Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Ariana
I stood in front of the vanity, my palms flat against the cool marble, trying to calm the flutter in my stomach. Dinner with Henry’s friend shouldn’t make me nervous, but this wasn’t just any friend. It was someone Henry had known for decades. Someone he considered family.
I tried to picture Henry as a teen. All sharp edges and unmitigated rage, the version he hinted at when he spoke of his past. But there must have been something softer beneath the facade, too. The kind of boy who wanted to protect people, even when he didn’t know how.
He liked to tell me he wasn’t a good man. But he was wrong. Yes, he’d done things. Illegal things. Maybe even unforgivable things in some peoples’ eyes.
Yet, I’d seen the goodness in him, too. The restraint. The quiet decency Victor never possessed.
He was a bad person. I refused to put Henry in the same classification as Victor, despite my earlier insistence otherwise.
The past few weeks had taught me that Henry Fontaine was nothing like Victor Kane.
Deep down, I always knew that to be true.
I was just too stubborn to admit it.
Or maybe I was just too scared to admit it.
I leaned closer to the mirror, tracing the edge of my crimson lipstick.
It was the same shade I wore the night I first met Henry.
I remembered how he couldn’t seem to look away from my mouth, like every word I spoke might undo him.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wear it tonight hoping for the same reaction.
My heart gave a nervous skip at the thought.
The rest of my makeup was soft. Barely-there eyeliner. A hint of blush. Subtle shadowing around my eyes.
The woman staring back at me didn’t look like Victor’s carefully curated doll. She looked like someone real. Someone reclaiming herself one small rebellion at a time.
I smoothed the hem of my thigh-length sweater dress, the knit fabric warm against my skin, and tugged on my knee-high boots. Two things Victor hated. Two things that made me feel…free.
When I stepped into the hallway, the air carried a faint scent of cedar that would always remind me of Henry.
The penthouse was modern and polished, all stainless steel and glass.
Beautiful in a way that felt distant. Lonely.
Like a place designed for someone who didn’t expect to be cared for and didn’t trust himself to want it.
But I saw beneath the mask. Saw him for who he truly was.
As I emerged into the living room, my heart stuttered at the sight of Henry standing in front of the window, dressed in dark jeans and a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the muscles in his forearms.
He was silhouetted against the darkened sky, the city lights below burning like the fires of some underworld kingdom. For a heartbeat, he looked like something mythic. Like Hades himself. Commanding. Solitary. The King of Shadows watching over the souls below. Haunted by things no one knew.
But when he turned and saw me, everything changed.
Heat sparked in his eyes as they traced the line of my body. Like he was trying to take me in all at once and failing because there was too much he wanted to look at.
It struck me that I’d never worn anything but yoga pants and pajamas around him. Sure, he’d seen me draped in the designer gowns Victor clothed me in, but that wasn’t who I really was.
“Is this okay?” I asked nervously, gesturing at my dress.
He crossed the room in three purposeful strides, stopping close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him. He tilted my chin, his eyes dark and reverent.
“You look fucking amazing, Ariana.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest, spreading outward.
“But you could wear a paper sack,” he added, his thumb brushing the corner of my jaw, “and I’d still find you beautiful.”
A nervous laugh slipped out of me. “That might be a little itchy. I’ll stick with the sweater dress.”
“Lucky me.” His mouth curved into something bordering on wicked. Then he stepped back, and a chill washed over me from the lack of touch. “You ready?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and he helped me into my coat, a simple gesture that felt intimate in a way I hadn’t expected. Then he led me out of the penthouse and into the elevator.
When we reached his dark SUV, he opened the door for me, helping me in. It didn’t escape my notice that his gaze lingered on my legs longer than one would consider platonic.
And I certainly enjoyed having his eyes on me.
As he pulled out of the garage, the hum of the city surrounded us — horns, tires on asphalt, the pulse of the Atlanta nightlife.
As much as I claimed to hate the isolation of the Maine cabin, then the farmhouse, I couldn’t help but feel like everything here was too loud.
Too intrusive. Too many possibilities for danger.
“You’re safe with me,” Henry said, threading his fingers with mine and squeezing, as if able to sense my thoughts.
I gave him a grateful smile, this one gesture relaxing me. “Thank you.”
But unlike before, he didn’t release his hold on me. He kept my hand in his throughout the twenty-minute drive, not letting go until we pulled up to a gated driveway and he lowered the window to enter a code into the box.
After the gate sprung open, granting us access, Henry steered the SUV down a long drive, parking in front of a stunning colonial before jumping out to open my door with a quiet urgency that made me smile. It was such a little thing, but I loved the effort he went through just to open my door.
Victor never did.
He always had his driver open my door, even when we were dating. Hell, there were times Victor couldn’t even be bothered to walk me to my door.
But Henry rushed so he could do this one small thing for me, proving he wasn’t only thinking about himself. He was thinking about me.
Always.
I took his hand with a smile, relishing in his warmth as he helped me out. Once I had my footing, he steered me toward the house with a gentle hand on my lower back.
As we approached the front door, he entered a code into the keypad.
“You’re just going to let yourself in?” I asked.
“He does the same at my place.”
“Guess I’ll make sure not to walk around naked then,” I teased, hoping to tame the nervous butterflies dancing in my stomach.
Henry froze, his eyes snapping to mine, predatory and hungry.
“That settles it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Deleting his access.” His lips twitched. “Feel free to walk around naked all you want, Ariana.”
I laughed. “I was kidding.”
“I wasn’t.”
The intensity in his gaze stole my breath, so much heat and want in those green orbs. It sent a rush of excitement through me, destroying every single defense I’d built over the years.
“Is that what you want?” I whispered, stepping closer, drawn by something magnetic and reckless. “To get me naked?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down on a hard swallow. “You already know the answer to that.”
“I wouldn’t want to presume, Mr. Fontaine.” I tilted my head back, my voice husky. Wanton.
“Ariana…”
He took half a step toward me, then the door swung open.
A very pregnant blonde filled the doorway, wide-eyed as she looked between us. “Oh! I’m sorry. I heard voices, and I… Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt...your moment.”
“We can pick it back up later.” He gave me a wink that sent another wave of exhilaration through me before turning his attention toward the blonde. “Good to see you, Imogene.”
He kissed her cheek, and I tried not to notice how effortlessly he shifted from predator to friend.
Or how much I liked the idea of being his prey.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Like I want to evict this kid,” she groaned, rubbing her belly. “But apparently, she needs to cook for six more weeks.”
“Enjoy the quiet while you can.”
“I plan on it.” She smiled, then turned to me. “You must be Ariana. I’m Imogene.”
Before I could react, she wrapped me in a hug. The contact startled me. I’d spent so long in a world where affection was calculated, where smiles were rehearsed and hugs were performative. This felt different. Real.
When she sensed my hesitation, she drew back with an apologetic grin. “Too forward? Sorry. I’m a hugger.”
“No,” I said quickly. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“Good.” She gave my arm a squeeze. “Come on in. Gideon’s in the kitchen.”
Henry guided me inside, the house warm with soft light and the smell of garlic and rosemary. As we reached the kitchen, a tall, built man turned from the stove, his grin wide and unguarded.
“Good to see you, brother.”
“You too,” Henry said, clasping him in a hug that spoke of years of trust.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a friendship like this — simple, loyal, untainted. I’d had some good friends in high school. But then Victor entered my life and managed to isolate me from everything and everyone I once held dear. I didn’t understand what he was doing at the time.
My mother did.
She tried to warn me.
And Victor silenced her.
“Ariana,” Henry said, drawing me forward. “This is Gideon Saint.”
I frowned. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Probably because it is,” Henry said dryly. “He used to pretend to be a venture capitalist, so you probably heard his name in your old circles.”
“Pretend?” I asked, confused.
“It’s a long story,” Gideon said with a slight laugh.
“Are you still in that field? Or pretending to be in that field?” I had a feeling whatever Henry meant by that had something to do with the reason he went by Gideon now instead of Samuel, as he’d mentioned was his name when they first met.
“Not anymore.” His gaze softened as he pulled Imogene against him and placed a hand on her stomach. “Figured it was time to focus on the only good investment I ever made.”
He pressed a kiss to her lips. The tender and unguarded gesture hit me right in the chest.
I didn’t realize until this moment how much I missed seeing love like that. Unhidden. Unashamed. Real.
And when I looked at Henry, at the faint smile tugging at his mouth and the warmth in his eyes, I felt a flicker of something fragile and dangerous bloom inside me.
For the first time in years, I didn’t force myself to smother it.
Instead, I allowed myself the one thing Victor tried to take from me.
I let myself hope.