Todos los capítulos de Surrendered Desires: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

Ariana’s POVThe meeting with Jordan Reece was set for 2:00 p.m. at a discreet executive lounge uptown — the kind of place you don’t enter unless someone buzzes you in by name. I arrived five minutes early, dressed in black slacks, a silk blouse, and no makeup.I didn’t come to impress. I came to remember who I was when no one was watching. Evelyn was already waiting inside, phone tucked into her blazer, jaw sharp enough to cut through glass. She nodded once when she saw me.“He’s here,” she said.“He nervous?”“No,” she replied, “but he should be.”*******Jordan stood when I walked in, like we were old friends. He was dressed like a man who still believed in polish. Tailored blue suit. Expensive shoes. Rolex too tight on his wrist. His smile flickered when our eyes met.“Ariana,” he said, reaching out.I didn’t take his hand. I sat across from him. Evelyn took the seat beside me. There were no greetings. No pleasantries. Just space. And then silence. The kind of silence you don’t in

Ariana’s POVIt started with a single phone call, not from Evelyn, not Luca, not even Jordan. Someone from The Sentinel — a respected, national publication that rarely touched personal scandals. But they weren’t calling about gossip.They were calling about the documents. The ones Jordan had handed me weeks ago. The ones we submitted to the court. The ones that had already begun to leak.// “We’ve independently verified fragments of the internal memos,” the journalist said, her voice calm but urgent.“They’re damning. Would you be open to an exclusive?”I didn’t answer right away. I stood in the kitchen, phone in one hand, mug in the other, watching steam swirl in the quiet morning light.“Why now?” I asked.There was a pause. Then she said, “Because people are finally ready to listen. And you’re not the only one with a story.”That caught me off guard.“What do you mean?”“We’ve received tips from two other former Luxe employees. One says her exit package was tied to a silence clause

Ariana’s POVI stood at the window at sunrise, barefoot, a warm mug in hand. The sky was streaked with muted lavender and gold — soft, like it hadn’t yet decided what kind of day it wanted to be.For the first time in a long time, neither anxiety nor rage woke me. Just stillness.The kind that comes after fire. When there’s nothing left to burn, only space to build.The bag of old dresses was already gone. Luca had dropped it off at the shelter before I even woke up.He didn’t leave a note. He knew I’d know. We moved in rhythm now — not perfect, not always aligned, but aware of each other’s pain and peace like breath. And the more I let him witness me in my mess, the more I realized… I had never been too much. I had just been unseen.*****Evelyn texted mid-morning:/Board vote today. Outcome likely within 48 hours. We’re watching it unfold in real time now.Attached was a screenshot from Luxe’s internal news portal. A headline:/ “Leadership Restructuring Under Consideration as Cultu

Ariana’s POVThere are stories that live at the bottom of you. The kind you bury so deep, even your dreams forget how to find them. Until one day—something quiet, something subtle—pulls at the thread. And everything unravels. For me, it was the smell of smoke. Not fire. Not danger. Just burnt cinnamon on the stove. Luca had overtoasted breakfast again. I laughed. He apologized. I waved it off. But the scent… It took me back fifteen years. Back to a different kind of heat. To a beach. To a boy. To the only goodbye that ever shattered me completely.I hadn’t thought about that day in so long. Not the details. Not fully. I had talked around it in therapy. Hinted at it in my journal. But I had never let myself go back. Not fully.Not until now. Luca noticed the way I froze. His eyes narrowed slightly. “You okay?” I nodded. But my voice didn’t come out. Because memory was already clawing at me. Insisting. And I couldn’t run from it this time. So I let it take me.Back to the summer I met th

Luca’s POVFifteen Years Ago – The BeginningThe summer I met Ariana Cole, I was broke, sunburnt, and convinced I didn’t believe in fate. I had just lost a contract with a media startup in Florence and was squatting in a borrowed beach shack on the southern coast, doing low-budget photography gigs for tourists and wedding guests with names I couldn’t pronounce. I was 22, hungry, and angry at everything.Then she walked into the café across from the pier — high ponytail, bare shoulders, notebook in one hand, camera in the other — and ordered a hot tea in the middle of a 34-degree afternoon. I laughed without meaning to. She turned, looked at me like I’d interrupted a sacred ritual, and said, “What?”I pointed to the steam rising from her cup. “You’re drinking fire.” She smirked. “Maybe I’m built for it.”I didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of everything. Not just the love. The undoing.The rewriting. The quiet war we didn’t see coming.*****We spent the next few weeks l