I'm considering switching to a first-person POV since I’ve heard it’s the preferred style on most platforms. What do you think, dear readers? :)
ARIAThe soft beeping of monitors and rustling papers fill Dad's hospital room as I step in.He's propped up in bed reviewing architectural drawings on his lap tray, but his face brightens immediately when he sees me."There's my girl," he says, setting aside his work. "I was beginning to think Victoria had locked you in a tower somewhere.""Close enough," I reply, leaning down to kiss his cheek. His skin feels papery and too warm. "How are you feeling?""Better every day." He pats the edge of the bed. "Sit. Tell me what's happening. The nurses whisper when they think I'm asleep, something about an engagement announcement?"I sink onto the bed, exhaustion suddenly hitting me like a wave. "It's true. I'm engaged to Xavier Harrington."Dad's expression shifts from confusion to concern in an instant. "Xavier Harrington? But I thought Vivian—""Vivian eloped with someone else," I explain, trying to keep my voice neutral. "Victoria arranged for me to take her place.""Take her place?" Dad s
ARIAThe Harrington Estate becomes my prison over the following two weeks.I'm moved into a guest suite in the east wing the day after signing the contract.“To begin your integration into the Harrington lifestyle," Michael had explained.My suite is packed up by strangers, my possessions sorted through and mostly discarded, deemed unsuitable for my new position.Each morning begins with a weigh-in, conducted by Claudia Reinhart, Xavier's personal nutritionist, who records each number with precision and disapproval.Claudia is a severe woman in her fifties, with the body of a marathon runner and the demeanor of a drill sergeant. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun, her black clothing always impeccable and her clipboard a weapon she wields with merciless efficiency."Down half a pound," Claudia notes on the seventh day. "At this rate, you'll meet Mr. Harrington's requirements by next year."She circles me like a shark, pinching at my waist with cold fingers. "You're still holding sig
ARIA~Later that same day~I'm sent to the east wing to approve floral arrangements for the wedding.Genevieve had continued working in silence for several minutes after Phill left, the only sound the soft click of pins being placed and removed.Finally, she had sighed before stepping back to assess her work."He's an ass," she had said matter-of-factly. "But he's not entirely wrong. The Harringtons have expectations. Standards. And you..." She had gestured at my reflection in the three-way mirror. "You are very far from meeting them."Her words still rings in my ears.I’m drowning in them when I hear Xavier's voice from a partially open door.I pause, knowing I should walk on but unable to move when his cold, clear tones reach me."It's just three years until the merger is complete," Xavier is saying with the clink of ice in a glass punctuating his words. "Then I can divorce her with minimal losses."I press myself against the wall beside the door, heart pounding. I shouldn't be list
ARIAThe morning of my wedding day dawns with perfect, manufactured precision: clear skies, seventy-two degrees, not a cloud in sight.The Harrington Estate has been transformed overnight into a fantasy landscape of white roses and crystal, five million dollars manifested in cascading floral arrangements, imported marble dance floors, and custom pavilions erected solely for this one-day spectacle.I stand motionless as four stylists work on me simultaneously; one on hair, one on makeup, one adjusting the complicated undergarments that squeeze my flesh into submission, and one making final adjustments to the Marchesa gown that has been altered seven times in the past week."Stop breathing so deeply!" snaps Genevieve, yanking at the corset laces with unnecessary force. "You're expanding the ribcage and ruining the line."I try to comply by reducing my breathing to shallow sips of air that leave me light-headed.The corset is a marvel of engineering, steel boning and industrial-strength
ARIAThe walk to the ceremony pavilion is a blur of white roses and curious stares.Five hundred faces turn once I appear linking arms with my father's.I feel their eyes cataloging every detail. The dress, the jewelry, the transformation of Robert Taylor's unremarkable daughter into Xavier Harrington's bride.The pavilion itself is a marvel of design. A crystalline structure is erected specifically for this day, its transparent walls offering views of the estate's manicured grounds while protecting the guests from any hint of natural disorder. White roses climb the supports, their scent almost overwhelming in the enclosed space.And at the end of the aisle, waiting beneath an arch of yet more white roses, stands Xavier Harrington.He is perfection incarnate in his custom tuxedo. His dark hair is immaculately styled and his posture military in its precision.He is everything a bride could want. Handsome, wealthy, powerful.And he isn't looking at me.I process down the aisle on my fat
ARIAThe Harrington penthouse occupies the top three floors of a sleek glass tower in Manhattan, its floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of the city that never sleeps.At one in the morning, those windows reflect my solitary figure as I stand in the master suite, still wearing my wedding gown, waiting for a husband who isn't here.Xavier has disappeared as soon as we'd arrived, muttering something about "checking messages" before vanishing into what I presume is his office.That has been two hours ago. The suite is silent except for the distant hum of the city below and the occasional ping of my phone as congratulatory messages arrive from people who have no idea what my marriage actually entails.The wedding coordinator had arranged for a maid to help me out of my complicated gown, but I've sent the woman away, preferring to be alone with my thoughts.Now I struggle with the dozens of tiny buttons running down my spine. My arms ache as I twist to reach them, my fingers c
ARIAI stand motionless for several minutes, shock and humiliation warring with a cold, growing anger.This is worse than I had imagined and more degrading than I had prepared myself for. Not just a loveless marriage, but a complete denial of my humanity, my worth, my very existence as anything other than a contract obligation.I move to the door Xavier had indicated when I can trust my legs to support me, opening it to find a beautifully appointed suite that is nonetheless clearly secondary to the master bedroom.It is smaller with fewer windows decorated in muted tones that wouldn't draw attention. A place designed for invisibility, for someone to be tucked away when not needed for public display.I close the door without entering and turn back to the master suite. If Xavier wants me invisible, I will become so. However, not before understanding exactly what I'm dealing with, what weapons might be available in this cold war he has declared.I didn’t take the time to thoroughly read t
Morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the guest suite, lighting up dust particles dancing in the air. Proof that despite how perfect the Harrington penthouse looks, even here, imperfection exists if you look close enough.I stand at the window, watching the city wake up thirty stories below. My reflection's like a ghost on the glass.The woman staring back at me is a stranger. Dark circles under my eyes, my natural curls fighting back after yesterday's straightened wedding style, and my brown skin looking ashen from exhaustion.Xavier took off for Tokyo at exactly 5:30 AM, not bothering to tell me himself only to have Michael knock on my door at 7:00 AM, his face professionally blank as he hands me a thick folder."Your schedule and transportation details for the week, Mrs. Harrington," he says, using my new name like he's been saying it forever. "The car will arrive at 9:00 AM to take you to the estate. Your belongings have already been moved to your assigned q
ARIAAnother sleepless night spent staring at the ceiling passes before I finally drag myself out of bed, bracing for yet another draining day ahead.Xavier hasn’t returned home since the divorce battle began and honestly, I prefer it that way. In this house, with enemies lurking behind every polished smile, one mistake could cost me everything… even my life.The lights of the convention center ballroom blaze down on me as I prepare to give the keynote at the Annual Financial Innovation Summit.The room buzzes with industry leaders sipping champagne. My keynote. My moment."You ready?" Rebecca asks, offering a glass of water."Born ready." I smooth the lapel of my red suit. I don’t blend in. I stand out. “Mrs. Harrington,” the summit organizer calls me.“I’d prefer to be addressed as Ms. Taylor. Professionally,” I correct her with a calm smile and a subtle separation from Xavier’s shadow as I take the stage.My accolades are listed: my consultancy roots, my innovations, the 30% intern
ARIAMorning light filters through my office blinds as I methodically skim through evidence of my contributions to Harrington.I pull up emails showing my strategic input on our most successful projects.Financial reports tell their own story. I create a spreadsheet tracking quarterly growth under my financial direction, highlighting the upward trajectory since I took over as CFO.The numbers don't lie—our profitability has increased consistently under my leadership."Rebecca," I call through the intercom. "Could you gather the client testimonials from the Asian projects and the Davidson account? The ones where they specifically mentioned my involvement?"She appears in my doorway minutes later, files in hand. "I added the Archer Group testimonial too. They were explicit about working with us because of your reputation.""Perfect!" I smile gratefully. "And could you pull the documentation on the automated reporting system I implemented last year? The one that reduced our quarterly clo
ARIAKatherine Deck' office takes up the top floor of a discreet building in the financial district.The reception area screams understated elegance. Quality furniture without being flashy, showing professional success without needing to brag about it.The vibe matches what my research revealed about Katherine herself: substance over style, real excellence over appearances.The receptionist takes me straight to Katherine's office despite the late hour.The attorney stands up as I enter. She’s a tall woman in her fifties with dark hair and sharp eyes that miss nothing.Her handshake is firm and direct, her assessment equally so as she gestures toward a seating area more comfortable for a long conversation than her formal desk."Thanks for fitting me in on such short notice," I start, placing my document portfolio on the table between us."High-conflict divorces rarely come with convenient scheduling," Katherine responds. "My assistant mentioned business complications mixed with the divo
ARIAThe 48-hour deadline ticks down to its final hours when I return the divorce papers to Xavier's office. Each page is covered in my red ink markings, rejecting every inadequate term.My note stays simple: "Inadequate and unacceptable!"I also attach all my documentation: financial reports showing company growth directly from my projects, client acquisition records with revenue impact, strategic initiatives I developed with resulting profitability metrics. The evidence creates an undeniable record of value creation far exceeding the settlement he offered.I add a final page quoting specific language from our original contract about dissolution terms—language Xavier's proposal completely ignores.The message is simple: I know exactly what I'm legally entitled to, and I have the documentation to back it up.Xavier responds through his lawyers rather than personally. They send another threatening message giving me 48 more hours to accept the original terms before they "pursue alternati
ARIAThe morning after catching Xavier and Vivian together, I walk into my office to find a sealed envelope sitting dead center on my desk. "Personal and Confidential" it says in bold letters, with the fancy embossed logo of Xavier's personal lawyers, not Harrington's regular attorneys.I shut my door before opening it. Inside are about fifty pages of legal crap, with "Petition for Dissolution of Marriage" right at the top in big, bold letters.Divorce papers. Not exactly shocking after last night, but the timing right after the board meeting where they restructured everything shows this was all planned out.I flip through the document, my finance brain kicking in despite feeling being punched in the gut.The settlement terms jump out immediately. He’s offering a lump sum that's less than 20% of what our original contract guaranteed. The number completely ignores everything I've done for Harrington's growth, all the value I've created, and the specific compensation our prenup spelled
ARIAAfter another day of Xavier playing hide-and-seek, I've had enough.The manila envelope feels heavy in my hands. Inside are all the receipts I've been collecting.Hard evidence he can't just brush off with more of his bullshit excuses.My plan seems reasonable - leave this with a note asking for an honest conversation. No drama, no screaming match. Just grown-ups dealing with a problem.Xavier's study door is usually locked, his sacred man cave where even I'm not supposed to go without an invitation now. But today, the heavy oak door swings open when I push it.What I see makes my blood freeze.Xavier's on the leather couch with Vivian practically in his lap.Her blouse is half unbuttoned showing lacy bra underneath. His tie is thrown on the floor, and his hand is wrapped around her waist like he owns her.They break apart when they hear me with shocked expressions.For a second, nobody moves. The envelope dangles from my numb fingers as my brain struggles to process what I'm see
ARIAI arrive home drained, every muscle aching with the weight of the day.Too tired to think, I drag myself into a quick shower, hoping the water might wash away more than just the grime.But my chest still feels heavy with the ache lodged deep behind my ribs.I try to stay strong… to keep my head high, keep moving forward but nothing I do seems to lift the cloud settling over me.I flip through my leather journal, sitting cross-legged on my bed after a long shower, finally facing what I've been dodging for months.My hands are shaking as I read. The pages tell the whole embarrassing story of how I went from seeing Xavier as just a business partner to... God, I can barely admit it even to myself.May 22: Caught myself watching Xavier during the board presentation today. Not analyzing his strategy but noticing how his eyes crinkle slightly when he's pleased with a point well made.June 8: Missed Xavier during his three-day conference trip. House felt weirdly empty.My stomach twists
ARIAI start noticing a pattern. Xavier and Vivian's cars are the last ones in the executive parking lot night after night, sometimes until dawn. At first, I can buy the excuses—Asian expansion needs attention, European acquisition has those regulatory headaches. Sure, work happens.But then three nights a week becomes four, then five. They're staying past midnight no matter what's on the calendar the next day. And when they finally leave? They don't look exhausted like normal people after grinding through work all night. They look... energized. Sometimes disheveled. Often sharing little private jokes or lingering by their cars, talking low.I try to join one of these sessions, keeping it casual."The European acquisition filing deadline's coming up," I mention when I catch Xavier alone. "I could stay tonight, help finish the documentation. Those financial disclosures need a careful eye."Xavier doesn't even think about it. "Not necessary. Vivian and I have it covered.""Those financi
ARIAThe NeuroSphere acquisition report sits completed on Xavier's desk for tomorrow's meeting. Sixty-four pages of detailed analysis after three weeks of intense work. Singapore's tech market fits perfectly with Harrington's infrastructure, and I've covered every financial angle. When I walk into the conference room the next morning, I stop dead in the doorway. Vivian's standing at the presentation screen showing my financial models, just with different colors but clearly my work. The footer reads "Strategic Analysis by Vivian Taylor.""Aria, perfect timing," Xavier points to a chair far from the presentation area. "Vivian was just explaining the NeuroSphere opportunity."I sit there stunned while she presents my analysis as her own, occasionally adding comments that show she barely understands the actual numbers.The acquisition team directs all their questions to her instead of me, while Xavier nods approvingly at details I researched and put together myself."This is remarkably th