
"No," she whispered. "I don't."
He rose slowly, his presence looming above her.
"Then I'll just have to earn it."is