Novelas y relatos de Ariana Fletcher Old Pictures

Someone was already there. A woman stood when she saw me. She was older than I expected. Mid-forties, maybe. Sharp eyes. Composed. The kind of person who looked like she knew how to survive rooms full of powerful men. “You’re Ariana,” she said. “You texted me,” I replied. “Who are you?” “Someone Victor Sterling tried very hard to erase.” My pulse kicked up. “That doesn’t narrow it down.” She almost smiled. “Fair.” She gestured to the chair across from her. I didn’t sit.

I ask quietly. She looks over at the picture to see a young, handsome, high-school age Ryan Burke giving the camera an intense look. She stares at it for a few moments, her expression turning into one I recognized from high school. So that's what attraction looks like on Ana's face. I don't think I've ever seen it before. Her gaze flies back up to me. She takes a step back so she can hold the picture up next to my face and look back and forth between reality and history. I grimace. I had not intended to invite such a direct comparison. She finally lowers the picture and looks only at me.

Aria stood by the window as she watched the car drive off, followed immediately by two other cars and her pretentious mask finally slipped. She walked into her bedroom and locked the door behind her. Reaching under the bed for a box that contained some old items she had stored away, Aria scattered the contents of the box on the floor till she found what she was looking for. It was an old photo, her copy of the photograph taken during their high school summer camp with her, Lola, and Noah. She grabbed the photograph and abandoned the rest of the scattered items, then she proceeded to her desk with the photograph in hand. With one more look at it, her anger grew. She was no fool and she had be

“Some of the proceeds tonight go to a charity I care about, but I’m also looking to acquire a piece or two. Something with soul.” Killian scanned the room idly, expression cool and detached - until his mother suddenly stopped. “Oh - Killian,” she said, eyes narrowing slightly. “Isn’t that the photographer you invited to the dinner?” He followed her gaze. There, a few feet away, stood Aria. She wore a floral top and pants set, minimal jewelry, and her curls pinned up in a way that exposed the elegant lines of her neck. She was speaking to another artist, but as if drawn by some invisible string, she turned - and her eyes met his.

'You already know what these are for' ~C. Ariana parted the paper wrapping to reveal five magazines from DeAmour Magazine in different years and season editions. On the front cover of each magazine was her throughout the years. The first magazine had a picture of her at ten years old. Her mother had always been one for popularity and fame. Since she found her first daughter to be an eye sore to her seemingly perfect marriage and she despised the innocent little girl, she found ways to make Ariana useful. Rachel had pushed her into the spotlight at a young age and used her daughter's popularity as a stepping stone in the socialite world.

She was present, yet unreachable. Aria’s fingers flexed once more, deliberate and experimental. She looked down at her own hands as if they belonged to someone else. When she lifted her gaze again, the flicker in her eyes had returned, but it was weaker now, struggling against whatever cold force had taken root inside her.

"Damien, this is..." “Yup, that’s me,” he confirmed. The portraits were mostly of Damon, while the others were family pictures. There was this particular portrait that caught my attention—one of a baby not more than six months old. I could not stop my hands from reaching out and grazing my finger over the boy’s cheeks. “This is exactly how Ariana looked a few months after she was born; I never had the money to get her a portrait,” I muttered, even though I knew he could hear me loud and clear.

I picked up his phone and the next thing I saw knocked breath out of my lungs for a second. It was a post of Ariana's on I*******m. She had a bright yellow one handed top on, paired with denim pants, her hair was let down with a center parting that accentuated her round face. She was bare of make up but she still looked so beautiful. She was barefoot and from the looks of things, she took the picture at our bedroom's balcony. The first picture was her facing the camera with a big smile that showed off her perfect dentition, the other was a selfie with one hand on the railing and then when I slid to the last slide, there was Snapchat video of her and Fiona making goofy faces and smiling.

"Alright, Lily. Goodnight." Once she was gone, the silence of the executive floor became even more pronounced. I tried to focus on a final legal brief, but I found myself distracted. I opened my personal laptop and searched for Ariana's social media. I hadn't let myself look before, afraid it would drive me crazy, but now the floodgates were open. She was truly beautiful. I browsed through old pictures of her in college, wearing a messy bun and holding a massive textbook; her at a coffee shop with a group of friends; even a photo at a museum where she was making funny faces at a statue.

“You think people believe me just because I said I’m the heiress?” She shook her head slowly. “No.” “I gave them proof.” A chill ran through Aria. “What proof?” Lena’s smile grew wider. “The scholarship documents were helpful,” she admitted. “But they weren’t the best part.” Aria felt her pulse quicken. “What else did you find?” Lena pulled out her phone. She tapped the screen once. Then turned it toward Aria. The photo displayed there made Aria’s breath stop. It was an old picture. One that had never been released publicly.