Chapter 39: Chapter XXXIX

Ariana stepped onto the terrace of Callum’s penthouse, wrapping herself tighter in the silk robe she’d gotten from one of her glam sessions. Manhattan’s skyline blinked with a quiet hum, but inside her chest, a tangle of emotions twisted tighter with every passing minute. Charlie’s surgery had gone well, but everything since had moved so fast—this sham marriage, Callum’s world, and the thin layer of secrecy she could feel clinging to him like smoke.

She glanced at the time—1:15 p.m. in Manhattan. It was still morning in Dallas.

She hit the call button.

The phone rang only once before Charlie picked up. Her sister’s voice came through, sleepy but warm.

“Hello?”

Ariana smiled, already tearing up. “Hey, bug.”

“Ari!” Charlie’s voice grew animated. “Oh my God, finally! You disappeared!”

“I know, I know. Things got a little… crazy,” she exhaled, sinking into the terrace chair. “But I’ve missed you like hell.”

“Crazy how?” Charlie pushed. “The last I heard, some guy bought you coffee and now you're… what, married?!”

Ariana laughed, then sighed. “It’s complicated. We’re not really married. It’s… it’s for the press. For his image. I’ll explain when you’re here.”

Charlie was quiet for a beat. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

“No. It’s not like that.” Her voice softened. “Callum—he’s... he’s intense, but he’s helped. A lot. And you’ll be transferred soon. To the best hospital in Manhattan. Private room. Specialized care. Everything you need.”

“I don’t get it.” Charlie’s voice trembled a little. “Why is he doing all this?”

Ariana looked out at the city. “I think… I think there’s might be something between us. Real, even if everyone around us thinks it’s pretend. But I don’t know where it’s going yet.”

A pause.

“I trust you,” Charlie said finally. “But if he hurts you—”

“He won’t.” She hoped she sounded more certain than she felt.

They ended the call with quiet promises and Ariana wiped her tears. The emotional tug she’d tried to ignore all week surfaced like a tide. Callum wasn’t just a shield. Somewhere in the chaos, he’d started to matter.

..................................................

Meanwhile, across the city in a dim warehouse laced with rust and shadow, Callum watched Emilio squirm beneath the dim swing of an overhead bulb.

Julian stood behind him, arms crossed, impassive. The ropes binding Emilio to the chair were tight. Sweat ran down his temple, and a bruise bloomed along his jaw from the last hit.

Callum moved closer, the calm in his voice a warning. “We can do this all night if you’re not ready to talk.”

“I’ve told you everything—” Emilio gasped.

“You told us nothing useful,” Julian said coldly. “Names. Who was paid to hijack our shipment? Is anyone else infiltrating my camp?”

Callum stood in front of the man, his tone low and icy. “Your little game nearly got someone I care about hurt. You sold the footage to the Prestley’s… and that wasn’t a freelance job.”

Emilio spat blood and glared at him. "I didn’t get a name" Emilio replied, glancing nervously between them. "I never do. They use runners. Intermediaries. All I got was a phone number and a time to pick up the envelope."

Julian tossed a burner phone onto Emilio’s lap. "The one we found in your locker. Recognize it?"

Emilio hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. That’s the one. The contact messaged me instructions.”

Callum’s fist cracked across his cheek. “Try again.”

“Wait—wait, okay, okay!” Emilio coughed, his head sagging. “I don’t know him directly. But I was told to meet someone through a third party. It was at the Cresten Hotel. Room 419. They gave me a burner. Told me if I didn’t send the video from the CCTV footage, they’d wipe out all my family.”

Julian exchanged a glance with Callum.

Callum’s voice was ice. “And what name was on the hotel reservation?”

Emilio kept mute and shivered.

"Describe him," Callum snapped.

"Young. Maybe mid-thirties. Blond. Designer clothes. Real smug. Kept checking his watch. He didn’t say much, but the hotel staff said something that stuck."

Emilio swallowed. “I overheard a concierge mention it while they were checking in the guy. ‘E. Prestley.’”

The name hit like a sledgehammer.

Julian's eyes narrowed. "Esteban."

Emilio flinched. "Look, I didn’t know who he was! I swear!”

Callum stood slowly, fury simmering in his eyes. “Milanna’s brother.”

Julian stepped forward. “You’re sure? I thought he went off the grid a long time ago?”

Emilio nodded desperately. “That’s all I know, I swear!”

"Who else was involved?" Callum asked, rising slowly.

"There was a woman there. She didn’t speak to me, but she was watching. Real polished. Cold eyes. She gave him a nod and left. Later, I saw her in a tabloid. She was with him."

Callum turned to Julian. "They’re tightening their circle. Milanna's pulling strings she shouldn't even have access to."

“You think so?” Julian asked.

Callum's jaw tightened. "They're baiting us. Trying to make it look like Milanna's the threat while Esteban sets the fire."

Julian nodded grimly. "It’s a two-pronged hit. Public image from Milanna. Private sabotage from Esteban."

Emilio looked up, desperate. "Please, I didn’t know. I didn’t want to be in the middle of this."

Callum stared him down. "You're in it now. And if Ariana gets dragged further into this because of you, you'll wish you'd never been born."

Julian stepped forward and pulled Callum aside. "We have what we need. Let him sweat."

Emilio exhaled, relief in his eyes—until Julian shut the door behind them, leaving him alone in the dark with only the sound of his own breathing.

Callum turned away, his fists clenched, breathing deep. “We needed a thread. We just got a damn rope.”

Outside, Callum lit a cigarette and stared out at the Manhattan skyline. "Esteban wants a war. We'll give him one. But on our terms."

Julian cracked his knuckles. "Time to clean house."

Callum smirked. “And if we play this right, it might be enough to flip the whole table.”