HOW DARE HE?
1303 Words
ARIA'S POV
“What the actual f**k! Where do you say my luggage is moved to?” I seethe into the receiver, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Three years and counting of carefully avoiding curses, gone in a single breath all because of Noah King.
I’m just grateful Remy isn’t here to hear it.
“Ma’am, Mr. King asked us to—”
I can't even hear the rest of what the luggage handler is saying.
My head feels so hot I will not be surprised if smoke starts coming out of my ears.
How dare he? What gives him the right to redirect my things without saying a word to me?
Yesterday, I finished packing mine and Remy’s belongings to move into the apartment Uncle Mike secured.
Remy also got admitted too.
He will be staying for a week or maybe more for the pre-surgery stage—the conditioning phase, as the doctors call it.
I am allowed to stay with him as long as I follow the strict hygiene.
I read him one of his favorite books —The Very Hungry Caterpillar.
He was very excited but also very tired, drifting in and out of consciousness.
This morning, after breakfast, he drifted off again.
I thought I’d go home, change, stop by a*****e on my way back to get him some new things.
Instead this.
Imagine my surprise when I called the handler to confirm if my luggage was deposited safely, only to hear it was transferred to a new location by the high and mighty Mr. King.
I storm out of the hospital lobby and head toward the parking lot, my heels clicking sharply against the pavement.
I pull open my car door, but a voice stops me.
“Miss Aria.”
I look up to see Matteo standing a few feet away.
“Miss Aria, Mr. Noah asked me to drive you to the apartment…” He trails off. He must feel heat from my glare because his eyes drop to the floor.
I round the car and climb into the back seat, slamming the door.
There is no point in arguing with him. I know he won't let me go without him despite his subservient posture.
He slips into the driver's seat without a word as he skillfully navigates the car out of the crowded lot, turning down a quiet, tree-lined side street to avoid the heavy main traffic.
To avoid myself from exploding in anger, I ask him to switch on the radio, letting a low jazz melody fill the space.
I let out a slow breath, forcing my voice in check. “When is your boss coming back?”
“He will be back if nothing changes tonight, Ma'am.”
Tonight. Good. He will come back to meet me.
“Does he always move people’s things around without asking?” I asks, after a while.
Matteo doesn't answer immediately. “Mr. King is… decisive.”
That’s one word for it.
The rest of the drive is silent except of the jazz from the radio.
☆~☆
He pulls up to a mansion that steals the breath from my lungs.
Even with a lot of beautiful mansions I have seen, I'm still be amazed with this.
Noah really knows how to live like a king.
It is a masterpiece of modern design but softened by towering glass panes and warm, natural stone.
The reason I like it so much is because It feels less like a sterile mansion and more like a sanctuary though an ultra-luxurious one.
It made me remember one of my Mamie's words. Luxurious without being ostentatious, comfortable in a way that promises peace.
Matteo opens the door for me and takes my bags inside.
The moment I step over the threshold, I hear a voice.
“Ah! You must be Miss Aria.”
I turn toward the sound.
A woman in her late forties bustles forward, wiping her hands on a cheerful apron patterned with tiny lemons. Her blonde curls are pinned back loosely.
“Welcome dear. Come in, come in. I’m Mira.” She says with a bright smile.
“I am soo happy to see you. I've been here a long time and young master have never brought anyone here. Like never. Madam would be so glad if she hears about this."
She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Not that I’d dare whisper a word to his parents, mind you. I value my job, and Mr. King keeps his private life behind a steel vault. My lips are sealed tighter than his safe.”
She give a wink at the end of her words.
I feel the corner of my mouth twitch despite myself. “Nice to meet you, Mira,” I manage.
She waves a hand. “You look like you’ve had a rough morning. What can I get you? Coffee? Tea? Something stronger? I make a lemon cake that could fix almost anything. Or are you a savory girl? I’ve got fresh soup on the stove nothing too heavy, just right.”
I blink, caught off guard by the rapid-fire hospitality. “I… maybe later? I just need to settle in first.”
“Of course, of course! Your things are already in the guest room right beside Mr. King’s suite. He didn’t specify otherwise, and well—”
She leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “We all know how particular he is about his space. Germs, boundaries, the whole fortress routine. But you’re here, so maybe things might change now that you are here. Come on, I’ll show you up.”
I follow her. Mira keeps the chatter flowing. She just wouldn't stop talking. Her warmth chips away at the lingering anger.
It’s hard to stay furious when someone’s radiating this much genuine good humor.
She stops at a beautiful door on the second floor and opens it. “Here we are. Make yourself at home. I’ll whip something up and bring it by shortly. Don’t you dare starve on my watch.”
“Thank you, Mira. Really.”
She beams, gives my arm a gentle pat, and disappears down the hall, humming.
☆~☆
The room is stunning just like everything else in the house.
I saw my luggage in a corner of the big room and I feel relief that it hasn't been unpacked. I remove the clothes and my bathing things then head for the shower.
Hot water cascades over me, washing away the hospital scent and the worst of the tension.
After my long needed bath, I change into soft lounge pants and an oversized cashmere sweater.
It's quarter past 3.
There is enough time for me to quickly run through some of my mails.
I open my laptop, settling myself in a comfortable position.
The screen glows to life, and I am immediately pulled into my own world.
I open my inbox to check on Aureline, my fashion brand back in Paris.
I dive in, answering queries, reviewing fabric samples my assistant flagged, and hashing out details for the upcoming collection.
Time slips away as I type and talk through a quick video call, the familiar rhythm of work around me.
A soft knock pulls me back. Mira enters with a tray, moving quietly when she sees me deep in focus.
“I brought you something light,” she says, setting it down on the side table. “Grilled salmon, some roasted vegetables, and that lemon cake I mentioned. Eat when you can, dear.”
She doesn’t linger, simply offers another warm smile and slips out, closing the door gently behind her.
My heart warms at her kindness and I promise to eat as soon as I finished another section but sleep get to me first.
- Writer
