Arabella's fingers trembled slightly as she clasped the coffee mug, her gaze fixed on the swirling liquid inside it. The late afternoon sun filtered through the tall glass windows of Nathaniel's penthouse, casting long shadows across the marble floor. A heavy silence lingered in the room, disturbed only by the faint ticking of the wall clock and the soft rustle of the city far below.
She hadn't spoken to Nathaniel since the confrontation with Olivia two nights ago. His revelation about their past—about what she meant to him, even before the marriage—still echoed in her mind. But so did the lies. The secrets. The half-truths that wrapped themselves like chains around her heart.
"Arabella," came a familiar voice behind her, low and hesitant.
She didn't turn around. "You're home early."
Nathaniel stepped into view, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder, the top buttons of his shirt undone. "I had some meetings rescheduled. Thought I'd check in on you."
Her eyes flicked up to his. "Check in on me? Like a patient?"
"I didn't mean it like that," he said, sighing. "I just... noticed you've been avoiding me."
Arabella stood and walked toward the window, keeping her back to him. "It's hard not to avoid someone when being near them reminds you of how much you don't know about your own life."
Nathaniel stiffened. "I've been trying to be honest with you."
"You've been trying," she echoed, spinning to face him. "But what about actually being honest, Nathaniel? What about the lies that have built this entire marriage?"
He closed the distance between them slowly, cautiously. "If I could undo the way this started, I would. But I can't. All I can do is prove to you that I'm here now—because I care about you. Because I want you."
Her heart thudded in her chest, but she crossed her arms. "Wanting me now doesn't erase the way you used me before. You married me because of a deal. You married Isabella... because it benefited your business."
Nathaniel's jaw tightened. "Yes, I did. But I stayed because I fell for you. Because I saw who you really were, Arabella."
Her name rolled off his tongue like a promise, soft but firm. And yet, it didn't erase the sting of betrayal lodged in her chest.
She turned her back to him again. "I need space."
He didn't press further. "I'll give you that. But please, talk to Elina. She's worried about you too."
Arabella's expression faltered. Elina—her constant anchor—had called twice today, but she hadn't answered. She needed time to think, to breathe.
Later that evening, after Nathaniel left the penthouse for another meeting, Arabella stood on the balcony with her phone in hand. The city lights sparkled below like stars scattered across the earth. She finally pressed the call button.
"Arabella!" Elina's relieved voice came through instantly. "You've been MIA for two days, girl. I was about to call the police."
Arabella chuckled softly. "I'm sorry. I just needed time to process everything."
There was a pause on the other end. "You mean the Olivia thing?"
"And everything else," Arabella replied. "The lies. The contracts. This whole identity."
Elina exhaled. "I know it's a lot. But you're not alone in this. And maybe... just maybe, Nathaniel isn't the villain you think he is."
Arabella leaned against the railing. "Then why does it still feel like I'm living someone else's life?"
Elina didn't answer immediately. "Because part of you still doesn't believe you deserve the one you're living."
That struck deep. And she hated that it might be true.
---
The next morning, Arabella decided to visit the one place she'd been avoiding since her rebirth: the private library her father once owned. It had been untouched since his death, and Nathaniel had quietly secured the rights to it after their marriage. Why, she didn't know. But she needed answers—especially about her past.
The dusty shelves towered around her as she pushed open the heavy wooden doors. The scent of old books, mahogany, and faded perfume flooded her senses. Memories trickled in—her father's gentle voice, teaching her how to read financial journals before bedtime, her mother's laughter echoing through the halls.
She moved toward the center of the room and found a locked drawer beneath the grand desk. Her fingers brushed the keyhole. She hesitated.
Then, she reached into her coat pocket. Nathaniel had given her a key two weeks ago, claiming it was "for something important."
Click.
The drawer creaked open.
Inside were documents—some yellowed with time, others crisp and fresh. Bank records, contracts, property deeds... and a journal. One with a red leather cover. Her mother's initials etched on the front.
Arabella's breath hitched.
She opened it slowly, flipping through the entries. Love notes. Despair. Mentions of an affair. Fear of being watched. One line stood out:
> "They think I don't know. But I see the game they're playing with Isabella. If anything happens to me, it won't be an accident."
Arabella's blood ran cold.
What was this? Was her mother warning her from beyond the grave? Or simply paranoid?
Suddenly, the pieces began to fall into place. Her mother's sudden illness. Her father's distant behavior. The rushed marriage contract. The silence from everyone who used to know her.
"Arabella," came a voice from the entrance.
She looked up sharply. It was Nathaniel.
"How did you know I was here?" she asked, voice shaky.
"I saw the drawer key was missing." He stepped closer. "I figured you went searching for answers."
She held up the journal. "You knew about this, didn't you?"
"I suspected," he admitted. "But I wanted you to find it on your own. It's your past. Not mine."
Arabella's eyes brimmed with questions, pain, and something else—resolve.
"I want the truth, Nathaniel. All of it. No more lies. No more secrets. If we're ever going to have anything real... I need everything laid bare."
He nodded solemnly. "Then come with me. There's someone you need to meet."
Arabella narrowed her eyes. "Who?"
"Someone who knows exactly what happened to your parents. And why you were meant to disappear."
Arabella's heartbeat echoed in her ears as she followed Nathaniel through the corridors of the private estate he rarely spoke of—a property tucked away on the outskirts of the city, known to no one except those who had once been close to the King family. The air inside the black SUV was tense, weighted with unspoken truths and a growing sense of anticipation.
Nathaniel glanced sideways at her. "You can still back out if you're not ready."
Arabella's grip on the journal tightened. "No. I've been kept in the dark for too long. I need answers."
After a long, winding drive through the secluded estate roads, the car finally pulled up to a modest, ivy-covered manor. The building looked untouched by time, as though frozen in an era Arabella had long since left behind. As they stepped out, a man in his late sixties waited by the entrance—thin, composed, with silver-streaked hair and calculating eyes.
"Arabella," the man said softly, offering a polite nod. "It's been a long time."
Arabella stared, her mouth parting in shock. "Mr. Hargrove...?"
The family's former legal advisor.
"You remember me," he said with a faint smile. "Your father used to say you had an excellent memory. I wasn't sure if that would remain after everything."
Arabella's mind reeled. "You disappeared. Right after my parents died."
"I had to," he said, gesturing toward the entrance. "Please. Come inside. I believe you deserve to know what really happened."
Inside the sitting room, Arabella sat across from Hargrove, the journal still in her lap, Nathaniel standing quietly behind her like a silent pillar of support.
Mr. Hargrove leaned forward, fingers intertwined. "Your parents' deaths weren't natural, Arabella. Your mother was poisoned slowly—arsenic laced into her skincare. Your father's brakes were tampered with two days before his fatal crash. But they never left any evidence behind. No trail. Nothing I could take to the authorities."
Arabella's breath caught in her throat. "But why?"
"Because your father was going to pull out of a dangerous deal with the Cartwright family—Olivia's relatives," he explained. "And that threatened years of alliances and secrets. He wanted to protect you. But by then, it was already too late."
She stared at him, eyes wide. "So they silenced him."
"Yes," Hargrove confirmed. "And when your mother found out, she tried to disappear with you. That's when she began writing everything in that journal—just in case she didn't survive."
Arabella opened to a torn page at the back—one she hadn't noticed earlier.
> "If you ever read this, Arabella, trust no one until you've seen the full picture. And if Nathaniel is the one by your side... then perhaps he was different after all."
Her throat tightened.
"I was supposed to be next," she murmured. "That's why I had to disappear... why I had to become Arabella and leave Isabella behind."
Hargrove nodded. "Your new identity saved your life. Nathaniel may not have known all the details, but I suspect his instinct to marry you was part protection, part necessity."
Arabella turned to Nathaniel slowly. "Did you know they were trying to kill me?"
Nathaniel hesitated. "I had suspicions. But I didn't have proof. All I knew was that your life was being threatened. I wanted to keep you close—to shield you, even if it meant doing it in the wrong way."
"And now?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"Now," Nathaniel said firmly, "I'll do whatever it takes to protect you. Not just from them—but from the lies we built this relationship on."
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then Hargrove added, "There's more. The Cartwrights aren't done. Olivia's reappearance wasn't a coincidence. They're planning something—something that could ruin both you and Nathaniel if you're not careful."
Arabella's eyes narrowed. "Then we need to be ahead of them."
Nathaniel gave a subtle nod. "Which means we stop reacting—and start controlling the narrative."
---
Back at the penthouse that night, Arabella stood on the balcony once again, the journal resting against her chest. The truth burned inside her like wildfire—painful, illuminating, and necessary.
Nathaniel joined her moments later, two glasses of wine in hand.
"Drink?" he offered.
She took one, swirling it thoughtfully before meeting his gaze. "I want to believe you, Nathaniel. I want to believe you didn't just marry me for power."
"I didn't," he said quietly. "Not anymore. I know I went about things the wrong way. But I fell in love with you before I even realized it. Before I could stop myself."
Arabella stared at him, her voice barely audible. "And if I can't forgive you for the lies?"
He took a step closer. "Then I'll keep proving the truth until you do."
She looked away, unsure how to respond. The air between them was no longer filled with the same suffocating tension—but something more fragile, more complex. A quiet hope buried beneath layers of hurt.
Then her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Text message: We know who you are, Isabella. And your secrets won't stay buried forever.
Arabella's breath caught.
Nathaniel read the message over her shoulder, his expression darkening. "They're making their move."
Arabella straightened her spine, jaw set. "Then it's time I make mine."
Because she was done being afraid. Done hiding.
Let the world come for her.
This time, she would be ready.