All Chapters of Surrendered Desires: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Ariana’s POVThe world didn’t go quiet after Episode 3.It went loud.Every podcast app. Every women's blog. Even mainstream media started quoting fragments of my words:// “Control without consent is not love.”// “Being managed isn’t healing — it’s silencing.”It spread like a storm with no center — not chaos, just clarity. But I hadn’t dropped the bomb yet.The recording.It still sat on my desktop in a folder labeled:“Their Words, Not Mine.”I listened to it again that morning.Daniel’s voice. Jordan’s polished PR phrases. Their decision to script my silence before I ever spoke. And I knew.I couldn’t just hint anymore. I had to show the world. Let them hear it — raw.Unedited. The truth, in their own tone.*******I called Evelyn.“I’m releasing the recording.”A pause.Then: “You sure?”“They framed me, Evelyn.”“I know.”“They dictated the story of my miscarriage, my mental health, my grief — without telling me.”“I know.”“So why are you hesitating?”Her voice lowered. “Becaus

Ariana’s POVSome betrayals don’t come with shouting. Or slammed doors. Or lipstick on collars. Some come quietly. With footsteps down a hallway. With a flick of a lamp.With the sound of your own voice being read back to you… out loud.Flashback: Three Years Ago It was a Tuesday. We had just gotten home from a charity gala.Daniel looked perfect that night — crisp tux, tie loosened just enough to look effortless. Everyone called us "elegant" in photos. Our smiles looked like they were carved in glass. But I remember his grip tightening just slightly as we left the ballroom.I remember how quiet he was in the car. I remember thinking: Did I say something wrong?*******We walked into the apartment, and I slipped off my heels near the door. Daniel walked into the living room without a word. I poured myself a glass of water. He didn’t ask if I wanted wine, even though he always did on gala nights. When I walked into the room, he was standing near the bookshelf. Holding it.The leather-bo

Ariana’s POVI stared at the microphone for a long time before I hit record. Not because I was nervous. But because I knew, once these words left my mouth, I could never take them back. Not from the public. Not from Daniel. Not from myself. I wasn’t just telling a story anymore. I was breaking the very walls I used to build to survive. And I was doing it with my own voice. I didn’t wear makeup. I didn’t rehearse. I didn’t fix my hair. I sat cross-legged on the floor, barefoot, journal open in my lap. And I spoke.// “This is Episode Five of Still Her. And today… I’m not writing a script.I’m reading something real. My journal. Yes — the one they said proves I’m unstable.The one they called obsessive. These are my words. My heart. My pages.If you’re going to quote me, quote me correctly. If you’re going to judge me, judge me fully. But don’t twist what I wrote in the dark to shame me in the light.” I flipped the page. My hands were steady.“I want to be devoured without being erased

Ariana’s POVThe next morning, I didn’t open my email. I didn’t check social media. I didn’t look at Evelyn’s messages or news alerts or trending hashtags with my name stitched into them. Instead, I stood in the mirror and took a long look at myself. Not the curated version. No makeup, no lighting trick, no caption-ready smile.Just me. Still here. Still whole. Somehow. I had survived worse than silence. I had survived being watched while I broke — and being applauded for how elegant the breaking looked. Now, they could watch me heal.*********The coffee shop down the street was nearly empty. I walked there alone, wrapped in an old coat and soft scarf, the kind Daniel used to complain looked “too lived in.”Good. Let it look lived in. Let it look real. I sat by the window with my laptop, the hum of the city beyond the glass sounding distant. I opened my draft folder. There was a blinking cursor in the center of the screen. It almost looked like it was waiting for permission, but I was

Ariana’s POVThe letter came on a Thursday. A sleek envelope. No sender name. Just a crest embossed into the paper: the Luxe Group logo. Again. It had a scent—faintly perfumed, like money trying to be soft. I didn’t open it right away.I held it, standing in the doorway with the wind pushing against my back like a warning.Luca looked up from the couch when I stepped inside.He saw the envelope and didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. We both knew what it meant. Luxe wasn’t done with me yet. ********When I finally tore it open, the letter was cold and professional.// We are requesting, under advisory counsel, that all defamatory statements against Luxe Group cease immediately. Failure to comply may result in extended litigation, internal audits, and the reconsideration of your separation benefits. Separation benefits. I almost laughed. They were still pretending this was a polite divorce. Still pretending this was business. Not war.I brought the letter to Evelyn the next morning. She rea