Chapter Eighteen- A huge pillow?

"Here? Now?" At this point, all the remnants of sleep have been chased away by a sudden surge of adrenaline.

"Yes, Miss Cole. He's waiting in the lounge. Shall I send him up or would you prefer to come down?"

I glance down at myself, still in my dress, my hair a mess from lying on the pillow. "I'll be down in a moment," I say, hanging up the phone before she can ask more questions.

I swing my legs off the bed, feeling the cool air of the room against my skin. Reluctantly, I pad to the bathroom on bare feet, my steps silent on the plush carpeting. 

I quickly splash cold water on my face, hoping it will clear my mind as well as make my face look more...presentable.

As I pat my face dry with a towel, I catch a glimpse of myself. My eyes are not too swollen but they are still puffy from all that crying I did earlier this night.

I smoothen down my hair, though it's a futile effort; it remains in tangled curls that fall over my shoulders, framing my face in a way that feels more haunted than charming tonight.

With a deep breath, I leave the bathroom and slip into a pair of fluffy slippers with bunny ears, beside the bed.

How funny I must look right now.

The thought of facing him now, again, isn't something I'm looking forward to, but I steel myself, knowing avoidance isn't an option. I leave the suite, making sure to grab my keycard and lock the door behind me.

The corridor is eerily quiet at this hour, the only sound my soft footsteps as I make my way to the elevator. The journey down feels longer than it should, each floor passing with a ding that echoes in the silence.

When the doors open to the lobby, a different woman from whom was there this evening sits behind the receptionist's desk and gives me a nod, her eyes following me subtly. I ignore it and head straight to the lounge area.

He is there, sitting in one of the plush armchairs, a smug smile playing on his lips as he sips from a glass of brandy. His silver hair is impeccably styled, and his suit, even at this hour, looks as if he's just stepped out of a board meeting.

"Mr. Gaines," I say, trying to sound calm as I approach him.

"Aria," he replies.

"Why are you here?" I ask, arms akimbo.

He gestures to the seat opposite him. "Sit, Aria." His voice is calm, almost soothing, which only heightens my unease.

Reluctantly, I sit, crossing my arms to protect myself from whatever he's about to throw at me.

"I expected you to have called me by now," he says, his eyes narrowing slightly as he sets down his glass.

"As I've told you before, I'm not interested in your deal." I retort, the words coming out sharper than intended.

"Oh, but you should be," he counters. "Think about what I have to offer."

"I'M NOT GOING TO BE YOUR SPY. I DON'T WANT YOUR FILTHY MONEY!"

He leans forward, all traces of calmness gone from his voice this time. "So that's it? You would prefer if I told Crane about everything? About how your father embezzled millions from his own company, leading to its collapse? About how your brother is a criminal?"

My eyes widen at this sudden outburst and I'm left unable to speak. He continues. "Would you like him to know that you're not just Aria Cole, but Aria Hartfield, the former heiress to Hartfield Enterprises, once a major player in pharmaceuticals, now rubble because of your father's greed?"

My heart sinks; my worst fears vocalized. I try to speak, to defend, to explain, but he cuts me off, his words relentless.

"Your idiot of a father should be rotting in jail now. He should be locked up, yes. That's what he deserves."

Mr Gaines eyes gleam with fury and his voice is now very raised and I look around timidly to make sure no one is listening in on this conversation.

"Crane Group is a big company; I'm surprised they didn't do a background check on you. Mr. Crane wouldn't want someone with such a... tainted background in his inner circle, would he?"

Each word from him feels like a stone thrown into the still waters of my life, creating ripples of doubt and fear.

"I—" I start, but he talks over me again.

"If he knew, you'd be out of a job faster than you can say 'Hartfield'. You're living a lie, Aria. And I can help you maintain it, or I can ruin it. It's your choice."

My mind spins in circles. I think of my brother, of the debt, of the threats, and now this.

I look away, feeling the weight of his words. The lounge, with its soft lighting and quiet elegance, feels like a cage now.

"What do you want from me?" I ask, finally, my tone resigned.

"The same as before," he says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Information. On Crane. On his plans. His meetings. His secrets. I know he's here for a private meeting. I want all the inside info I can get."

I swallow hard, my mind calculating the risks. If I refuse, my life here is over. If I agree, I betray Mr. Crane.

"I need to think," I say, standing abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor.

"Think quickly, Aria," he warns, his tone cold. "You wouldn't want me to spill the tea."

I leave the lounge without another word, my steps hurried as I return to the elevator, many thoughts running through my mind, none of them good. As the doors close, I lean against the back wall, feeling the weight of my choices pressing down on me.

Back in my room, I fall back onto the bed but I'm unable to sleep again.

...

As dawn creeps through the curtains, I find myself still staring at the ceiling, my mind racing over every possible scenario.

Finally, with the sun up, I drag myself out of bed, feeling like I've aged a decade in a night. My clothes from yesterday, the green dress, is still the only option I have since I haven't brought any spares.

"Great way to start the day," I mutter to myself.

I take a long, hot bath in the tub and the water feels good, but my reflection in the mirror afterward tells a different story, it's still the same weary eyes and tight jaw.

"You're a mess, Aria," I tell my reflection, trying to smooth the curls that seem to have multiplied overnight.

Hungry and with nothing else to wear, I call room service, ordering the first thing on the menu.

If I'm going to face Mr. Crane and that investor in yesterday's clothes, I might as well do it with a full stomach.

When the food arrives—pancakes, eggs, bacon, and a fruit salad that looks too good to be true—I dig in with the enthusiasm of someone who hasn't eaten in days.

After breakfast, I decide a walk around the hotel might clear my head. As I step out of my suite, my gaze involuntarily flicks towards Mr. Crane's door.

What is he doing right now? Sleeping? Plotting world domination? I blush, remembering the events of yesterday.

He saw me in just a towel, dammit.

The elevator ride down is spent battling the echoes of Mr. Gaines' words. I make a mental note to call my mom about Josh later. The lounge is sparse when I arrive, the morning light casting long shadows across the floor.

I spot Mr. Crane and Sophia at the far end of the room. She strikes me as even more beautiful than yesterday and her wavy hair is now in a chignon. Mr Crane's back is to me and I can see the back of his head shaking as he laughs at something she just said.

Mr Crane laughing?

That's very rare.

As they're laughing over coffee, and I feel a pang of something rush through me. 'Jealousy?' My subconscious asks.

No, why would I be jealous? I shake it off and walk towards them, Mr. Crane looks up, his blue eyes sharp as ever.

"Good morning, Miss Cole. This is Sophia Moreau" he says, with no further introduction. Sophia gives me a polite nod, her smile warm and charming.

Before I can say anything, she excuses herself, mentioning a call, leaving me alone with Mr. Crane.

His gaze drops to my outfit, and I feel my cheeks warm. "I forgot the shopping bags at home in my haste yesterday," I explain, feeling like a five-year old.

"Hm," is all he says, then extends his hand. "Give me your key. I'll have my driver fetch them."

"I don't think I even locked the door," I admit, grimacing at the thought. "But I'll go get it anyway."

As I leave the lounge, I am so distracted that I don't see the person coming towards me until it's too late. I bump into what feels like... a huge pillow? It's soft, squishy, and very, very big.

I look up into those beady eyes.