Chapter 5 You Matter
Ariella thought about the contract. About living in that glass palace. About standing next to Aiden Frost at charity galas and pretending they were in love. About lying to everyone, including herself.
“Something hard,” she said. “Something that would change things.”
Her mother set the card down on the counter. Took Ariella’s face in her hands.
“Listen to me,” Claire said, and her voice was stronger than Ariella had heard it in months. “You don’t have to do this. Whatever it is, whatever he’s offering…you don’t have to sacrifice yourself for me.”
“But the bakery!”
“It's just a building.” Her mother’s eyes were fierce now. “Just flour and ovens and memories. You know what matters? You. You matter, Ariella. More than any of this.”
“I killed Ethan,” Ariella whispered. The words she’d been holding for six months finally escaped. “It’s my fault he’s dead.
“No.” Claire’s hands tightened on her face. “No, baby. You didn’t kill him.
“But if I hadn’t called…”
“Then he might have died some other way, some other day. Or maybe not. We’ll never know.” Her mother’s voice was shaking.
“But I do know this: you’ve been punishing yourself for six months for something that wasn’t your fault. And I’ve been so lost in my own grief that I didn’t see it. Didn’t stop it.”
Ariella was crying openly now, the crying that comes from somewhere deep and desperate. Her mother held her through it, stroking her hair, murmuring the things mothers are supposed to say. When the tears finally slowed, Ariella pulled back. Wiped her face with her soaked sleeve.
“I’m still going to consider the offer,” she said quietly.
Her mother’s face tightened. “Ari!”
“Not for you. For me.” Ariella picked up the business card. “Because I’m tired of drowning. And maybe… maybe this is a way out.”
“Or maybe it’s just a different way of drowning.”
“Maybe.” Ariella managed a weak smile. “But at least it’s a choice. I haven’t had many of those lately.”
Her mother looked at her for a long moment. Then she nodded slowly.
“Okay,” Claire said. “But promise me something. Promise me you’ll really think about it. About what it will cost you. Not just money, what it will cost your soul.”
“I promise.”
That night, Ariella couldn’t sleep.
She lay in bed, staring at that water stain on her ceiling that looked like a reaching hand, She thought about Aiden Frost, standing in her bakery that morning with storm-gray eyes and hunched shoulders. The way he’d said please like it hurt him. The way he’d looked at the empty tables like he understood what it meant to lose everything while having everything.
Her phone lit up on the nightstand. 2:47 a.m.
A text from an unknown number.
I know what my father offered you.
Ariella’s heart stopped. She grabbed the phone, hands shaking.
Another text appeared.
I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was going to do this.
You should say no.
Ariella stared at the messages. Aiden. It had to be Aiden.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. How did you “get my number?”
The response came quickly “My father has everyone’s number. He collects information like some people collect stamps.”
“Why are you texting me at 3am?”
Because I can’t sleep.
Because I keep thinking about how my father destroys everything he touches, even when he’s trying to help.
Because you looked so small in that chair in his study, and I hated that I brought you there.”
Ariella read the messages twice. There was something raw in them. Something honest.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“You should say no.”
“Why?”
The typing indicator appeared and disappeared three times before the response came
“Because being a Frost ruins everything good. And you seem… good.”
Ariella’s throat tightened. “I’m not good. I’m just desperate.”
Then we have that in common.
They stared at their phones in their separate spaces, Ariella in her tiny bedroom above the bakery, Aiden in whatever expensive room he occupied in that glass palace both awake at 3 a.m., both trapped by different kinds of grief.
Finally, Ariella replied “If I say yes… would you hate me?”
The response took a long time. Long enough that Ariella almost put the phone down. Long enough that she started to think he wasn’t going to answer.
“I could never hate someone for trying to survive.
But I would hate myself for letting you do it.”
Ariella didn’t know what to say to that. So she just typed “Goodnight, Aiden.” He replied almost immediately “Goodnight, Ariella.”
She set the phone down. Closed her eyes.
But sleep didn’t come.
Instead, she thought about choices. About the difference between being saved and being bought.
The next morning, Ariella woke up to find her mother already in the bakery kitchen, mixing dough.
It was the first time in six months that Claire had been awake before her.
“Couldn’t sleep,” her mother said when Ariella appeared in the doorway. The kitchen smelled like butter and sugar and home.
Ariella watched her mother work, her hands sure and practiced, moving through motions worn smooth by decades. This was who Claire Hayes used to be. Before Ethan died and depression took over her.
“I’ve been thinking,” Claire said without looking up. “About what you said. About the offer.”
Ariella’s stomach clenched. “Mom…”
“Let me finish.” Claire shaped the dough, her hands steady. “I’ve been a terrible mother these past six months. I let you carry everything. I let my grief eat me alive while you were drowning too.” She finally looked up, and her eyes were clear with determination. “But I’m done with that. I’m going to fight you and this bakery.”
“How?” Ariella’s voice came out small.
“I’m going to call the bank again. I’m going to set up a payment plan. I’m going to get a second job if I have to.” Claire’s jaw set in that stubborn way Ariella recognized from her own face. “And I’m going to tell Richard Frost that we don’t need his blood money.”
Something warm bloomed in Ariella’s chest, the memory of who her mother used to be.
But then reality crashed back in.
“Mom, the bank already said no. Three times.”
“Then I’ll ask a fourth time.”
“We have until five p.m. Friday. That’s thirty-six hours.”
“I know.”
“We need eighteen thousand dollars.”
“I know.” Claire’s hands stilled on the dough. “But I also know that some prices are too high. And whatever Richard Frost wants from you, it’s too high.”
Ariella wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe her mother could suddenly become strong again, could fix everything, could save them.
But wanting something didn’t make it true.
“I’m going to call him,” Ariella said quietly.
Her mother’s face went pale. “Ari…!”
“Not to say yes. Just to… ask questions. Understand the terms.” Ariella pulled out the business card. “You said I should think about what it costs. I can’t do that without knowing what the offer actually is.”
It was a good argument, Logical, Reasonable, yet it was also a lie.