Chapter 48
The next morning dawned with a pale, hesitant sun peeking through the Manhattan skyline. Ariana lay awake in the massive bed, listening to the hum of the city outside the penthouse windows. She hadn’t slept much, she couldn’t. Not after the night’s quiet revelations, not after watching Callum pace by the window while talking on the phone, his voice low and strained, the burden of too many secrets in his eyes.
When the soft knock came at the door, she wasn’t surprised.
“Ariana?” Callum’s voice filtered in, gentler than she expected.
“Yes, come in.”
He stepped inside, looking as tired as she felt. But his features softened when he saw her curled up beneath the covers, hair tousled, eyes wide and watchful. There was something raw between them now, something that hadn’t been there before the night’s confessions.
“Did you sleep at all?” he asked, sitting at the edge of the bed.
“Not really,” she admitted. “You?”
Callum gave a wry smile. “There’s was no way. I Didn’t even try.”
She hesitated, then reached out, letting her fingers brush over his. “You left before I could ask last night — what did Julian want?”
His jaw tightened just slightly. “We’ve traced a communication from the Prestley’s network. They’re moving faster than I thought. There’s talk of consolidating their hold on some of my suppliers, trying to choke off parts of my business. But it’s not just that. They’re watching you.”
Ariana’s breath hitched. “Me?”
Callum nodded grimly. “They’re not stupid. They know you matter now.”
A heavy silence settled over them.
“I need to move Charlie here,” Ariana said, her voice suddenly steady. “It’s not safe for her in Dallas anymore.”
Callum gave her a look that was part surprise, part pride. “I’ve already started making arrangements for that. My team will handle everything. I won’t let them touch either of you.”
Her lips curved into a small smile, touched by his protectiveness despite the storm brewing around them.
“Callum…” she began, but he stood before she could continue.
“There’s something else.” He walked to the window, gathering his thoughts. “We need to shift the public narrative again — keep the media focused where I want them. There’s another charity event next week. But before that… I want us to go out in style in public again.”
Ariana stared at him. “You mean… the club?”
He turned, his expression unreadable. “Yes. A quiet hosting night. No fuss. Just good vibes. But it’ll send the right message to the right people.”
She sat up straighter. “And what message is that?”
“That you belong to me and that we’re not fazed by the public narrative or their silly threats” Callum said simply. “And that no one can touch you without going through me first.”
Her heart raced at the intensity in his voice. But she didn’t look away.
“And what if I don’t want to be just another pawn in this game, Callum? What if I want more than a role to play in your war?”
Something flickered in his gaze — regret, longing, maybe even fear.
“Then stay with me,” he said quietly. “Not because of the papers. Not because of the danger. Stay because you want to. And I promise — when this is over, I’ll give you more than a role. I’ll give you everything I can.”
The honesty in his voice undid her a little.
“I’ll go out with you,” she said after a moment. “But after that… I want the truth always. All of it.”
Callum gave a slow nod. “Deal.”
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The late afternoon light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Callum’s penthouse, casting a golden hue over the glass conference table. Ariana sat across from Callum, her hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea, while Julian leaned against the wall, arms folded, his phone face down beside him.
“This isn’t just a party.” Callum said, his tone sharp but calm. “It’s our first appearance hosting together. Our official statement. So we control it.”
Ariana looked between the two men. “Meaning what, exactly?”
Julian pushed off the wall and walked toward the table. “Meaning we plant our own narrative. We invite a select list of paparazzi—ones we can trust, ones who’ll run the images and captions we give them. We control the shots, the angles, the headlines.”
Callum nodded. “There will still be others trying to sniff out the truth, but if we flood the press with our version of the story first—photos of us looking happy, in love, committed—they’ll eat it up.”
Ariana hesitated. “So we’re staging a romance?”
Julian gave a slight shrug. “You're just giving them a show they already want to believe.”
Callum’s eyes met hers. “We won’t fake what’s real. But we’ll protect what matters.”
Ariana gave a slow nod. “Then let’s give them something unforgettable.”
They exchanged a look—an unspoken agreement—then Callum reached for his phone.
“I’ll have the team set it up. Tomorrow night, we make them watch.”
And just like that, the game began.