Chapter 41 41
ARIELLE'S POV
I whimpered, shutting my eyes tight, unable to face the fury, unable to confirm or deny. The world was noise and pain and terror.
“Arielle! Arielle!”
Sheila’s voice cut through the chaos, unbearably loud and close. It wasn’t scared; it was insistent, almost annoyed.
I snapped my eyes open. Sheila was crouched in front of me, her face inches from mine. She wasn’t looking at my mother. She was looking right at me, her eyes wide and clear.
“What?” I croaked.
She nudged me hard with her elbow and jerked her head, motioning sharply to the side. “Look. It wasn’t what you were afraid of.”
Huh? Still dazed, I let my gaze follow hers.
My mother was no longer standing over me. She was back at the small table by the wall, the open box beside her. She had her phone pressed to her ear.
Her voice was calm. Professional. Completely devoid of the rage that had just filled the room. “Yes. I got the photos of the farmhouse. They’re in a good location. Buy them. I’ll come to the factory later today to finalize the paperwork… Okay. Thank you.”
She hung up.
My lips parted. The world seemed to tilt, then right itself on a completely different axis. The dizzying, terrifying scenario I’d just lived through—the exposure, the confession, the slap—had all been in my head. A product of my own guilt and panic. The photos were of a property. A farmhouse. For the pack. For business.
Oh, god.
My mother turned, picking up the box of photos again. She looked at me, still sitting stunned on the floor, and held the box up slightly. Her expression was one of pure, icy bafflement. “You see? These are mine. A land survey. So why were you claiming them,” she asked, her voice dangerously quiet, “like they were your top secrets?”
My brain was a scrambled, panicked mess. I just stared up at my mother, my mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out. I had no lie ready. All I had was the raw, stupid truth of my guilt written all over my stinging face.
Sheila, bless her quick-thinking, treacherous heart, stepped into the silence. She plastered on a bright, slightly awkward smile, the one she used when trying to charm teachers.
“Oh! Luna Serena, I think there’s been a mix-up!” she chirped. “Arielle told me she ordered some, uh, special limited-edition art prints online. From a trending website? She’s been waiting for them for weeks. She must have seen the box and just… jumped to conclusions! You know how excited she gets about her art projects.” She nudged me sharply with her foot. “Right, Ari?”
The nudge jolted me back to full reality. I nodded, the motion stiff and painful because of my throbbing cheek. I tried to force my features into something resembling sheepish eagerness instead of sheer terror. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry, Mother. I just… got overexcited. My bad.”
My mother looked from Sheila’s overly cheerful face to my pathetic, trying-to-smile grimace. Her eyes, which had been blazing with confusion and lingering anger, narrowed. She didn’t believe us. Not for a second. But Sheila’s lie was just plausible enough, just stupid and trivial enough, that it gave her nothing solid to grab onto. Calling us out would mean admitting she’d just flown into a rage and admonished her daughter over… art prints.
She just rolled her eyes, a gesture of supreme disdain, and let out a short, irritated breath.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered, more to herself than to us. Without another word, she turned on her heel, the box of land survey photos tucked under her arm, and strode out of the foyer, her heels clicking a sharp, final rhythm on the marble.
The moment she was out of earshot, I let out a shuddering exhale, my whole body going limp. I slumped back against the leg of the hall table, my heart still trying to beat its way out of my chest.
Sheila crouched down in front of me, her bright act falling away. She gave me that look—the one that was half exasperation, half fondness, that said, ‘I knew you’d flop at the last minute and I had to save your sorry butt.’
“Thanks, Sheila,” I muttered, my voice hoarse. The side of my face was on fire.
She just nodded, her expression turning serious. Then she scowled, the anger returning. “But… wait. If that dickhead Logan wasn’t actually here like he said he was in that text… then that means he just tricked you. He played you. That bastard.”
The realization hit me like a second slap. He hadn’t been brave or audacious. He’d been manipulative. He’d known exactly what kind of panic a message like that would send me into. He’d been sitting somewhere, probably with Angel, laughing as he imagined me freaking out.
A cold, clear anger, sharper than the pain in my cheek, sliced through the leftover panic. I inhaled sharply and pushed myself to my feet. Without a word, I turned and rushed back upstairs, my movements stiff but determined.
Sheila followed close behind. “What are you going to do?” she asked as I burst into my room.
“Give the shithead exactly what he wants,” I hissed. I snatched my phone from the bed where I’d thrown it earlier. My fingers flew across the screen, unblocking his number with furious jabs. I didn’t hesitate. I hit the call button and put it on speaker.
Sheila watched me, her arms crossed, but she didn’t try to stop me.
He answered on the second ring. His voice was smooth, confident, laced with that familiar, charming warmth that now made my skin crawl. “Hey, babe. Finally. You unblocked me and called. See? If I’d known you’d do this, I should have lied about being at your house way earlier.” He actually chuckled.
I didn’t let him get another word in. “You prick…”
“Chill, my human angel,” he cooed, his voice softening into that persuasive, intimate tone he always used to sway me when I was upset. “Did I give you a little heartache? I’m sorry. Stop being childish now, okay? Let’s just talk. Please.”
His ‘please’ was like acid in my ear. It was the same ‘please’ he’d used a thousand times to get his way, to smooth things over, to make me forget my doubts.
My voice dropped, not into a shout, but into something low, steady, and dangerous. Every word was an ice chip.
“Listen to me. I’ve moved on. I don’t care about you. I don’t care about your excuses, your apologies, or your games. If you ever try a stunt like that again—if you contact me, or Sheila, or anyone I know to get to me—I won’t just give you a slap. I will make you regret it. You are dead to me. So stay away.”