Chapter 45

The fireplace crackled quietly in the corner of the penthouse lounge, casting flickers of amber across Ariana’s bare legs as she tucked them beneath her on the velvet couch. A chilled glass of wine rested in her hand, untouched. Callum was leaning against the opposite armrest, nursing a tumbler of scotch, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and the edge of his tie hanging loose.

It had been a long day—longer still after the confrontation and her solo walk—but now, with the city lights glittering through the wall of glass behind them, there was an air of peace. Or something close to it.

“You asked me yesterday what it is I do,” Callum began, voice low and even, his gaze flickering to her face and holding it.

Ariana nodded slowly, her eyes attentive. “I want to understand. Not the public version. The real one.”

He smirked slightly, a little bitterly. “Careful what you ask for.”

“Try me,” she said, chin lifting.

He leaned back, his scotch swirling gently in the glass.

“My family runs a portfolio of clubs, lounges, a few real estate ventures here and there. We have ties with private investors, people who want anonymity in high-stake deals. I keep the image clean. Exclusive. The kind of luxury that draws celebrities and politicians without raising too many eyebrows.”

“And behind closed doors?”

Callum’s expression didn’t change, but his silence stretched just a second too long. Then he exhaled and shrugged. “Behind closed doors, there are deals made, favors exchanged, partnerships formed. The hospitality industry is like a game of chess. You play long enough, you learn who moves what pieces and why.”

That wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Ariana tilted her head. “And Milanna’s father? Is he… one of the players?”

He gave a noncommittal smile. “Used to be. He thinks he still is.”

Ariana noted the careful wording and tucked it away like another clue in a growing puzzle.

“You ever wish you chose something else?”

Callum looked at her then, really looked. “Every damn day.”

The answer, raw and unguarded, pulled at something deep in her. She gave a soft, thoughtful smile, and reached over to place her hand gently over his. “Thanks for telling me.”

“I didn’t tell you everything.”

“I know.”

She didn’t press further. Instead, she curled into the warmth of his side as he pulled her closer. For a moment, they just sat in silence—two people caught in the quiet pause before everything changed again.

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

The next morning, Sunlight spilled in through the windows, and Ariana stirred in bed alone, the sheets still warm from Callum’s earlier presence. He had left early because of another meeting, another vague promise to be back in a few hours. She rose slowly, wrapped herself in a robe, and padded to the kitchen.

Coffee. Then curiosity.

She remembered Elena’s cautious eyes, Julian’s lingering stares, the cryptic conversations behind closed doors—and of course, Milanna Prestley’s name hanging like smoke in the air.

Callum had told her just enough to keep her satisfied, but not enough to feel safe. Not truly. And while she trusted him, part of her still felt like a pawn in someone else’s game.

After breakfast, she retrieved the sleek silver laptop Callum had gifted her and curled up on the chaise near the window. Her fingers hesitated over the keyboard before she began typing: Callum Guerrero business dealings.

The first few pages were predictable—articles about the Guerrero family's luxury empire, photographs of Callum at events, praise for his innovative nightclub chains and community investments. But Ariana wasn’t looking for the glossy cover story.

She added another word to her search: controversy.

Nothing concrete. Just whispers.

A few speculative blog posts, mentions of "exclusive backers" and "aggressive business tactics." There was a piece about a lawsuit—quickly settled. Another about an anonymous complaint filed with the city board for “disturbances” related to one of his properties. All things that could be spun with the right PR team.

But then… a comment thread beneath one article caught her eye. Most had been filtered or removed, but one lingered, half-buried.

They don’t call it Blood Velvet for nothing. Guerrero owns the night. And not just the drinks.

Her pulse quickened. “Blood Velvet?”

She dug deeper. It was the name of his most successful club in LA. The name she'd heard whispered by stylists and photographers and influencers at the gala but never with the reverence of a mere business.

No, there was something darker underneath.

Ariana scribbled it down in her notebook: Blood Velvet. Prestley. Settled lawsuit. Warehouse?

Just enough to feel like she was assembling something. Just enough to realize she was in far deeper than anyone was willing to say out loud. She stared at the laptop screen, her mind racing.

If she really wanted to stand beside Callum… she had to know exactly what that meant. Not the filtered version.

She clicked open a new document and titled it: The Truth About Callum Guerrero. And then she began typing.

Ariana barely noticed time slipping by as she pieced together fragments of Callum’s world like a detective mapping a conspiracy on a corkboard. Names. Places. Headlines. Club locations. Suspicious investor links. A politician that frequented one of the LA clubs. A journalist who’d mysteriously disappeared mid-investigation three years ago after looking into money laundering allegations connected to elite nightlife networks—Blood Velvet included.

A chill traced her spine.

She didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to think Callum was capable of those things. But doubt had already crept in, whispering in the back of her mind every time he spoke in careful riddles or changed the subject.

She sat back, pinched the bridge of her nose, and tried to center herself. The man she’d gotten to know—the one who bought her that thoughtful dinner, who held her hand the night after her sister’s surgery, who let down his guard in quiet moments—he couldn’t be a monster. Could he?

Her phone buzzed, dragging her out of her spiral.

Callum: Just finished. You good, Ari? Be home in twenty.

She stared at the message.

Her thumbs hovered over the screen for a long beat before she typed:

Ariana: Yeah. Just thinking. See you soon.

She didn’t want to give anything away yet. She didn’t even know what she had.