Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Henry
I shut my office door behind me with more force than necessary. The latch clicked into place with a metallic finality that did nothing to quiet the storm inside my head.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the expression in Ariana’s eyes when I restrained her.
It wasn’t anger or defiance.
It was panic. The kind that roots in your bones and drags you under like a riptide.
She claimed she was claustrophobic.
My gut said there was something else beneath that reaction.
I replayed the events of the past few days, my mind focusing on one thing in particular.
The bruises. Faint shadows along her legs. The fingerprint-shaped marks on her throat.
What if there was more to it than I originally believed? What if the bruises on her legs weren’t from her escape attempt? What if the marks on her throat weren’t from some breath play with her husband?
I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting against a headache I felt forming. When I opened my eyes again, the screens above my desk came into focus, flickering through security feeds.
Except the largest screen.
It still displayed the paused frame I’d pulled from Sarah’s last video. Her face turned to the wind, dark hair whipping across her cheek, the horizon glowing behind her like firelight. She looked untouchable in that moment. Unbreakable.
If I needed a reminder of my purpose, this was it. Nothing else mattered right now. Not Ariana’s bruises. Not the sound of her voice cracking under pressure. Not the way she watched me like she was trying to decide if I was a threat or her salvation.
I had to believe it could all be an act. I refused to fall into her trap.
Not when Sarah deserved justice.
Not when Victor walked free.
Resolved in my purpose, I grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the duffel and made my way back to the kitchen. Ariana sat on the floor, petting Cato like he was her dog. I tossed the pants at her.
“Dinner will be ready in ten.”
I didn’t wait to see her reaction. Didn’t trust myself to look too long.
I turned away and focused on the pot, checking on the chicken and dumplings. I could feel her watching me. Could feel the weight of her gaze on the back of my neck, crawling down my spine, unsettling me.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I heard the rustling of clothes, then her retreating footsteps. Cato followed her.
Of course he did.
At least I had a few minutes to regroup without her presence suffocating me.
I took my time checking on the dumplings to make sure they were done.
Then I spooned out two portions and set them on the dining table.
I didn’t usually eat here, preferring the island whenever I came here for peace and quiet. But I needed space. Distance. A buffer.
Ariana returned exactly ten minutes later, barefoot and swimming in my sweatpants.
I dropped into the chair at the head of the table, not saying a word. Just picked up my spoon and started eating, pretending she wasn’t here.
But she was.
I couldn’t stop glancing her way as she sat across from me, still and tense, staring into her bowl like it might bite her.
“I apologize if chicken and dumplings isn’t up to your standards, princess.”
“It’s not that. I just…”
“What?” I snapped.
She hesitated. “You could have poisoned it.”
I lifted my gaze to hers. “You didn’t have any problem drinking the hot chocolate I made you earlier.”
She held her head high. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
A part of me wanted to tell her I didn’t care if she ate or not.
But she was already too skinny.
And I could hear her stomach growling.
On a long exhale, I reached across the table and grabbed her bowl, taking a bite before shoving it back. “Happy now? If I did poison it, which I didn’t, now we both die.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, still uncertain.
Heaving another sigh, I traded bowls with her.
“Are you okay with this or shall I make dinner all over again from scratch so you can supervise every step?”
“This is acceptable,” she stated, her shoulders back, spine straight.
She placed her napkin in her lap, spoon poised like she was preparing for a formal banquet.
“No need to worry about etiquette around me,” I rasped. “There’s no one to impress here except for Cato and me. And the dog licks his balls… Or where his balls used to be.”
“And you?”
“I can’t reach my balls to lick them.”
That earned me a smile, along with a soft laugh.
It shouldn’t have affected me, but that gentle sound somehow cut straight through me.
Uninvited.
Unwelcome.
And I hated her for it.
“Plus, you don’t impress me, princess,” I added harshly.
In an instant, her expression fell.
Good.
“Why do you call me that?”
“What?” I asked around a mouthful of dumpling. “Princess?”
She nodded, continuing to delicately eat her soup.
“That’s what you are. A pampered woman living a charmed life.”
She laughed again. But it wasn’t the amused one from before. It was more out of disbelief. Or maybe something else. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
Every time I thought I had her figured out, something shifted, making me reevaluate things. I’d spent the past several months studying her life. I’d followed her movements. Tracked her schedule. Watched her pose for photographs at charity galas beside a man I wanted to bury.
She thrived in the spotlight. Belonged in it.
The socialite with the perfect smile and fairytale life.
This woman — barefoot, bone-tired, and sitting at my dining room table — was someone else entirely.
Or maybe it was an act, too.
“So this is about who I am,” she stated. “About money.”
I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re feeding me. Taking care of me. That’s how this works, right? To get the most money, you need to keep your investment alive.”
“I already told you. This has nothing to do with money.”
She exhaled sharply, frustrated. “Why am I here? Did you just decide to abduct me on a whim? Feeling cute. Might kidnap someone later. ”
I furrowed my brow. “Feeling cute?”
“It’s some social media trend. But that’s beside the point. You won’t let me leave.”
“The doors aren’t locked.”
“That’s more of a technicality,” she snapped. “They may not be locked, but I still can’t leave without risking my life. Without you coming after me. Correct?”
I didn’t answer.
Because she was right.
I would go after her.
She wouldn’t get far anyway. From what I observed earlier, her survival skills were laughable at best. But she was no use to me dead. No. I needed her alive for what I had planned for her husband.
“What do you hope to gain from this?” she pressed, her voice rising. “Why sneak onto my property? Drug me? Take me from my life?”
I could have told her the truth. That I hadn’t done any of those things. That I saw her being taken and, for reasons I still didn’t understand, intervened and took her somewhere she’d be safe. Where no one would find her.
But the truth was too tangled to explain. Too dangerous.
“Justice,” I said, and the room went eerily still for several protracted moments.
Then her voice broke through. “Justice? For what?”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at her until she looked away. Something about her presence made everything harder to hold on to. My anger. My certainty. My purpose. She chipped at that with every word. With every breath. With every damn look.
So instead of remaining in her presence any longer, I abruptly stood.
“Eat your damn dinner… Princess .”
I grabbed my bowl and carried it into the kitchen, slamming it into the sink hard enough for ceramic to crack against steel.
Then I left her sitting at the table as I retreated to the basement.
I shut the door to the office behind me and leaned against it, my chest heaving like I’d just come in from a war zone.
Maybe I had.
I turned toward the wall of screens, staring at Sarah’s photo like it might give me clarity.
But Ariana’s face kept cutting in.
Not the polished, painted version I’d studied for months. Not the woman in designer dresses and draped in diamonds.
Instead, I saw the woman sitting at my table, eating chicken and dumplings like it was the best thing she'd tasted in years. The woman who flinched when I raised my voice. Who shook when I touched her.
What if I’d been wrong?
What if she wasn’t complicit?
What if she was another one of her husband’s victims?
Just like Sarah.
I dragged a hand down my face and turned away from the screens.
I couldn’t afford to think like that.
Not now.
Not when everything depended on keeping the lines clear. Black and white. Guilty and innocent.
But the more time I spent with Ariana Kane, the more I was beginning to realize that nothing about her stayed in the lines.