Page 122 of Rescuing Aria

The explanation makes sense, but doesn’t fully account for the slight tension in his posture.

“Hope’s upstairs.” I step aside, allowing him entry. “Working on those constellation designs.”

Something flickers across his impassive features—interest quickly masked by professional detachment. “I should complete the security sweep first.”

“Of course.” I hide a smile as he moves through the shop, checking windows, locks, and alarm systems. The performance of duty before personal interest.

When the security check concludes, he hesitates near the stairs, clearly wanting to go up but unwilling to ask directly.

“She was hoping to show you the Orion design.” I offer the excuse he needs. “Said something about star alignment questions.”

Relief crosses his face, followed immediately by an attempt to appear merely professionally interested. “I should verify her astronomical references. For accuracy.”

“Naturally.” I keep my expression neutral despite the amusement bubbling beneath. “Incorrect star patterns could be severe.”

His eyes narrow slightly, catching my gentle teasing, but instead of retreating into professional distance, a small smile touches his lips.

“Very severe.” He moves toward the stairs with newfound purpose. “I’d better address it immediately.”

I watch him ascend, this mountain of a man who disarms bombs and breaches secure facilities for a living, now moving toward a young woman who arranges crystals into star patterns. The unexpected tenderness of it catches in my chest.

Life finds a way, even in the most damaged soil.

The shop phone rings, breaking my contemplation. I answer automatically, expecting a customer with a last-minute order question.

“Little Matchstick Girl, this is Aria.”

“Ms. Holbrook.” A woman’s crisp, professional voice responds. “This is Veronica Chambers from the Wall Street Journal. I was hoping to speak with you regarding your father’s estate and the allegations surrounding his international business dealings.”

Ice floods my veins. The carefully constructed narrative is already fraying at the edges. Questions emerging. Investigations beginning.

“Today was my father’s funeral. I’m sure you understand my need for privacy.” My voice remains steady despite the internal alarm bells. “I have no comment at this time.”

“Of course.” The reporter’s tone suggests anything but understanding. “However, our sources indicate significant irregularities in offshore accounts connected to Holbrook International. As his primary heir, you must have some knowledge of?—”

“As I said, no comment.” I cut her off with polite firmness. “Any questions regarding Holbrook International should be directed to the corporate communications office. Goodbye.”

I hang up before she can respond, heart racing despite the outward calm I maintained. It begins. The questions. The investigations. The unraveling of Marcus’s empire.

My phone buzzes with a text notification.

Jon:On my way back. Guardian HRS intercepted press inquiries. We need to talk strategy.

Of course, Guardian HRS would be monitoring media interest. Their operational security depends on controlling the narrative around Marcus’s death and the events at Wolfe’s compound.

I text back:WSJ already called the shop. More will follow.

His response comes quickly:We’ll handle it. Together.

The simple reassurance steadies me. I’m not alone in this. I’m not facing Marcus’s legacy without support. Jon will behere soon, with Guardian HQ resources and his unwavering presence.

Until then, I have work to do. A new candle to formulate—something I’ve been contemplating since reading through Wolfe’s files. A scent that captures the journey from darkness to light, from illusion to truth, from imprisonment to freedom.

In the workshop, I gather ingredients. Amber for warmth and grounding. Sandalwood for strength and wisdom. Black pepper for protection against negative energy. Vanilla for comfort and healing.

Each element is selected not just for its aromatic properties but for its symbolic resonance. A candle created not for commercial appeal but for personal meaning.

For transformation.