Chapter 14: The Return

Aria’s POV

The building stood on Fifth Avenue, thirty stories of gleaming steel and glass with the words “MYLES INDUSTRIES” etched in platinum letters across the entrance.

I stood across the street, staring at it like a stranger.

Three years. It had been three years since I’d walked through those doors.

My phone buzzed. A text from my father’s old assistant, Margaret: “We’re ready for you, Ms Myles. Whenever you’re ready.”

I took a breath and crossed the street.

The moment I stepped into the lobby, heads turned. 

The security guard at the desk straightened immediately, recognition dawning on his face.

“Ms Myles!” He stood so fast his chair rolled backwards. “Welcome back. We…we didn’t know you were coming today.”

“Last-minute decision, Robert.” I smiled at him, remembering his name from years ago. 

“Is Margaret upstairs?”

“Yes, ma’am. Fifteenth floor. Should I call ahead?”

“No need. I’ll surprise her.”

I walked to the private elevator…the one that went directly to the executive floors. My fingerprint still worked on the scanner. The doors slid open silently.

As the elevator climbed, I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls.

I’d dressed carefully this morning. Not in the simple, modest clothes Jason preferred. Not in the navy dresses and pearl earrings that made me invisible.

I wore a tailored Armani suit in deep charcoal, the kind that cost more than most people’s monthly rent. 

My natural curls were out for the first time in two years, framing my face in soft coils. Diamond studs…real ones, not the tiny pearls Jason had given me…glinted in my ears. 

My heels were Louboutin, and they clicked with authority on the marble floor.

I looked like money. Old money. The kind of wealth that didn’t need to announce itself because everyone already knew.

I looked like Aria Myles.

Not Aria Hartley. Not Jason’s quiet, forgettable wife.

Aria Myles, sole heir to a manufacturing empire worth 2.3 billion dollars.

The elevator opened on the fifteenth floor.

The executive suite was exactly as I remembered it. 

Rich mahogany furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park, abstract art on the walls that cost more than Jason’s penthouse.

Margaret stood from her desk the moment she saw me. 

She was older now, her hair more gray than brown, but her eyes were the same…sharp, intelligent, fiercely loyal.

“Aria.” Her voice cracked. “Oh, my dear girl.”

She came around the desk and pulled me into a hug. I let myself sink into it, breathing in her familiar perfume.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I stayed away so long.”

“Hush.” She pulled back and held me at arm’s length, studying my face. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

She paused, her eyes catching on something. She reached up and gently turned my face to the side.

The bruise from Jason’s slap was mostly faded, but in the right light, you could still see the shadow of it.

Margaret’s expression hardened. “He did this?”

I’d forgotten that Margaret had known me since I was sixteen. 

She’d worked for my father for twenty years, and when he died, she’d promised to look after the company…and me…until I was ready to take over.

She could read me better than anyone.

“It’s over now,” I said quietly. “I filed for divorce this morning.”

Something fierce and satisfied flashed across her face. “Good. I never liked him.”

“You met him once.”

“Once was enough.” She gestured toward the double doors behind her desk. “Come. Your office is exactly as you left it.”

My father’s office. My office now. Margaret opened the doors, and I stepped inside.

It was massive. Bigger than Jason’s, though I’d never tell him that. 

The mahogany desk sat in front of windows that offered a panoramic view of the city. 

Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with industry publications and first editions my father had collected. 

A sitting area with leather couches occupied one corner. The other corner held a bar cart with crystal decanters.

Everything was spotless, dust-free. Like it had been waiting for me.

“I had cleaning come in twice a week,” Margaret said from the doorway. “Just in case.”

I walked to the desk and ran my fingers over the smooth wood. 

My father had sat here for thirty years, building Myles Industries from a small manufacturing plant into an empire.

And I’d walked away from it. For what? For a man who’d never wanted me in the first place?

“The board has been asking about you,” Margaret said gently. “They’ve been patient, but they need to know your intentions. Are you coming back? Or should we start discussing a sale?”

I turned to face her. “I’m not selling.”

Relief flooded her features. “Then you’re staying?”

“I’m staying.” The words felt right. Solid. “I should have come back years ago.”

“You weren’t ready years ago.”

“I was afraid,” I corrected. “Afraid of the responsibility. Afraid I’d fail my father’s legacy. So I ran away and pretended to be someone else.” I looked around the office. 

“But I’m done pretending.”

Margaret smiled. “Your father would be proud of you, you know. Not for coming back. For having the courage to leave when you needed to.”

“Even if where I left was a disaster?”

“Especially then.” She walked to the desk and pulled out a folder. 

“He always said the best education was making mistakes and learning from them. I’d say a two-year marriage to the wrong man qualifies.”

I laughed. It felt strange and wonderful.

Margaret opened the folder. “Now. Business. We have a board meeting scheduled for next Monday. I’ve been running things in your absence, but they’ll want to hear from you directly. Your vision for the company moving forward.”

“What have I missed?”

“Three years of quarterly reports, two acquisitions, one failed merger attempt, and about a hundred decisions that needed the heir’s approval.” She handed me the folder. 

“I made the decisions I thought you’d make. But you should review everything.”

I flipped through the pages. Financial statements, contracts, proposals. My father’s company. My company.

“There’s also the matter of your living situation,” Margaret said carefully. “I assume you’re not staying at Mr Hartley’s penthouse?”

“God, no.” I closed the folder. “I’ll need to find an apartment. Something…”

“Already handled.” She pulled out another folder. 

“I took the liberty of contacting a realtor. There are three properties available that I think you’d like. All in buildings with excellent security.”

Of course, she’d already thought of it.

I looked at the listings. A penthouse in Tribeca. A brownstone in the Upper West Side. A loft in SoHo.

All beautiful. All safe. All mine.

“The Tribeca penthouse,” I said, pointing. “I’ll take it.”

Margaret made a note. “I’ll have the paperwork ready by tomorrow. You can move in by the end of the week.”

“Thank you, Margaret.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” She paused at the door. “Aria? It’s good to have you home.”

After she left, I stood alone in my office, looking out at the city.

Somewhere out there, Jason was probably still in his office, nursing his bruised cheek and his wounded pride. Probably calling his lawyers, planning his counterattack.

Let him.

I’d spent two years being small, being quiet, being the wife he wanted me to be.

But that Aria was gone.

I was Aria Myles now. Billionaire heiress. CEO of a manufacturing empire. A woman who’d walked away from everything once and survived.

And this time, I wasn’t walking away.

I was taking back everything that was mine.

My company. My name. My life.

Jason Hartley had no idea whom he’d married.

But he was about to find out.

I pulled out my phone and texted Kyle: “Change of plans for tonight. Dinner at Le Bernardin. 8 PM. My treat.”

His response came quickly: “Fancy. Should I wear a tie?”

I smiled as I typed back: “Definitely. You’re having dinner with a CEO.”

I set my phone down and looked around my office one more time.

Then I sat down in my father’s chair…my chair…and got to work.