CHAPTER 10: The Ruins

The air inside Le Prisme smelled of expensive bergamot and luxurious wealth. It was the kind of scent Arabella used to find comforting, but today, it felt like it was choking her.

She stood at the velvet-lined counter, her fingers tracing the edge of a small leather portfolio. She wasn't here to shop. She was here to finalize the acquisition of the boutique’s parent company, another piece of her mother’s legacy she was pulling back from the wreckage Richard Hart had created.

The silence of the store was broken by a sharp, panicked voice near the evening gown section.

"I’m telling you, there is a mistake! Check the name again. Vanessa Hart. The account has been active for fifteen years!"

Arabella stiffened. She didn't have to turn around to know that shrill, entitled tone.

"I’m very sorry, Ms. Hart," the clerk spoke politely. "But the system shows the account was deactivated forty-eight hours ago. And the card you provided for the remaining balance on this gown has been declined. Twice."

Arabella turned slowly. Vanessa stood by a mannequin, clutching a shimmering, emerald silk dress to her chest like a shield. She looked frantic. Her makeup was slightly heavy, as if she were trying to hide the dark circles under her eyes, and her knuckles were white against the fabric.

"Try it again!" Vanessa hissed, her eyes darting around the empty store to see if anyone was watching. "It’s a technical glitch. My father is Richard Hart. He... he's just moving funds between trusts."

"The trust is empty, Vanessa."

Arabella’s voice cut through the tension of the room.

Vanessa spun around, her face flashing from embarrassment to a momentary, desperate hope. "Arabella! Oh, thank God. Tell this girl who I am. Tell her about the 'glitch.' I’m supposed to wear this to the Sterling gala tonight, and she’s being incredibly difficult."

Arabella stepped forward, her heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floor. She looked at the dress, then at her stepsister’s trembling hands. "There is no glitch. The account doesn't exist anymore because I closed it yesterday. Along with the house accounts, the car leases, and the secondary line of credit you’ve been bleeding dry for three years."

Vanessa’s jaw dropped. The emerald silk slipped from her fingers to the floor. "You... you did what?"

"You're done, Vanessa," Arabella said, her voice low and steady, matching the cold authority she’d learned from Adrian. "The Hart name doesn't buy so much as a silk ribbon in this city anymore. Take the dress off the counter and leave before I have the manager call security."

The clerk looked between them, realized who held the power, and wordlessly moved the dress behind the desk.

The mask Vanessa had been wearing, the fake sisterly warmth, the desperate play for pity shattered. Her face contorted into something ugly and raw.

"You bitch," Vanessa spat, stepping into Arabella’s personal space. The scent of her expensive perfume couldn't hide the sour smell of stress and cheap wine on her breath. "You really think you’re a queen now, don't you? Sitting on your mother’s throne, throwing us out like trash."

"You threw yourselves out the moment you conspired to steal my life," Arabella replied, without blinking her eyes.

Vanessa laughed, a jagged, hysterical sound that echoed off the high ceilings. "You think this is about money? You think Dad is crying because he’s broke? He’s in that study right now, drinking himself into a stupor and staring at that portrait of Diana like he wants to set it on fire. He doesn't care about the cash, Arabella. He hates you because you’re her. He spent twenty years trying to prove he was better than the 'great Diana Ashford,' and you humiliated him by being exactly like her."

She stepped even closer, her voice dropping to a toxic whisper that made the hair on Arabella’s neck stand up.

"But you’re not her," Vanessa sneered. "Diana was smart. You? You’re just a pawn with a better master. Do you really think a man like Adrian Whitmore accidentally found you? Do you think he’s helping you out of the goodness of his heart?"

Arabella’s heart gave a heavy, painful thud. "Move out of my way, Vanessa."

"He didn't save you, 'Bella. He collected you. Ask yourself why the DNA match was so perfect. Ask yourself why your mother’s 'favorite protégé' was waiting in the shadows for the exact moment you lost everything. You know nothing, dear sis."

Vanessa’s eyes gleamed with a sick triumph as she saw Arabella flinch.

"He’s a Whitmore, Arabella. They don't fall in love. They acquire. And you? You're just his most successful acquisition."

Vanessa reached out, her sharp nails grazing Arabella’s silk sleeve. "Enjoy the view from the top, sister. Just don't be surprised when you realize the man standing behind you is the one holding the knife."

With a final, jagged laugh, Vanessa turned and stumbled out of the boutique, her heels clicking erratically until she disappeared into the street.

Arabella stood in the center of the silent store, the bergamot scent now feeling like ash in her mouth. She looked down at her hand, where her engagement ring caught the light. It was beautiful. It was perfect.

But as she remembered Adrian’s face when he left the hospital, the way he wouldn't even meet her eyes, a cold, sickening doubt began to rot the foundation of her heart.