HOTTIE NEXT DOOR

CHAPTER SIX

Arielle’s POV

The iron gates groaned open as the car rolled up the long driveway, and the mansion came into view the same way it always did. It looked too large, too quiet, too full of things that didn’t move. Every topiary trimmed to the same perfect angle.

Every window was gleaming. Nothing was out of place. Nothing had changed while I was gone, and somehow that made the tightness in my chest worse instead of better. It was the kind of stillness that reminded you the world kept turning without asking your permission.

David pulled up to the entrance and stepped out before I could reach the handle. He opened my door without a word, offering his hand the way he always did. Steady, practiced, giving nothing away. I didn’t take it. I stepped out on my own and smoothed the front of my clothes, not because they needed it but because I needed a moment before walking through those doors.

The foyer was exactly as I’d left it. Cool marble, fresh white lilies in the tall vase by the staircase, replaced on schedule regardless of whether anyone was home to appreciate them. The faint scent of cedar and lemon polish settled around me the second I stepped inside. Home. The word rose up in my chest and sank again just as fast. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.

My father was at the dining table. He sat at his usual place at the head, but his breakfast was untouched in front of him. There were eggs congealed, toast gone cold and a glass of orange juice which was still full. He wasn’t reading. He wasn’t on his phone. He was just sitting, hands folded on the table, and when he looked up and saw me standing in the doorway, something shifted in his face that he didn’t bother to hide.

He’d been waiting for me. My chest pulled tight at that thought.

“Ari.” He rose slightly from his chair, not all the way, just enough. “Come and sit with me.”

He only called me Ari when he was happy or sorry. Right now I couldn’t tell which, and I hated that I was trying to figure it out instead of just walking away. I crossed the room slowly and pulled out the chair beside him, not across from him the way I usually sat when things were tense.

I don’t know why I chose to sit close. Some part of me had already started putting things down before I’d made the conscious decision to.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his eyes moving over me the way they used to when I was small and had fallen.“I heard a man took you in. Were you hurt? You must have been scared. How did you cope?”

The questions came out all at once, and his hand landed gently on my arm, barely touching, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.

“Nothing happened,” I said flatly. I was aiming for cold and indifferent. I wasn’t sure I pulled it off.

He exhaled slowly, nodding once. He didn’t push. That surprised me.

“I overreacted,” he said. His voice was measured, but I could hear the effort it took to keep it that way. “Freezing your accounts. That wasn’t appropriate. I know that. But I did it because I want to protect you, Ari. When you’re safe, it puts me at ease. When you’re not, I can’t think straight.” He stopped. His jaw tightened.

“I know,” I said.

And I did know. That was the part I hated most, that I couldn’t hold onto the anger the way I wanted to, because I understood him. I understood exactly where it came from, which meant I had to carry both things at once: the resentment and the guilt, pressing against each other like opposing weights.

“The world out there is full of bad people,” he said quietly. He reached for his coffee cup and turned it slightly, placing the handle with the edge of the saucer. “And worse things. I let my guard down once. Just once, Ari.” He paused. “And it cost me your mother.”

His voice broke on the last two words. Not dramatically, but enough to land. I looked at him properly then, the way I’d been avoiding since I sat down. I saw the lines around his eyes, the grey at his temples that hadn’t been there a few years ago. His shoulders were just slightly less square than they used to be. He didn’t say her name. He never did.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” The words came out softer than I intended. “It’s my fault too.” I looked down at my feet. David had excused himself quietly at some point. I hadn’t even noticed him leave. The room felt smaller now, and heavier, but not in a bad way.

My father looked at me for a long moment. Then he pushed his chair back and spread his arms open.

I stood up slowly and leaned into his embrace. He held me the way he used to before things got complicated between us, before I started fighting everything just to prove I could. He was still solid. He still smelled like cedar and old paper and the same aftershave he’d worn my entire life. I let myself stay there longer than I’d planned.

“Don’t run off again,” he said quietly. “I won’t give you a reason to. Okay?”

I nodded against his shoulder. He patted my back twice in that firm, brief double-pat that was his version of saying things he didn’t have words for and then we let each other go.

After the reunion, I excused myself to my room. I hadn’t managed much of breakfast. It wasn’t that I’d lost my appetite entirely. I was just somewhere in between, caught between too tired to eat and too unsettled to care. The exhaustion had settled into my bones somewhere on the drive home and hadn’t left.

I kicked off my shoes at the door and dropped onto the bed face-first, arms out, not caring about anything except the texture of the mattress and the familiar weight of my own sheets. They smelled like lavender and something underneath familiar. I closed my eyes and felt the last few days start to loosen their grip, slowly.

“Thank God you’re back home, Ari.”

I turned my head without lifting it. David was in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, watching me with an expression I was too tired to read. I’d almost forgotten about him. Almost.

“Not now, David.” I pressed my face back into the pillow. “I’m really exhausted. Go away.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Are you still upset?”

“You didn’t hear that from me. Ugh let me sleep, okay?”

“I want to make it up to you.”

Something in his voice made me go still. It wasn’t the usual David. Not the composed,keep-everyone-at-arm’s-length version I’d known for years. It was quieter, or maybe more direct. I wasn’t sure. I sat up suddenly, confused by whatever it was I’d just heard in it.

“Huh?”

He had stepped further into the room. He wasn’t looking at me the way he usually did. Measured and professional, like I was something to be managed. He was looking at me like he was making a decision.

“So, Ari.” He stopped at the foot of the bed. “Do you want to do this?”