Chapter 5 : The fire inside
1024 Words
Aria clutched the edge of the bathroom sink, her knuckles white as another wave of nausea rolled through her. The glossy marble beneath her hands felt cool, grounding, but it did little to soothe the churning in her stomach.
Not now. Not here.
She clenched her jaw and forced herself upright. Her reflection stared back — flawless makeup, calculated confidence. Nobody would guess the truth hidden under the polished exterior: she was pregnant. Two weeks along, confirmed by two different tests, and every symptom was now her worst enemy.
She couldn’t afford weakness. Not in the belly of the beast.
A soft knock came from the door. “Clarke?” It was Leila, one of the assistants from the PR department. “Mr. Thorne is asking for you. The younger one.”
Aria took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Tell him I’m on my way.”
When she stepped into the hallway, her heels clicked sharply on the floor — each step calculated, confident. No one would suspect the firestorm inside her. Dominic Thorne might’ve shared her bed two weeks ago, but he had no idea the chaos he left behind.
And Aria had no intention of telling him.
Not yet.
⸻
Dominic lounged against his desk, flipping through a folder with the lazy arrogance of a man who knew the world bent to his will. He didn’t look up when Aria entered, but she could feel his gaze snap to her like a predator’s when she crossed the threshold.
“You’re late,” he said without looking at the clock.
“I’m exactly on time,” she replied coolly, stepping closer. “Unless you plan to adjust company policy based on your moods.”
His lips curled into something between a smirk and a dare. “You’ve got a sharp mouth, Miss Mickelson.”
“And you’ve got a fragile ego, Mr. Thorne.”
That earned her a chuckle. A low, indulgent sound that made her stomach flutter — not the pregnancy this time. Just heat. Dangerous heat.
He stepped away from the desk, walking in slow, predatory circles around her. “You’ve been here three days, and somehow, I find myself constantly distracted.”
She didn’t blink. “Then maybe you should focus harder.”
“Or maybe you should stop making it so damn difficult.”
Her jaw tensed. “I’m here to work. Not entertain your fantasies.”
“Funny,” he said, stepping closer. “Because that’s exactly what you did two weeks ago.”
Her breath caught — just for a second. He was too close now, his cologne clouding her thoughts, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“I remember the way you moaned under that mask. The way you trembled when I—”
She pushed him back, just enough to break the magnetic pull between them.
“That was a mistake,” she said coldly. “A one-time lapse in judgment.”
He studied her, something dark flickering behind his eyes. “Then why haven’t you stopped looking at me like you want it to happen again?”
Aria’s nails bit into her palm. “You’re imagining things.”
“And you’re lying.”
Before she could respond, his desk phone buzzed. Dominic pressed the speaker button.
“Yes?”
“Your father wants all senior staff and interns in the conference room. Now.”
Dominic’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. “Tell him we’re on our way.”
He looked back at Aria, eyes narrowing. “Try not to faint in there. Victor Thorne eats weakness for breakfast.”
If only he knew.
⸻
The conference room was a polished glass cage filled with suits and tension. Victor Thorne stood at the head of the table, barking orders with the kind of authority that made everyone sit straighter. Aria kept her eyes lowered, her expression neutral, but her mind screamed at the sight of him.
The man who destroyed her father. Who framed him for embezzlement and leaked fake evidence to the press. Who bribed judges and ruined her family name.
She was standing in the lion’s den.
And the baby in her womb? The child of the lion’s heir.
Her stomach twisted again, and she silently prayed she wouldn’t throw up in front of everyone.
Victor’s voice cut through her thoughts. “We have a critical investor pitch this Friday. I want fresh creative concepts. Bold, aggressive, risky. Thorne Industries doesn’t play safe.”
Aria felt Dominic’s eyes on her from across the table. She didn’t look up.
Victor scanned the room. “I want one pitch from each intern group. Clarke Mickelson, you’ll lead Group B.”
She blinked. “Me?”
Dominic answered before his father could. “She can handle it.”
Victor raised a brow but nodded. “Don’t disappoint me.”
Aria managed a polite nod, but her hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
From fury.
⸻
Later that afternoon, Aria stood at the rooftop terrace, gripping the edge of the railing. The wind tangled her hair, and she tried to breathe through the nausea. Behind her, the door creaked open.
“Morning sickness?” Dominic’s voice was amused.
Her blood froze. “What?”
“I said, you look pale,” he clarified, stepping beside her. “Maybe you should eat something.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve said that every day.”
She didn’t answer.
He leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “What are you hiding, Clarke?”
She stepped back. “Nothing.”
He studied her for a long, silent moment. “You’re good at pretending.”
“So are you,” she shot back.
Their eyes locked.
He stepped even closer this time. “Tell me something, Clarke. That night… was it really a mistake?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
He tilted his head. “Liar.”
His lips were inches from hers when her vision blurred. She stumbled back, gripping the rail, her pulse racing.
“Clarke?” His voice shifted — no longer teasing. Concerned.
The world tilted.
Then everything went black.
- Writer
