Chapter 10 - Cracks Beneath the Mask
1064 Words
Ariana’s POV
The moment we got back into the car, I knew something had changed.
The air felt heavier.
Thicker.
Like a storm waiting to break.
I sat quietly, my hands resting on my lap, fingers slightly stained despite how many times I had tried to clean them. My heart hadn’t calmed since the restaurant.
It was still racing.
Still panicking.
Still waiting.
Beside me, Damien said nothing.
But somehow…
That silence was louder than anything.
I could feel it.
His thoughts.
His suspicion.
His attention.
Locked on me.
The car moved smoothly through the quiet streets, the city lights flickering past the window. Everything outside felt normal.
Inside?
Nothing was.
We arrived at the mansion.
The doors opened.
I stepped out first this time, needing space—air—anything to calm the tightness in my chest.
But I didn’t get far.
“Stop.”
My steps froze instantly.
Slowly… I turned.
Damien stood a few steps behind me, his expression unreadable.
But his eyes?
Sharp.
Focused.
Dangerous.
“Come with me.”
Not a request.
A command.
My stomach tightened.
“Damien, I—”
“Now.”
My words died in my throat.
I nodded slowly and followed.
He didn’t take me inside.
Instead, he led me around the side of the mansion… toward a quieter part of the estate.
The garden.
Dark.
Empty.
Isolated.
The only light came from a few dim lamps lining the path.
My heartbeat picked up.
Why here?
Why not inside?
We stopped.
Silence stretched between us.
Then—
“What are you hiding?”
The question landed heavy.
Direct.
No escape.
I swallowed. “I told you—it was just stress—”
“Don’t.”
His voice cut through mine instantly.
Cold.
Sharp.
Final.
“Don’t insult my intelligence.”
My chest tightened.
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
He stepped closer.
Slow.
Controlled.
And somehow that made it worse.
“At the restaurant,” he continued, “you almost collapsed.”
Another step.
“You were bleeding.”
Closer.
“You couldn’t even stand properly.”
Now he was right in front of me.
“And you expect me to believe that’s stress?”
My breath hitched.
“I—”
“Look at me.”
I hesitated.
Big mistake.
His hand shot out suddenly—
Grabbing my chin.
Firm.
Not gentle.
My eyes widened as he forced my face up.
“Look. At. Me.”
My heart slammed violently against my chest.
Slowly… I met his gaze.
And instantly wished I hadn’t.
Because this wasn’t just suspicion anymore.
This was interrogation.
“You’re hiding something,” he said quietly. “And I want to know what it is.”
My throat tightened painfully.
Say something.
Lie.
Deflect.
Anything.
“I’m fine,” I whispered.
Wrong answer.
His grip tightened slightly.
“For how long?”
My breath caught.
What?
“What?” I repeated, confused.
“For how long,” he said again, slower this time, “have you been like this?”
My mind went blank.
How did he—
“I don’t know what you mean—”
“Ariana.”
My name.
Not Alina.
Ariana.
The sound of it hit me like a shock.
My eyes widened.
He knew.
Or at least—
He wasn’t pretending anymore.
“You think I didn’t notice?” he continued, his voice dangerously calm. “The hesitation. The mistakes. The way you move like your body is failing you.”
My chest tightened.
“You’re sick.”
Not a question.
A statement.
Silence.
Loud.
Deafening.
I couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t deny it.
Couldn’t confirm it.
Because either way…
I was exposed.
His grip loosened slightly—but he didn’t let go.
“How bad is it?” he asked.
And for the first time—
There was something else in his voice.
Not anger.
Not control.
Something quieter.
Something I didn’t expect.
Concern.
That made it worse.
“I’m fine,” I said again, but this time… my voice broke.
Weak.
Useless.
Unconvincing.
His jaw tightened.
“Stop lying.”
“I’m not lying!”
The words came out sharper than I intended.
Louder.
Desperate.
My chest heaved.
“I’m handling it,” I added quickly. “I don’t need—”
“You’re bleeding in public.”
His voice cut through mine again.
Cold.
Precise.
“You’re barely standing.”
Another step closer.
“You think that won’t become a problem?”
My breath hitched.
Because he was right.
Of course he was right.
“I said I’ll handle it,” I whispered.
He stared at me for a long moment.
Then slowly…
He let go.
I stumbled back slightly, my legs weak.
Silence fell again.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Then—
“If you collapse in front of the media,” he said, his tone returning to that cold, controlled edge, “it becomes my problem.”
There it was.
Not concern.
Not care.
Just logic.
Just control.
I nodded slowly, forcing myself to stay steady.
“I understand.”
He studied me one last time.
Long.
Hard.
Like he was trying to see through everything I wasn’t saying.
Then—
“From now on,” he said, “you don’t leave my sight during events.”
My chest tightened.
“And if this happens again—”
He paused.
Just slightly.
But enough to make my heart stop.
“I will find out the truth myself.”
A threat.
A promise.
Both.
He turned and started walking back toward the house.
Conversation over.
Just like that.
I stood there for a few seconds.
Frozen.
Shaking.
Exposed.
Then slowly… I followed.
Because what else could I do?
That night, the mansion felt colder than before.
Bigger.
Quieter.
More suffocating.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands trembling slightly.
He knows.
Not everything.
But enough.
And if he keeps digging…
Everything will come out.
My illness.
My father.
The truth.
Everything.
My chest tightened painfully.
I lay down slowly, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep didn’t come.
It never did anymore.
Because now…
I wasn’t just afraid of dying.
I was afraid of being exposed before I even got the chance to survive.
Across the room—
I could feel it.
Even without looking.
Damien was awake.
Watching.
Waiting.
And I knew—
This wasn’t over.
Not even close
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