Chapter 61
Chapter 61
Ariana woke with a start, sunlight bleeding through the linen curtains of the penthouse bedroom. The space was too quiet. Too still. Her arm instinctively reached out, brushing against the cool sheets beside her. Empty.
Callum wasn’t still back from his trip.
A faint ache settled in her chest as she sat up. Maybe he had gone to an early meeting. Maybe he had to handle something urgent. Maybe he had kissed her forehead and whispered goodbye, and she’d been too asleep to feel it. The excuses sounded reasonable, but the hollowness under her ribs told her otherwise.
She blinked back the haze of sleep and reached for her phone on the nightstand. No messages. No missed calls.
Her thumb hovered over his contact.
A simple “Where are you?” would suffice.
But before she could press the button, her screen lit up with a notification. A headline. A breaking story.
Her heart paused.
“GUERRERO HEIR REUNITES WITH MILANNA PRESTLEY AT L.A. GALA — INTIMATE MOMENTS CAUGHT ON CAMERA”
Her breath caught. Her pulse thundered in her ears as her fingers trembled, tapping the link.
There they were.
Callum in a tailored black tuxedo.
Milanna in a red silk gown, her arm draped through his, the sheen of her lipstick too close to his jaw. One photo—her laughing with her hand pressed to his chest. Another—Callum leaning in, his mouth close to her ear, the angle making it look like a kiss.
Her vision blurred.
The phone slid from her fingers onto the duvet. Her stomach turned.
He said she was nothing. That Milanna meant nothing. That Ariana was the one he’d chosen to stand beside him. But this—this was exactly what the world had warned her about.
Her chest rose and fell in ragged waves, but no sound came out. Not a scream, not a cry. Just silence. Numb silence.
She pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin against them as the photos replayed in her mind. The intimacy. The ease between them. The way Callum’s body angled slightly toward Milanna, like muscle memory. Like it belonged there.
And she—she had kissed him. Slept next to him. Told him she didn’t want to be alone.
She had started to trust him.
Maybe that was her biggest mistake.
The penthouse felt colder now. Larger. She stood and walked slowly toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Manhattan. Cars moved like ants below. Life going on as if hers hadn’t just caved in.
A knock came at the door. Elena’s voice, soft and hesitant.
“Miss Ariana? Would you like some tea?”
“I’m fine,” she answered, voice barely audible.
But she wasn’t.
She wasn’t fine.
An hour passed before Ariana moved again. She’d stared at the same photo on her phone for too long, memorized the color of Milanna’s dress, the exact curve of her smirk.
She needed air.
Throwing on a long cardigan over her silk pajamas, she padded barefoot out to the terrace. The breeze bit her skin, but she welcomed it. The numbness felt safer than rage. Safer than letting herself hope for a reasonable explanation.
Her phone buzzed again. Another notification.
More headlines. Different angles. Comment sections flooded with speculation.
“Looks like the queen never truly left the throne.”
“Poor girl in Manhattan must be a placeholder.”
“Guerrero family drama heating up again?”
She silenced the phone. She couldn’t look anymore.
A gust of wind whipped her hair across her face, stinging her cheeks. She didn’t wipe away the tears until they dripped from her chin.
Behind her, the sliding door opened. Elena stepped out, holding a scarf.
“You’ll catch cold, sweetheart,” the older woman said gently, placing it over Ariana’s shoulders.
“I’m fine,” Ariana whispered again.
Elena didn’t press. She simply stood there for a moment, then turned and went back inside.
Later that afternoon, Ariana walked back into the living room and picked up her phone again. Her thumb hovered over Callum’s name.
She didn’t call.
She didn’t know if she could bear hearing his voice.
But she sent a message. Just five words.
“You’re on every headline today.”
No anger. No accusations.
Just truth.
And silence.
...............
Callum didn’t sleep.
Not really.
He had returned from the gala well past midnight, after walking Milanna to her car and brushing off her final attempt at clinging to his arm as the flashes exploded around them. He didn’t stay a second longer than necessary — didn’t drink, didn’t indulge, didn’t speak unless it was calculated. But still, the damage had been done.
He should’ve pulled out. Should’ve known she would stage the perfect photo op the moment he agreed to accompany her.
He sat now at the edge of the hotel suite’s king-sized bed, fingers curled tight around his phone, jaw clenched hard enough to crack bone.
The headline glared up at him like an accusation.
“Callum Guerrero and Milanna Prestley — Is the Power Couple Back On?”
Under it: images. Bright, sharp, merciless.
Her hand on his chest.
Him leaning in to speak — caught at just the wrong angle.
His mouth dangerously close to her ear.
Fuck.
He scrolled further.
More photos. Commentary. Rumors.
His pulse thudded in his ears.
Then came the message.
Just five words.
“You’re on every headline today.”
From her.
Ariana.
The one he couldn’t stop thinking about.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but he didn’t type.
Not yet.
Because for the first time in years, Callum Guerrero felt something dangerously close to panic.
She hadn’t cursed him out. Hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t even questioned.
She’d gone quiet.
And quiet could be deadly.
He pressed his palms to his face, dragging them down as he stood and began pacing the suite. Julian had warned him. Alex had warned him. Hell, he had warned himself.
But he needed Milanna to believe she still had the upper hand — to believe he was tempted, pliable. He needed her distracted long enough to dig deeper into her father’s involvement.
This was supposed to buy them time.
But it was Ariana’s silence that struck the hardest blow.
He dropped onto the leather chair by the window, tugged his phone up again, and stared at her message.
What could he say? That it wasn’t what it looked like?
It was what it looked like — to anyone who didn’t know how hollow it had all been.
He tapped out a reply.
“Ariana, I can explain. It was staged. For leverage. I swear to you—it was never real. Not for a second.”
He stared at the blinking cursor, then deleted the last line.
No, it sounded weak. Desperate.
He started again, his fingers moving slower this time.
“I know how it looks. But I need you to trust me. Please don’t shut me out.”
Still, it didn’t feel like enough.
He lowered the phone again and exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
Outside, L.A. traffic groaned with morning congestion. He hated this city. Hated how easy it was for people like Milanna to twist the narrative — how fast the world turned on an illusion, snapping like vultures for scraps of scandal.
His phone buzzed again.
Julian.
He ignored it.
Then it buzzed a second time.
This time, he picked up.
“What.”
“Have you seen the headlines?” Julian asked without preamble.
“I’ve seen them.”
“I assume you know she saw them too.”
“I got her text,” Callum muttered.
“And?”
“She’s quiet. I don’t know what she’s thinking.”
Julian paused. “That’s worse than her yelling.”
“I know.”
A beat passed before Julian added, “Are you coming back today?”
“I’m on the next flight out.”
There was silence again. Callum rubbed his temple.
“Did you get anything out of Milanna at all?” Julian finally asked.
“No. She danced around everything. Same tricks. Same threats.”
“She’s not going to hold back next time.”
“I’m counting on that.”
Julian exhaled. “Well, you better fix it with Ariana. Because if she walks…”
“She won’t,” Callum snapped, harsher than intended.
Another pause.
“You sure about that?” Julian asked quietly.
Callum didn’t answer.
Because he wasn’t.
Not really.
He ended the call and rose from the chair, his body still tense as he stared down at the city stretching beneath him.
This wasn’t just a game anymore.
He’d put Ariana in the line of fire.
And now, for the first time since this started, she might be slipping out of his reach.
And it would be no one’s fault but his own.