Ariana's POV
My world stopped spinning the moment I saw the line.
It sat there, small and sharp and red, like it had been waiting for me. My hand trembled as I reached for it again, as if touching it might change what I was seeing. One line would've been fine. But two?
Elias.
His name hit my chest like a bruise. My father's most trusted bodyguard — loyal, disciplined, the kind of man who never broke rules. Kind when no one else dared to be. He had watched over me for years, and I had never once seen him lose control. Until that night on the balcony.
The rain had come down so heavily that the world looked blurred. One soft look became a kiss. One kiss became something reckless. Something real.
And now… this.
The sound of the ticking clock filled my room. I pressed the test flat on the counter again, just to be sure, but the lines stayed there, cruel and steady. My stomach twisted. I couldn't tell if I wanted to cry or laugh or run. Probably all three.
A knock broke the silence. Sharp. Too soon.
"Ariana?"
Miss Sarah. Of course.
I shoved the test into the drawer and closed it too fast. "Just a minute!"
Her voice came softer this time. "Your mum says breakfast is ready, dear. It's already past eight."
"Yeah, I'll be down soon."
I didn't wait for her to reply. I just stood there for a second, breathing like I'd run a mile. Then I opened the door, smiled a polite half-smile, and said, "Tell her I'll be right down."
Miss Sarah nodded and disappeared down the hallway.
As soon as the door shut, I leaned back against it and slid down to the floor. My hands felt weak. How do you show your face when it looks like you've lost it overnight?
I dragged myself up, brushed my teeth, and washed my face. The mirror didn't help. My reflection looked pale, tired — someone I didn't recognize. I tied my hair back, threw on a smart shirt, and beige trousers. Something decent enough for breakfast. Something that said I'm fine.
The smell of bacon and waffles hit me before I even reached the stairs. Normally, it made me hungry. Today, it turned my stomach.
Dad was already at the dining table, newspaper in one hand, glasses perched low on his nose. The black Bentley key rested near his coffee cup — a sign he'd be leaving soon.
He looked up the second I walked in.
"Christine," he said to my mother, voice clipped, "you've spoilt our daughter so much she doesn't even know she's supposed to come down for breakfast, let alone say good morning."
He didn't even look at me. Just kept talking about me, like I wasn't sitting right there.
I swallowed. "Good morning, Dad."
Nothing.
He folded the newspaper and stood. "Talk to her," he told Mum, his tone leaving no room for argument. Then, louder, "Elias, is the Bentley warmed up?"
"Yes, Mr. Vale," came the answer from the hallway — deep, calm, and too familiar. His voice filled the room, even though I couldn't see him. My throat tightened. I didn't dare look his way.
Mum sighed, brushing her curls back. "Ariana, honestly. You're barely saying a word lately. And you look pale. When was the last time you went tanning?"
I stared at the pancakes stacked in front of me, the smell of syrup thick in the air. "I'm fine, Mum."
"You don't look fine." She leaned closer. "Are you eating enough? You've lost weight."
"I said I'm fine."
It came out sharper than I meant. I reached for an apple, just to have something to do with my hands. "And I'm not tanning anymore. I don't need to do it for anyone."
Mum blinked at me. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." I stood, still clutching the apple. "I'll eat in my room."
"Ariana—"
But I was already halfway up the stairs.
The silence of my room felt heavier now. I locked the door, tossed the apple onto the dresser, and sat on the edge of my bed. The pregnancy test was still hidden in the drawer, but I could feel its presence like it was burning through the wood.
I pulled it out again. Same two lines. Still there. Still real.
What am I supposed to do with this? How do you even start explaining something like this to your parents — to him?
I pressed the test flat against my palm until it hurt. The ache felt better than the silence.
I could still hear Dad's voice downstairs, faint through the walls. Mum's too, soft and tired. And then Elias — that deep, controlled tone that always made me listen.
He had said my name differently that night. Not "Miss Vale," not formal or distant. Just Ariana. Like it meant something.
The rain had been falling hard. I remember the smell of it, the way his shirt clung to his skin. We hadn't planned it. It wasn't supposed to happen. But it did. And now… this.
I dropped the test back into the drawer, closed it gently this time. My room felt smaller with every breath.
Dad's car engine roared outside. Probably heading to work. Mum would stay in her studio, pretending not to worry. Elias would drive him like nothing ever happened. Like nothing was different.
I looked around at the photos on my shelf — me at twelve in ballet shoes, me at sixteen with Mum at some gala, me standing beside Dad while Elias stood quietly in the background.
Always there. Always watching.
I sat back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence crept in again, wrapping itself around me. My fingers found the edge of the bedsheet, twisting it, untwisting it.
What now, Ariana? You can't hide forever.
But that's exactly what I wanted to do.
So I stayed there, breathing, counting the seconds between the ticking of the clock.
One. Two. Three.
The world outside moved like nothing had changed. But mine had.
I leaned back until I was flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My heart wouldn't slow down. The sound of rain still echoed in my head — that night, that voice, that mistake that didn't feel like one until now.
"Elias," I whispered, though no one could hear me.
And then I closed my eyes.
—