A Deal with a Ruthless Billionaire

The night felt unusually quiet. As Aria lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint ticking of the clock across the room. It wasn’t loud, but in the stillness, it felt impossible to ignore. Nights like this had a way of dragging things up, bringing up memories she would rather keep buried. She shifted under the covers, trying to get comfortable, but her mind refused to settle. Outside, the city moved on without her, distant and indifferent. While she lay there, caught somewhere between exhaustion and resistance. It always started like this. She didn’t realize when sleep finally took over, and once it did, it didn’t bring rest with it. The hospital came back to her in fragments. The smell hit first, sharp, sterile, something she could never quite forget. Then the lights, too bright, almost harsh. Voices blurred together, footsteps moving too quickly, everything happening around her but never slowing down enough to make sense. She was younger then and she didn't quite understand what was happening at the time. Confused and lost, Aria called out “Mum?” Her voice had sounded thin, almost lost in the room as she held onto her mother’s hand. Her mother looked different that day, paler than usual, but still her. There was a softness in her expression that Aria clung to, something familiar in the middle of everything that wasn’t. “I’m here,” her mother said quietly. Aria tightened her grip without thinking, as if that alone could keep everything from slipping away. Her father stood nearby, saying very little. He tried to keep himself composed, but it showed in other ways, the tension in his shoulders, the way he kept glancing at the machines like he didn’t trust them. “You’re going to be fine,” Aria said, the words tumbling out too quickly. “You said you would be.” Her mother smiled, but it wasn’t the kind that made things better. If anything, it made Aria’s chest tighten. “Take care of your father,” she said. Aria frowned immediately. “No. You’ll do that yourself. We’re going home together, remember?” She said it like it was already decided. Like it had to be true and for a moment, nothing changed. Then everything did. The sound of one of the machines shifted, it was subtle at first, then sharper, more urgent. The room seemed to fill with movement all at once.Someone said something Aria didn’t understand. Then another voice. Hands reaching in, pulling things aside. “Sir, we need space”, a nurse shouted, with her voice shaking. “What’s happening?” her father asked, his voice no longer steady. "Aria, come here", her father called out, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her attention was fixed on her mother, on the uneven rise of her chest, on the way her hand felt different now, weaker somehow. “Mum?” she called out again. There was no answer. The grip she had been holding onto loosened. Not all at once, Just enough for her to notice. And then that sound came; flat, continuous, wrong in a way she couldn’t explain but instantly understood. After that, everything blurred. Aria woke with a sharp inhale, her body jerking upright before she fully registered where she was. For a second, she didn’t move. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, her skin damp, her hands slightly unsteady as she pressed them against the bed. It took a moment for the room to come back into focus.Then another for the memory to settle back into place, where it belonged, somewhere behind her, not happening now. The door opened almost immediately. “Aria?” Her father stepped in, already halfway across the room before she could respond. He sat beside her, pulling her into a quick, firm embrace. “You’re alright,” he said, quieter this time. “You’re okay.” She leaned into him without thinking, her fingers curling into his shirt. “It felt real again,” she said after a while. “I was there", she said softly. “I know", her father responded. “I couldn’t do anything to save her", Aria cried out. He exhaled softly. “ Aria, there was nothing you could have done.” She didn’t argue, but she didn’t believe it either. “I remember her hand,” she added, her voice dropping. “The way it just… changed.” Her father did not respond immediately. Instead, he rested his hand lightly against her head, letting the silence sit between them. "You don’t have to keep going over it,” he said eventually. But that wasn’t something she could control, the nights didn’t get better right away. Some were quieter than others, but the dreams came often enough to leave her tired even when she slept. Her father tried, he stayed up with her when it got bad, reassured her when she woke up shaken, but it was clear after a while that it wasn’t enough. That was how they ended up back at the hospital. This time, she wasn’t standing by a bed. She was sitting in a chair, waiting. “Mr. Carter?” They both looked up. Inside the office, the doctor spoke calmly, like he had had this conversation many times before. “She’s dealing with trauma,” he explained. “What she experienced… it stays. Especially at her age.” Her father nodded. “So what do we do?” “There are different approaches,” the doctor said, but sometimes what helps most is distance. A new environment. Somewhere that doesn’t constantly remind her of what happened. Aria didn’t say anything but she understood everything. Leaving wasn’t something she had planned. Still, when the decision was made, she didn’t fight it. Staying had become harder than going, she really had to leave. The house changed after that, even from a distance, she could feel it. Her father called often at first, then less as time passed and routines settled into something new. There was a quietness in his voice she hadn’t heard before. Years later, he told her he wanted to remarry. He didn’t rush through it. If anything, he seemed careful with his words. “I don’t want to keep living alone,” he said. Aria didn’t argue because she knew he really needed companionship. She didn't blame him for his decision. Her stepmother’s name was Margaret. From the few conversations they’d had, she seemed composed, polite, the kind of person who didn’t say more than necessary. She also had a daughter; Lila. Around Aria’s age, maybe a little younger. Easy to talk to, from what little Aria had seen. The kind of person who adjusted quickly to people and places. Ten years passed. Not all at once, but steadily enough that one day she looked back and realized how much had changed. The first year had been the hardest, everything unfamiliar, everything new, but it gave her something she hadn’t had before: space. Over time, she built a routine, then a career. Eventually, something more solid than either. She focused on work, on building something that was hers, something she could control. It gave her direction, and slowly, the past stopped feeling like something that followed her everywhere. The dreams faded too. Not completely at first, but enough that she could sleep without expecting to wake up in the middle of them. And when they finally stopped, she didn’t question it instead she chose to move forward. Now, standing in her office, Aria looked out over the city, her reflection faint in the glass. She looked different. Not just older, she looked steadier and more certain. She was the kind of person people listened to. In the midst of her self reflection, her phone vibrated lightly on the desk. She picked it up when she saw the name. “Dad.” “When are you coming back?” he asked, without much preamble. She leaned slightly against the desk. “Soon.” “We could use you here,” he added. “Things aren’t running the way they used to.” She knew what he meant. The company had been her mother’s project as much as his. Letting it fall apart wasn’t an option. “I’ll be there,” she said. A short pause followed. “For good?” he asked. She hesitated, then let out a quiet breath. “Yes, For good.” After the call, she stayed where she was for a while, her phone still in her hand. Going back meant more than just returning. The house wouldn’t be the same, her father had moved on in his own way. There was Margaret now, Lila too. People she didn’t really know. The thought sat uneasily with her, not enough to change her mind, but enough to make her pause. Still, she exhaled and straightened. She had changed too. Whatever was waiting for her back home, she would deal with it when she got there.