Page 8

I gave a terse nod.

Ariel’s expression softened, her eyes filling with something I couldn’t quite name.Understanding?Empathy?Whatever it was, it made me want to push her away and pull her closer all at once.“That’s the heart of your story, Sterling.Not the trophies or the billions, but the fight.”

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed.Violet’s name flashed on the screen.My eyes flicked down to the screen as dread settled in my chest.I wondered what she could want this time.My thumb hovered over the answer button, hesitating for just a moment.Should I take the call or let it go unanswered?

I snatched it up, turning away from Ariel.“What?”I barked.

“Charming as ever, Sterling.”My mother’s voice dripped with disdain.“I hear you’ve hired a writer.”

My grip tightened on the phone.“It’s none of your business.”

“Everything about you is my business,” her voice hissed through the line.“You think you can rewrite your story, Sterling?Erase us?You’re a fool if you believe that.”

I clenched my jaw, my free hand curling into a fist.“I’m not erasing anything.I’m reclaiming it.”

Her laugh was cold, devoid of humor.“Reclaiming?You’re exposing us.And when the world sees the truth, they’ll tear you apart.You’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.I glanced at Ariel, who was pretending to focus on her notes but I noticed the way her pen had stilled, the small furrow of her brows as she listened in on every word.

“Listen carefully.I’ll burn everything you care about to the ground.I don’t care what it takes.Don’t test me.”

For a moment, I thought she’d hung up.Then her voice came through, quieter but no less menacing.“You’re playing a dangerous game, Sterling.And when you lose, don’t come crawling back to me.”

Even after the call ended, I stood there, the phone still pressed to my ear, my heart pounding in my chest.

I set the phone down, my hand trembling slightly.The room felt colder, the shadows deeper, as if Violet’s venom had seeped into the very air.I’d spent years building walls, carving out a life that was mine alone, and yet she could still reach me.Still hurt me like I was a little boy again.

Ariel’s voice broke through the silence, soft but steady.“Sterling?”

I turned to her, my chest tight.She was sitting there, her notebook forgotten.

“I’m fine,” I said, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue.

She didn’t call me out on it, but her gaze lingered, as if she could see the cracks in my armor.

She shook her head slowly.“That was intense.”

I rubbed my temples, the beginnings of a headache pressing at my skull.“My mother is a piece of work.”

Ariel hesitated, then set her notebook aside.“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”The word came out sharper than I intended.I sighed, running a hand through my hair.“Not now.”

She nodded, not pushing, but her gaze was thoughtful.Ariel studied me for a long moment, then reached into the bag.“You know,” she said, her tone casual, “I’ve heard that butter and sugar are scientifically proven to make terrible phone calls 97% less awful.”

I blinked.“That’s not a real statistic.”

She shrugged, nudging the pastry toward me.“Maybe not.But the croissant is.”

The absurdity of it drained the anger out of me.How was it possible that this tiny woman could slice through the fear in my chest with nothing but a smirk and a pastry?

I stared at the flaky croissant, then back at her.“No interrogation?No psychoanalyzing my tragic childhood?”

She took a bite, flaky crusts dusting her lips.“Nope.But I am going to ask you something completely unrelated to distract you.”

I raised an eyebrow.“Oh?”

“Yep.”She wiped a crumb from her lip, her eyes twinkling.“What’s the best goal you’ve ever scored?”