Chapter 8 Damage Control & Internal Screaming
The elevator doors slid shut with a soft ding, sealing Arielle inside a mirrored box with four dangerously handsome men she was legally, biologically, and spiritually not allowed to be attracted to.
She stared straight ahead.
Do not look.
Do not think.
Do not acknowledge Rhett’s arms.
This body is not mine.
This body is not mine. This body—
Her thoughts short-circuited when the elevator jolted slightly and Rhett instinctively reached out, placing a steadying hand near her elbow.
“I’ve got you, Mom.”
She nearly ascended.
I HAVE GOT TO GET OUT OF THIS NOVEL.
Arielle clenched her designer bags like flotation devices, reminding herself—again—that she was a transmigrator, a victim of a cursed reading habit, and a former normal girl who used to scream over anime men on her phone…
not in real life… and definitely not in a luxury mall elevator.
Darian broke the silence first. “Security is rerouting us. The private exit is clear—for now.”
“For now,” Zayden echoed calmly, already typing.
“Fan accounts are multiplying. Someone caught Emrys smiling.”
Emrys blinked.
“I was just breathing.”
“That’s the problem,” Rhett muttered.
Arielle swallowed.
So this is it.
This is the life of a tragic CEO novel mother.
Money, fame, chaos, and sons who look like they walked out of separate genre fantasies.
The elevator opened into a restricted hallway.
Staff moved efficiently—trained, silent, professional.
Arielle followed automatically, feet moving on instinct while her mind lagged behind, replaying everything that had happened since she woke up in this body.
I was reading.
I blinked.
Now I have four sons and unlimited credit cards.
Her phone buzzed again.
She didn’t need to look.
Trending. Still trending. Probably worse.
Rhett noticed her stiffen. “You okay?”
She nodded too quickly.
“Yes. Totally. Just… thinking.”
About how I’m inside a novel where I’m supposed to be divorced, ignored, and emotionally starved—yet somehow ended up shopping like a spoiled heiress with four doting sons.
They reached the private parking area.
Black cars waited, engines humming softly.
Before she could climb in, Arielle paused.
“Wait.”
All four sons turned to her instantly.
The power was… terrifying.
She cleared her throat.
“Next time… we maybe don’t stay two hours in public.
”
Rhett smiled. “Noted.”
Zayden nodded.
“We underestimated exposure.”
Emrys tilted his head.
“But you had fun.”
She did not answer that.
Because she did.
And that scared her more than the cameras.
Lucian Cross stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, tablet in hand, jaw tight.
The images were everywhere.
Arielle at LuxMall.
Arielle laughing softly.
Arielle surrounded by their sons.
Happy.
Too happy.
“She looks… relaxed,” the secretary said carefully, scrolling.
“Public reaction is overwhelmingly positive. Fans are calling it ‘the Cross family visual attack.’”
Lucian scoffed.
“Visual attack?”
“Yes, sir. Especially focused on the sons.”
Of course.
His eyes lingered on one particular clip—Arielle adjusting her scarf, Rhett stepping closer, Darian subtly shielding her from a camera angle.
A family unit.
Without him.
So she can smile like that now, he thought coldly.
Without me.
His misunderstanding deepened, cementing itself like wet concrete.
She’s doing this on purpose.
Public appearances.
Media buzz. Attention.
A distraction.
A message.
“Dig deeper,” he ordered.
“Find out who tipped off the press. And… keep an eye on her movements tonight.”
The secretary hesitated.
“Sir… should we—”
“I said keep an eye,” Lucian snapped.
Not because he missed her.
Not because he regretted anything.
But because something about the images sat wrong in his chest.