ARIA
For one blissful, heart-breaking second, I didn't remember. The world was just the softness of my pillow and the familiar faint light filtering through my window.
Then the truth slammed back into me
My father was gone.
I bolted upright, breath catching. My head spun. The last thing I remembered was the hospital, the machines going silent, and Dalton's hand on my shoulder. After that...nothing. Just darkness.
My room felt unfamiliar the blanket tucked too neatly, the faint scent of a man's cologne lingering in the air. I froze.
How did I get here?
Panic surged. I stumbled out of bed, half-blind from tears, and rushed toward the living room only to stop dead.
Dalton Gray was sitting there. In my house. His crisp white shirt was wrinkled, his tie loose, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Yesterday's clothes. On the table before him was an absurd spread — pancakes, fruit, soup, pastries, juice, even coffee. It looked like a hotel buffet had exploded on my scratched old dining table.
He looked up from his phone. "Morning."
I blinked. My voice cracked. "What are you still doing here?"
He tilted his head slightly, as if the question confused him. "You think I'd just leave you alone after last night?"
I frowned, scanning him. "Did you even go home?"
He took a slow sip of coffee. "No."
The word landed like a brick. My brain scrambled to process it. "You stayed?"
He shrugged lightly, as if spending the night on my lumpy couch was no big deal. "You needed someone here. I'm not in the habit of abandoning people who've just lost everything."
I crossed my arms, trying to hide how small and messy I felt in front of him. My hair was a disaster, my eyes swollen. And him perfectly composed, even now looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine and straight into my grief. The contrast made me want to vanish.
He must've noticed my hesitation, because his tone softened barely. "I didn't know what you liked, so I ordered a bit of everything."
"Why?" I muttered, eyes on the table.
"Because you need to eat."
"I'm not hungry."
His sigh was quiet but full of warning. He stood, walked to the table, and without a word began filling a plate. When I didn't move, he glanced at me that look that said don't test me.
"Sit," he said simply.
It wasn't a request.
I wanted to tell him to fuck off.
I shot him a dirty look but sat anyway. "You know you're very bossy for someone who's not invited here."
"Then throw me out," he said calmly, setting the plate in front of me.
I hated that I didn't. My throat tightened as I stared at the food. I forced myself to take a bite, mostly to stop the silence from eating me alive. He sat across from me, coffee in hand, studying me with that unreadable gaze.
I frowned. "Stop staring. It's creepy."
His lips twitched. "Eat. Then I'll stop."
"Then drink something. It's weird watching you just sit there."
He lifted his mug slightly. "Already am."
We sat in uneasy quiet. The food felt tasteless, but the warmth helped. My eyes darted toward him again. "When did you even get all this?"
"My driver," he said simply. "I told him to bring everything he could find open this morning."
Of course. Billionaire solutions. I bet he just had to snap his fingers.
After a few minutes, his voice broke the silence. "We should talk about the funeral."
The fork froze in my hand. "What about it?"
"I already spoke to a team. They can handle everything the arrangements, the transport, paperwork. You just need to tell me what he wanted."
My jaw tightened. "You've done enough."
"Clearly not," he said, tone clipped.
"I don't want your help," I shot back. "You've done your duty. He's gone, you can go back to your perfect life now. I'm sure you are very busy."
His laugh was humorless. "Perfect life? You think I'd go back and pretend nothing happened?"
"I didn't ask you to stay!"
He let out a humorless laugh. "I've postponed all my meetings. Indefinitely." He fixed me with that intense gaze. "And I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for John. And because we both know you can't afford it."
He didn't say it like he was trying to shame me, he said it like he was stating a fact.
The shame was a hot flush that crept up my neck. He was right. It was the humiliating, undeniable truth. I didn't have the money to bury my own father. The weight of that knowledge crushed what was left of my pride. I kept my head down, focusing on the plate.
That shut me up. The air between us felt thick. heat rising to my cheeks part shame, part fury, part exhaustion. "Fine," I muttered. "But I'll pay you back. Every cent."
He leaned back slightly, studying me like I was a puzzle that refused to fit. "You don't have to.."
"I will," I snapped. "It's the only way I'll accept your help."
He exhaled, the faintest smile ghosting over his lips. "Then it's a deal."
After a pause, his voice softened. "Did he ever say what kind of funeral he wanted?"
I nodded weakly. "Nothing fancy. Just...simple. Quiet. Beside my mom and sister."
He nodded. "Then that's what he'll get."
Later, he left to go home and change and freshen up, and I did the same, moving through my small house like a ghost. Mrs. Evans came over, her eyes full of sympathy and grief. John was her best friend so they were always together. Even when we first moved up here she was the first person he got along with.
"Oh, honey," she said, pulling me into a hug. "So soon?"
I nodded against her shoulder. "It's what he wanted. And… Dalton is handling the expenses. There's no reason to wait."
She understood, and together we got ready for the hardest day of my life.
A few hours later, the small group of mourners gathered at the cemetery. The priest's voice droned in the wind. I barely felt my body move. It was all a blur the coffin, the flowers, the hole in the earth that was now my whole world.
When it was over, everyone left except him. He waited quietly by the car, giving me time. When I finally turned, my eyes dry and burning, he was still there. Silent. Steady.
The ride home was wordless. Marcus drove, the soft hum of the engine filling the air. I stared out the window, watching everything blur past houses, trees, life that kept moving even when mine had stopped.
When we reached my street, I finally turned to him. His eyes were on me, blue and sharp.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For...everything. I meant what I said I'll pay you back."
He looked genuinely surprised, his stoic expression faltering for a fraction of a second before he regained control. He gave a single, slow nod. "Aria you don't have to."
"I know," I whispered, opening the door. "But I will."
He didn't argue this time. Just nodded once, watching me walk away.
Inside the house, silence greeted me like a ghost. Every corner screamed his absence. The chair he loved. The unfinished crossword. The blanket that still smelled like him.
I sat down slowly, exhaustion pulling me under. For the first time in years, there was no one left to take care of except myself.
And as much as I disliked him, as much as his presence confused and infuriated me, a tiny, shameful part of me was glad Dalton Gray had been there. In the terrifying silence of my grief, he had been an anchor, and for today, that was all I had.