Chapter 13 Collision Course
The morning after signing the contract, Ariella woke up at 4 a.m. to the sound of her own screaming.
A dream scream. The kind that trapped itself in your throat and came out as a gasp when you jolted awake, heart hammering, sheets tangled around your legs.
She’d been dreaming about Ethan again. But this time, instead of the crash, instead of the hospital, she was standing in a church in a white dress she didn’t recognize, and Ethan was walking her down the aisle. Except when she looked up, there was no one at the altar. Just a space and her brother saying, “ You can’t marry a ghost, Ari. You can’t save someone already dead.”
Then he disappeared and she was alone in the church and the walls started closing in.
That’s when she woke up.
She lay in bed for a long moment, staring at the water stain on her ceiling. The one that looked like a reaching hand. Soon she wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. Soon she’d be staring at a different ceiling in a different room in a mansion that cost more than her entire neighborhood.
The thought of it all made her stomach turn.
She reached for her phone, it was just 4:03 a.m. Too early to be awake and too late to fall back asleep.
One new text, received from Aiden “can’t sleep either?”
Despite everything, Ariella felt something loosen in her chest. She wasn’t alone in this. Whatever else was true, they were both drowning at the same time.
She typed back “Bad dream.”
“About what?”
“My brother… The wedding. Walls closing in.”
“Yeah. I dreamed about my mom. And you. And a contract written in blood.”
“Poetic.”
“Terrifying! When do you move in?”
Ariella’s stomach clenched. Right. Moving in. Living in the Frost mansion. Sharing space with a boy she’d barely met.
“Your dad said this weekend. Saturday.
That’s two days from now.”
“I know.
But…Are you ready?”
“No. Are you?”
‘“Absolutely not.”
They texted back and forth until dawn nothing deep, just the kind of conversation you have when you’re both awake at an hour when the world feels quieter and honesty comes easier. By the time the sun started to rise, Ariella felt marginally less terrified.
Marginally.
The bakery was in chaos that morning.
News traveled fast in their neighborhood. Despite the contract’s confidentiality clause, despite their promises to keep everything quiet until the “official announcement,” somehow people knew something was happening.
Mrs. Chen from the dry cleaners showed up at six a.m., before they’d even opened.
“Is it true?” she asked breathlessly. “The Frosts are helping you?”
Ariella’s mother, who was already mixing dough, looked up sharply. “Where did you hear that?”
“My sister’s friend works at the bank. She said the Hayes bakery account suddenly got a massive deposit yesterday. Enough to clear all the debts.” Mrs. Chen’s eyes were huge. “Is it true? Did they help you?”
Ariella and her mother exchanged a look.
“We’re not at liberty to discuss our financial arrangements,” Claire said carefully. “But yes, we’re going to be okay and the bakery is safe.”
Mrs. Chen burst into tears. Actually burst into tears right there in the bakery, at six in the morning. “Oh thank god. When I heard you might close, I thought to myself that this neighborhood can’t lose Hayes Bakery. Your grandmother would haunt us all.”
Despite the knot in her stomach, Ariella smiled. “Yeah. She probably would.”
At eight a.m., a steady stream of neighbors crammed the bakery…some to buy bread, some just to check if the rumors were true, all of them relieved that the bakery would survive. No one asked about the cost. No one questioned how a family that had been three days from eviction suddenly had enough money to save themselves. They were just happy for them.
Ariella smiled and thanked them, feeling like a fraud with every word.
At noon, a black car pulled up outside.
Not the same one from before. This one was sleeker, newer. The kind of car that made people stop and stare.
Marcus Chen stepped out, wearing another expensive suit, carrying another leather folder.
He walked into the bakery with an apologetic smile. “Miss Hayes. Mrs. Hayes. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“We’re working,” Ariella said, wiping flour from her hands.
“Of course. This will only take a moment.” He set the folder on the counter, glancing around at the customers pretending not to listen. “Is there somewhere more private we could speak?”
Claire jerked her head toward the back. “Kitchen.”
They went into the kitchen, closing the door behind them. Marcus opened his folder, all business.
“The renovations for the bakery will begin Monday,” he said. “Mr. Frost has hired a team of contractors. They’ll work around your hours, minimizing disruption. The plans include new ovens, updated electrical, a full refresh of the dining area…”
“Wait,” Ariella interrupted. “Monday? That’s three days from now.”
“Mr. Frost wants the renovations completed before the public announcement of your marriage. So you have something solid before the media attention begins.”
“How long will it take?”
“Four weeks, approximately. The timeline is aggressive, but with the crew he’s hired, it’s manageable.”
Four weeks of construction workers in the bakery. Four weeks of chaos and noise and strangers touching her grandmother’s space.
“And we don’t get a say in any of this?” Claire asked quietly.
Marcus had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Mr. Frost has hired an excellent architect. He’s worked with the specifications of the building, trying to honor the original character while modernizing the infrastructure. I think you’ll be pleased with the designs.”
“An architect,” Ariella repeated. Something clicked. “Aiden?”
Marcus’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. “I’m not at liberty to discuss who designed the plans.”
Which meant yes.
Aiden had designed the renovation.
Ariella didn’t know how to feel about that. Grateful? Manipulated? Some confusing combination of both?
“There’s one more matter,” Marcus continued, pulling out more papers. “The media training and wardrobe consultation are scheduled for Friday. Tomorrow. Ten a.m. at the Frost residence.”
“Media training,” Ariella said flatly.
“You’ll be introduced to Patricia Song, one of the best publicists in Portland. She’ll help you prepare for interviews, teach you how to handle difficult questions, and give you strategies for dealing with press attention.” Marcus paused. “It’s important, Miss Hayes. The media can be brutal, especially to young women who marry into wealthy families. We want you to be prepared.”
“You want me to learn how to lie convincingly.”
“I want you to learn how to protect yourself.”
“Same thing, isn’t it?”
Marcus closed his folder. His expression was kind but firm. “Miss Hayes, I understand this is difficult. But you signed the contract. The arrangements are in motion. The only way forward is through.”
“And what if I can’t do it?” Ariella’s voice came out smaller than she intended. “What if I get in front of those cameras and I can’t lie? What if everyone sees right through me?”
“Then you tell a different truth,” Marcus said gently.