LOGINARIANAMason leads me toward the dance floor.The orchestra has switched to something slow and smooth, soft violins filling the ballroom while couples move beneath gold chandeliers.His hand settles against my waist. The contact creates an immediate heat that is sharp enough to surprise me. Mason notices, and his eyes darken slightly before he pulls me a little closer. Not in an inappropriate way, but just enough to make me uncomfortable.“You’re tense,” he murmurs.“You make people nervous.”“No.” His gaze stays on mine. “I make you nervous.”Unfortunately, he’s right. And I hate that he’s right.“You’ve gotten arrogant,” I say.“You’ve gotten prettier.”The response comes too quickly, and too naturally, like he’s thought about it before. I look away briefly, trying to ignore the strange warmth curling through my stomach.This right here is exactly the problem.Durrell makes me feel safe, while Mason makes me feel aware. Aware of my body, of his hands, and of the way he watches me li
ARIANA“Ariana,” Durrell says smoothly, “you gonna introduce me or should I start inventing backstories?”I blink. “Right. Sorry.”Something about that makes Mason’s mouth twitch faintly.“Mason Grant,” he says, extending a hand.Durrell shakes it once. In a firm and measured way. “Durrell Cox.”Recognition flashes briefly across Mason’s face. In an interesting but not surprising way.“I’ve heard of you,” Mason says.Durrell’s expression stays pleasant. “Hopefully nothing criminal.”A soft laugh leaves Mason. “That depends on who you ask in Blackbridge.”The response is light enough to sound harmless. But something underneath it isn’t, and urrell notices too. I can tell by the way his shoulders subtly straighten.Meanwhile, Mason’s attention drifts back toward me. “You really didn’t recognize me?”"You grew up," I say with a small smile."So did you." His eyes travel down my body, then back up.There’s something intensely direct about the way he looks at me. It’s not rude, not inappro
ARIANA“That’s going to end badly,” I murmur.Durrell follows my gaze calmly. “Probably.”“What happened between them exactly?”He exhales once through his nose. “With Maxwell? Hard to tell. Selene likes attention. Maxwell likes ownership. Eventually, those things stop mixing well.”That sounds disturbingly accurate.Across the room, Victor appears beside Maxwell, saying something low to him. He barely reacts because his attention stays fixed on Selene.Then Victor’s gaze shifts unexpectedly toward us. Toward Durrell specifically, and something unreadable passes across his face before he walks away again, and Durrell notices. His expression tightens almost invisibly.“You okay?” I ask quietly.“Yeah.”Obviously a lie, but before I can press him, movement approaches from behind us, making the room change subtly again. It’s not because everyone notices, but because the people who matter do.Durrell turns first, then slowly straightens beside me.Eleanor Bindy stops directly in front of
ARIANAI understand almost immediately why people call the Presidential Ball the most important night in Blackbridge.It has nothing to do with the ballroom itself… well, not really.It has nothing to do with the ballroom itself… well, not really. Yes, the hotel is obscene in the way only old money can achieve: crystal chandeliers dripping from ceilings three stories high, marble floors polished until they reflect the lights overhead like water, and men in tailored tuxedos moving through the crowd with women covered in diamonds that probably cost more than entire neighborhoods.But that’s not what makes the room dangerous.It’s the people. Every conversation feels weighted, every smile feels negotiated, and even the air feels expensive.“You’re staring again.”I glance sideways at Durrell as we step through the entrance hall together.“I’m observing.”“You’re profiling people.”“There’s a difference.”“There really isn’t.”A waiter passes with champagne, and Durrell takes two glasses
ARIANAThe invitation arrives on a Thursday afternoon, tucked between sponsorship contracts and financial reports for the hockey team.At first, I almost miss it. Everything else on my desk screams for attention: numbers, expansion proposals, media requests, and a problem with one of the team's investors threatening to pull out after last week's press conference. The normal chaos.The envelope doesn't belong with any of it.It’s cream-colored and heavy with my name written in dark ink across the front, not as Mrs. Maxwell Cox or Ms. Chase, just Ariana Grace Chase.Something about that unsettles me immediately."You've been staring at that thing for five minutes."I look up to find Durrell leaning against the office doorway with his sleeves rolled to his elbows and two coffee cups in his hand.“I have not.”“You absolutely have.”He walks in and places one cup beside me before glancing at the envelope. “What is it?”“I don’t know yet.”“Then why are you looking at it like it insulted yo
ARIANAHer words settle between us. Simple, plain, but real."I blamed you for things that were never your fault. I judged you before I ever gave myself the chance to know you properly."I fold my arms as she lets out a slow breath."When Maxwell married you, I convinced myself you were temporary. Just another arrangement Victor forced onto the family.""And that made it acceptable?""No." She shakes her head immediately. "No, it didn't."The sincerity in her voice irritates me more than defensiveness would have. Because anger is easier."I watched my son disrespect you," she continues quietly. "And instead of stopping him, I excused him. I minimized what he was doing because I kept thinking..."She stops."Thinking what?""That eventually he'd come to his senses and everything would sort itself out."A bitter laugh escapes me. "Interesting definition of sorting itself out."Pain flashes across her face. She accepts the hit. "I deserve that.""Yes. You do."Molly's eyes drift toward t
ARIANAVictor Cox’s office did not try to impress anyone.It didn’t need to.The building itself was glass and quiet steel, rising above Lakebridge like it owned the skyline. The receptionist didn’t smile when I gave my name. She just nodded, as if she had been expecting me long before I walked in.
SELENEI stared at the hotel room door after it closed.He left.Maxwell actually left me here, crying, to follow her back to the car.I sank onto the bed, pressing my hands to my face. The robe he'd bought me felt too soft, too expensive, too much like a consolation prize.My phone sat on the nigh
“Involved how?”Victor turned back to me.“Theodore requested a private review of a joint logistics agreement three days before he was shot.”My pulse stumbled.“A joint agreement between whom?”“Chase Construction and one of our automotive subsidiaries.”I stared at him.“You’re saying his shootin
*Maxwell*When I stepped off the elevator onto the private floor, I saw them immediately.Two men in dark suits flanked the door to a corner room. Durrell's men. I'd seen enough of them lately to recognize them.Durrell himself stood outside the room, speaking into his phone, watching me approach l







