Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Ariana
Henry’s arms felt impossibly steady around me. I shouldn’t have taken comfort in it. Not after what he’d just confessed. How he’d planned to abduct me. How he’d studied me. How I’d been nothing more than a means to an end.
Every instinct I possessed should have been screaming at me to get away. To run as far as I could.
Instead, my body leaned into his warmth like it remembered something my mind refused to accept. His chest rose and fell against me, the scent of cedar and citrus clinging to his shirt as he held me with a tenderness I rarely experienced.
Victor seemed gentle once, too. His hands careful. His voice soft. His concern convincing.
Until it wasn’t. Until his care became a cage, his love a weapon. I swore I’d never mistake protection for possession again.
And yet here I was, allowing myself to be carried in the arms of a man who’d confessed to abducting me.
But was he really as bad as Victor?
He’d never taken any accountability for his actions. If anything, he’d repeatedly placed the blame on me.
Henry didn’t do that. Didn’t make excuses. Just gave me the cold, unvarnished truth, regardless of how I might respond.
Shouldn’t that have been enough for me to believe him?
I wasn’t sure.
The air shifted as Henry moved through his home. I expected dark wood and oversized furniture, like the cabin he’d kept me in.
But this house was a contradiction. Bright. Open. Comfortable.
I got the feeling this place was his true home. The place he felt most at ease. It made me want to search every inch for greater insight into who he was.
He carried me down a winding staircase and through a great room drenched in what felt like late afternoon light, his footsteps a steady rhythm against the polished wood. The French doors opened, and a petite woman slipped inside, sunlight catching in her auburn hair.
“I was just coming to check on you,” she said, her kind brown eyes meeting mine. “How are you feeling, Ms. Summers?”
The name hit me like a soft blow.
Ms. Summers.
My name before Victor. Before I sold my soul to a devil in an expensive suit. It sounded foreign. Like seeing my reflection for the first time in years. I had to resist the urge to correct her out of habit.
I didn’t want to be Mrs. Kane anymore.
But I wasn’t sure I knew how to be Ariana Summers, either. Wasn’t sure who that person was.
Wasn’t sure who I was.
“A little sore,” I managed.
“I’d like to do an exam, if that’s okay with you. Check your injuries, especially your head.”
I glanced at Henry, uncertain who this woman was.
“This is Krystal,” he explained. “She’s a nurse I hired.” He shifted his attention to her. “Can we hold off on the exam until later? Ms. Summers would like to see her mother.”
“Of course, sir.” Krystal nodded without hesitation. “Mrs. Summers is out in the garden.”
The words barely left her mouth before my pulse spiked, and I snapped my gaze back to Henry.
“She’s here?”
“I told you I’d show you she was okay.” He gave a small, knowing smile as he stepped outside.
Fresh air wrapped around me, cloaking me in the comforting aroma of freshly cut grass and jasmine. It had been ages since I’d been outside. Since I’d felt the sun’s rays. The breeze blowing through my hair.
But that was second to learning my mother was here.
When he said he’d take me to see she was okay, I assumed he’d arrange for me to call her at the care facility. I never expected this.
“How?” I asked through the emotion welling in my throat.
“I can be very persuasive.” A mischievous smirk curved his lips before his expression turned serious. “Plus, I found some questionable bank transactions between Victor and the head of Serenity Grove…or whatever that place was called.”
“He was paying for her care,” I explained.
Henry shook his head. “These payments were in addition to what Victor paid the facility.”
“Why?”
“I have my suspicions, but I need to do a bit more…digging.”
“What do you—”
“Don’t worry about it. I promise to tell you everything I uncover. For now, all I want you to focus on is spending time with your mother. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve that.”
The sincerity in his voice unsettled me more than any threat could have. Because it sounded real. Too real.
We followed a cobblestone path framed by winter jasmine and the occasional bird chirping.
The rhythm of his steps quickened with my heart.
I braced myself for disappointment, for illusion.
This was the sort of trick Victor would play on me.
He reveled in getting my hopes up, then cruelly dashing them, all to remind me who was in control.
But when Henry rounded the corner, I learned this wasn’t a trick or a mind game. This was real. My mother was here. And not sitting on a bench, lost in some faraway place only she could see, as was always the case whenever I visited her at the care facility.
She was kneeling in a patch of dirt, sunlight woven through her white hair, planting bursts of marigolds and pansies like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like the last several years never happened.
Her eyes met mine as she stood. I almost called out for her to be careful, insist Henry put me down and help her.
To my surprise, she didn’t waver, her footsteps steadier than I’d seen them in quite a while.
“My girl,” she exhaled as Henry gently set me down on a nearby bench.
“Mom,” I choked out, tears spilling over before I could stop them. She wrapped her arms around me, and I buried my face in her neck, inhaling the faint scent of lavender and powder that always reminded me of her.
“It’s okay, darling,” she whispered, rubbing small circles on my back. “I’m here. Everything will be okay.”
My chest broke open.
For so long, I’d only seen pieces of the woman she once was, her mind lost somewhere I couldn’t follow. And now here she was, lucid and warm, holding me.
How was this possible?
“I’ll let you two catch up.” Henry’s voice cut through, and I pulled my attention back to him. “Krystal will check on you periodically. If you need anything, let her know.”
I swallowed hard, peering at him through my tear-stained eyes.
When I’d first woken up in his bed, I’d been convinced he was the enemy. Part of me still wasn’t sure whether I could trust what he told me. But this act of kindness undid something in me I didn’t know was still holding on.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Anything to make you happy.” His eyes lingered on mine before he looked to my mother. “Mrs. Summers.”
She smiled warmly. “Henry.”
As he retreated toward the house, the sunlight glinted off his dark hair, making him look almost ethereal. A hint of light in the darkness that typically consumed him.
“He cares about you,” my mother said quietly once he disappeared from view.
I turned my eyes back to her, wiping my cheeks. “You don’t—”
“I know.” Her voice was calm, clearer than I’d heard it in years. “I can understand your hesitation, especially after Victor.”
I didn’t say anything. She’d hit the nail on its head. It was precisely what I was thinking.
“But you can always trust your heart, Ariana,” she continued. “What does your heart tell you?”
I parted my lips, trying to listen to the same organ that had betrayed me repeatedly. “I don’t know.”
“Then give it time.” She squeezed my hand. “It will know before your head does.”
Her words wound their way through me like a vine — fragile, hopeful, terrifying.
Because I already knew what my heart was trying to tell me.
I just didn’t know if I was ready to trust it again.