The soft tap of Arabella's heels echoed down the hallway of King Enterprises, each step measured, each breath calculated. Behind the professional façade she wore like armor, her thoughts churned restlessly. Since her confrontation with Clarisse at the gala, things had grown more complicated. Arabella had learned long ago to mask her emotions, to hide pain behind poise—but lately, that mask was cracking.
"Arabella," a voice called from behind.
She turned to see Elina approaching, concern lacing her expression. "You've been avoiding me," Elina said softly.
"I've been… busy," Arabella replied, though her eyes betrayed her exhaustion.
Elina didn't buy it. "You've barely slept. You're haunted by something."
Arabella hesitated, then motioned for Elina to follow her. They entered her office and closed the door behind them. The city lights blinked through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the room.
"I saw her again," Arabella admitted, lowering her voice. "Clarisse."
Elina's eyes widened. "At the gala?"
"She cornered me. Said things that…" Arabella looked down at her hands. "She knows who I really am. She's threatening to expose me."
Elina sat down heavily. "What did she say, exactly?"
Arabella repeated the words, each one a blade that cut anew. Elina listened, then reached out, grasping her friend's hand tightly.
"We've come too far for this," Elina said firmly. "You've rebuilt yourself from ashes, Arabella. She doesn't get to destroy that. Not again."
Arabella nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. Clarisse's threats had hit deeper than she'd admitted, stirring up memories she had long buried—the humiliation, the betrayal, the fire that consumed her identity.
The knock on her office door made both women jump.
It was Nathaniel.
He looked between them, picking up on the tension in the room. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No," Arabella said quickly, rising to her feet. "We were just talking."
Nathaniel's gaze lingered on her face, as if trying to read beneath the surface. "I wanted to speak with you in private."
Elina gave Arabella a look before quietly slipping out of the room.
Once they were alone, Nathaniel walked closer, his expression unreadable.
"I received a report this morning," he began, voice low. "About Clarisse Levington. Someone saw her leaving the gala through a back entrance—she wasn't invited."
Arabella didn't respond. Her silence said enough.
"She confronted you, didn't she?" he asked.
Arabella's shoulders tensed. "Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it's not your problem," she said quickly. "And because I didn't want you to see me weak."
His brow furrowed. "You think protecting yourself is weakness?"
She turned to him, voice sharper now. "You don't understand. She's not just a threat to me—she's a link to a life I've fought to escape."
"I do understand," he said quietly. "More than you think."
His hand reached for hers, but she pulled away, turning toward the window instead. The silence between them was thick, charged with all the things left unsaid.
"You're not alone in this," he said after a moment. "Whether you want my help or not, I'm involved now. You're not just some employee, Arabella. You're—" He stopped himself.
She turned to him. "I'm what, Nathaniel?"
He met her eyes. "Important to me."
The vulnerability in his voice made her heart stutter. For a moment, she forgot about Clarisse, about the secrets and the lies. But then reality clawed its way back in.
"I can't afford to be important to anyone," she whispered. "Because when they find out who I really am…"
Nathaniel stepped forward. "Then let them. You are not defined by your past. Whatever Clarisse holds over you—whatever secrets you carry—I can handle it."
Arabella looked up at him, eyes glassy. "You say that now. But you don't know everything."
"Then tell me."
Her breath hitched. Could she really tell him? Could she strip away the mask and show him the broken girl underneath?
Before she could answer, her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
"We're not done yet. – C."
Her face went pale. Nathaniel noticed instantly.
"What is it?" he asked.
Arabella handed him the phone. His eyes scanned the message, and his jaw clenched.
"She's stalking you now."
"I don't know how she got my number."
"We'll change it. Increase your security. Whatever it takes."
Arabella swallowed. "I need to know what she's planning."
Nathaniel nodded. "Then let's find out. I'll assign my best people. We'll dig into her records, follow her movements—legally and otherwise."
Arabella blinked at him. "You'd really do that for me?"
He didn't answer with words. He simply closed the space between them, gently placing his hand over hers.
"Yes."
For the first time in days, Arabella felt something that resembled hope.
——
That night, back in her apartment, Arabella sat by the window, the city lights glowing like fireflies. She had spent so long hiding—behind false names, behind careful smiles, behind the fortress of self-reliance. But Nathaniel's words stayed with her, a whisper in the dark.
"You're not alone."
Maybe… just maybe… it was time to stop running.
She pulled out a small black box from her drawer. Inside was a faded photograph—the last picture taken before her world crumbled. Her real face. Her real name.
Arabella.
Or rather… Isabella Hart.
The name echoed like a ghost.
She hadn't said it aloud in years.
But if Clarisse was going to drag her into the past, she needed to be ready. She couldn't afford to be fragile. She would face it head-on.
Not as Isabella. Not as the victim.
But as Arabella King—the woman she had fought to become.
Arabella stood still for a moment, the softness of the warm towel pressed gently against her cheeks by Elina, but her mind was miles away. The mask she had worn so convincingly in front of everyone—calm, collected, untouchable—was cracking, piece by piece.
Elina noticed her friend's distant expression and spoke in a quiet voice, "You don't always have to be strong, you know. Not with me."
That was all it took.
The tension Arabella had been carrying in her shoulders dissolved into a sigh. She leaned forward and allowed herself to rest her forehead on Elina's shoulder. For once, she let herself breathe without the weight of expectations and secrets anchoring her down.
"You know what hurts most?" Arabella murmured, her voice barely audible. "It's not the lies. It's knowing that I've been pretending for so long, I don't even know who I am without this mask."
Elina pulled her closer. "Then let's find her again—bit by bit."
Outside, the rain had stopped, but the storm inside Arabella hadn't passed. She knew she couldn't keep hiding from Nathaniel much longer. The confrontation was inevitable, especially now that the contract had brought them closer and blurred boundaries neither of them were prepared for.
---
Later That Evening — King Mansion
Nathaniel sat in his private study, a glass of brandy untouched beside him, his mind far from the documents scattered across the desk. His thoughts, as always these days, were tangled in Arabella.
She had become an enigma—calm yet guarded, warm yet distant. Every time he felt like he was getting closer, she'd shut down again, as if terrified to let him see what lay beneath.
His phone buzzed.
Message from Elina: She's hurting, Nate. She won't say it, but she is. Be patient with her. Please.
Nathaniel stared at the message, his jaw clenching slightly. He didn't need Elina to tell him Arabella was struggling. He saw it in her eyes every day—the flicker of pain she tried so hard to hide.
He stood and walked to the large window that overlooked the city, his reflection faint in the glass. He whispered to himself, "What are you hiding, Arabella?"
---
Meanwhile — In the Guest Room
Arabella pulled out the drawer beneath the bed and retrieved a hidden box. Inside were photographs—old ones. Some showed a younger version of herself, back when she was still Isabella Castillo, before the fire, before the betrayal, before Nathaniel unknowingly shattered her world.
She traced her fingers over a particular photo—her parents, smiling, unaware their lives would end in tragedy. She had kept these reminders of her past tucked away, but now, the urge to confront her demons was stronger than ever.
The door creaked, snapping her out of her thoughts. She quickly slid the box back and turned—only to find Nathaniel standing there.
His gaze dropped briefly to the box before returning to her face. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Arabella forced a smile. "Just old memories."
He didn't press further, but his eyes lingered on her a little longer than necessary. "Come with me."
She blinked. "Where?"
"Somewhere you can breathe."
---
Moments Later — On the Rooftop
The rooftop garden of the King mansion was a secret place, lush with flowers and vines climbing marble trellises. It was peaceful, far removed from the weight of their obligations and secrets.
Nathaniel had brought her here once before, when she first moved in. She remembered thinking then how ironic it was to find such serenity in the home of the man she had vowed to never forgive.
Now, she sat beside him on the stone bench, both of them silent for a while.
"Did you love her?" Arabella asked suddenly, her voice trembling.
Nathaniel turned to her. "Who?"
"Isabella Castillo."
The name landed like a blow. He hadn't heard it spoken aloud in so long. He frowned slightly, uncertain. "Why are you asking that now?"
She looked up, her eyes glossy. "Just answer me."
Nathaniel leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "I… thought I did. She was strong, intelligent, driven. But I think I saw what I wanted to see in her. I never truly got to know her before she was… gone."
Arabella's heart twisted. It hurt more than she expected, even if it confirmed what she'd always feared—he never really knew her back then. But was that entirely his fault?
"You know," she said quietly, "Sometimes, we hide so well that even the people closest to us don't really see us."
Nathaniel turned to her. "Is that what you've been doing?"
She met his gaze. "Maybe."
A beat of silence passed. Then Nathaniel spoke, softer this time. "I want to know you. The real you. No more hiding."
Arabella felt a lump rise in her throat. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to tell him everything. Her real name. Her past. Her pain. But the mask was too tightly bound—ripping it off now would expose wounds that hadn't fully healed.
"I'm trying," she whispered.
He nodded, not pushing further, and reached for her hand. To her surprise, she didn't pull away.
---
Later That Night — Alone in Her Room
Arabella sat at her vanity, brushing her hair with slow strokes. Her reflection stared back at her—not Isabella, not the calculated Arabella King, just… a woman caught between vengeance and vulnerability.
She opened her drawer and pulled out a journal—one she hadn't written in since the night she was reborn.
Entry 47 — Beneath the Mask
He said he wants to know me. But how can I let him see the girl he helped destroy? How can I tell him I am the ghost of the woman he once thought he loved?
Tonight, I almost told him. But fear won again.
Maybe tomorrow…