All Chapters of THE FALL OF ARIA DONOVAN: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

“You sounded urgent on the phone,” Caleb Ryder said as he stepped into Ethan Cole’s office. His voice was calm, measured, the kind that never rose no matter the situation. “That is not your usual tone.”Ethan rose from his chair and extended a hand. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Caleb.”Caleb shook his hand briefly and looked around the office. “You have not changed anything in here. Same view. Same order. You like control.”“It keeps the mind clear,” Ethan replied, motioning toward the chair opposite his desk. “Please sit.”Caleb took the seat slowly. “Now tell me why a man who runs one of the most respected corporations suddenly sounds like he is running out of time.”Ethan sat down, clasping his hands together. “Donovan Corporation is standing at a crucial phase.”Caleb tilted his head slightly. “Every CEO says that when cash flow tightens.”“This is not about survival,” Ethan said firmly. “It is about expansion.”Caleb crossed his legs. “Your last financial statement

~AT THE HAYNES MANSION~“You should have spoken to me before making that move,” Victor said.Ethan paused just inside the grand living room of the Haynes mansion. The crystal chandelier above cast a muted glow across the marble floor, making the space feel colder than it already was. He loosened his tie slowly, careful not to appear defensive.“I knew you would be upset, which is why I came myself,” Ethan said.Victor turned away from the fireplace, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His face was calm, but the tension in his eyes told a different story.“Upset is an understatement. You requested an enormous loan without consulting me,” Victor said.“I did what had to be done for the company,” Ethan said.“For the company or for you,” Victor asked.Ethan straightened his shoulders.“If the company collapses, we both lose everything,” Ethan said.Victor walked closer, placing his glass on the table with deliberate care.“You asked Caleb Ryder for twenty-five million dollars. That is not a

~VICTOR'S POV~“You’re still here?” I called out, my voice sharp though my chest tightened.A shadow moved in front of the doorway, and my heart skipped a beat. Fear gripped me in a way it hadn’t in years. My eyes narrowed as I strained to see, the dim light from my desk lamp casting long shadows across the private office.“It’s me, Dad,” came the calm, low reply.I froze for a moment, then exhaled slowly as my son, Miles, stepped into the room. He looked older than I remembered, taller, with that same cold composure that seemed to have settled into his bones ever since his mother left. I had always thought that being wealthy could buy comfort, but no amount of money could fill the absence of a mother’s love.“Miles,” I said, my voice softer this time, trying to hide the sudden lump in my throat. “What are you doing here?”“I wanted to see you,” he said simply, hands shoved into his pockets. His gaze was steady, unyielding. It wasn’t the anger I expected. It was something harder to re

~ARIA’S POV~I watched the hospital building and its surroundings as Luca eased the car into the parking lot.“Let us get her something proper to eat,” I said softly. “Hospital food never feels like comfort.”Luca nodded. “There is a place across the street. They make good chicken alfredo and vegetable rice.”“That sounds perfect,” I replied.We returned minutes later with neatly packed containers of chicken alfredo pasta, jollof rice with grilled chicken, and a small fruit parfait. I held the warm paper bag close to my chest as if it carried more than food. It carried intention.When we reached Anna’s room, the door was slightly open. Michael was not there.“She must be resting,” Luca whispered.We stepped in quietly, but the soft shuffle of our shoes stirred her. Her eyes fluttered open, confused at first, then brightening when she saw us.“You came back,” she said, her voice small but full of surprise.I smiled and moved closer. “We did. We thought you might be hungry.”Her face li

The doorbell rang, sharp and insistent, cutting through the quiet of Ethan’s apartment. He paused midway through adjusting his shirt, a strange unease settling in his chest. Visitors were rare, especially unannounced. He walked toward the door, his steps measured, and opened it.Margaret Brown stood there.She carried herself with a calm authority that filled the doorway instantly. Her presence had always been like that, firm without being loud. She wore a neatly pressed cream blouse, buttoned modestly at the collar, paired with a long dark skirt that brushed her ankles. A structured handbag rested on her arm. Her shoes were polished, sensible, yet elegant. Her hair, streaked with silver, was pulled back into a low bun, revealing a face marked not by age but by experience. Her eyes were sharp, observant, and unwavering, the kind that had watched life closely and survived every lesson it offered.“Aunt Margaret,” Ethan said, stepping aside at once. “You did not say you were coming.”Sh