Chapter 2 - Acting Calm in a Crazy World
I had about two seconds to process the situation before my brain screamed:
“Arielle. Calm down. You are a mother now. A tragic, rich, supposedly wise mother. ACT CALM.”
Yeah. ACT. Like a commercial actress in a perfume ad. Just… breathe, smile softly, and don’t scream at four grown men who just called you “Mom.” Easy. Totally easy.
I tried. I really did.
“Good morning, boys,” I croaked. My voice wobbled like a bowl of jelly.
The four of them froze. One eyebrow raised. One leaned against the wall like I was suddenly radioactive. One… actually looked offended. And the last one just… stared.
“Mom… you’re… acting weird,” said the one who looked like he could be a doctor—seriously, the stethoscope-in-my-mind vibe.
“I… uh… just… uhm…” My hands flailed slightly. Classic panic.
They exchanged glances. Like, the four-way silent judgment stare.
“Don’t worry,” I muttered under my breath. “You are totally fine. Totally in control. Totally. ACT. CONTROL. CONTROL.”
I straightened my posture. Smiled faintly. Even tried to glance elegantly at the side, like I was in a drama magazine shoot. Yes, Arielle. Perfect. No one will suspect you’re panicking internally and screaming in your head.
“Are you… okay, Mom?” said one of the others.
“Absolutely,” I said, voice wavering but… elegant. Sort of. “I… I just… had a weird dream. Silly me.”
I glanced around. The house was enormous.
Expensive. Ridiculous. Every detail screamed “billionaire lifestyle,” and I had absolutely zero memory of it—except for…
well, maybe a memory or two of acting reflexes from the original Arielle.
And that’s when I saw it. The corner of the room…
a tall, cold shadow at the doorway. Lucian Cross.
Oh. My. God.
He was watching me. Watching me.
“Good morning,” I said, trying to make it casual. Laugh internally. Don’t make eye contact. Smile.
“Morning,” he said, voice deep and measured. Too measured. Too. Damn. Controlled.
Instant panic.
“Okay, Arielle. Calm. Pretend you are on set. You are acting a calm, wise, tragic mother. You… got this…”
I tried. I really did. But every tiny muscle in my face betrayed me.
My eyes probably screamed HELP ME.
My fingers probably twitched like I was in a commercial for panic attacks.
And, of course, the sons noticed.
One of them—Darian, CEO-type vibes—raised an eyebrow. “Are you… always this dramatic?”
“Oh… yes,” I said, smiling too hard. “Very… dramatic. Always. In fact… I… like to act a lot.”
I might have just revealed I was literally an actress trapped in her own body. Smooth. Really smooth.
The doctor-looking one—Zayden—tilted his head. “Huh. Interesting. I didn’t know Mom had hobbies like that.”
“Oh, yes… hobbies. Many hobbies.” Panic. Smile. Nod. Perfect.
I silently cursed my life choices. And my love for novels. And basically everything that led me to be in this situation.
But… hey. At least I was alive. Probably.