She was maddening—undeniably the most stubborn, exasperating woman I'd ever met. And somehow, that only made her more irresistible. The more she defied me, the deeper I fell.
Sometimes, I looked at her and forgot how to breathe. Not because she was perfect—but because even her flaws felt like they belonged to me. Even when she was furious, she was beautiful. I'd never met anyone who could drive me up a wall and still make me want to hold them close in the same breath. That was her. Always both.
Her food would be slipped through the slot in her door, but she'd flush it down the toilet. I knew because I had cameras set up everywhere, tracking her every move. Everywhere except the glass-enclosed shower—where I'd deliberately angled the camera away. Even with all my obsession, there were lines I refused to cross. Boundaries I chose to respect, no matter how much I wanted her.
She thought starving herself would be some kind of rebellion. Cute. As if her defiance didn't make me want her more. Every flushed plate felt like a challenge. A middle finger. And still, all I could think was how beautiful she looked even when she was being a brat. I should've been angry. Furious, even. But watching her fight me in these little ways? It made me crave her all the more.
But it had been three days. The charity gala, where I'd announce our 'engagement', was just a day away. Yet, Ariana lay on the bed, her frame shrinking to almost nothing from starvation.
Was she trying to kill herself?
I was starting to think I'd have to announce our engagement via IV drip. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm thrilled to announce that I'm marrying this lovely bag of bones..."
"…Mr Fisher…"
Honestly, if she wanted to die, she should have just jumped out the window. But no, instead, she was just being her usual stubborn, dramatic self. I mean, starvation was so last season. Where's the flair in that?
She sat on the bed, clutching her broken phone like it was a wounded puppy, trying to bring it back to life. I mean, was she optimistic or just oblivious? I'd damaged that phone beyond repair - it wasn't going to magically resurrect like my patience.
"…Mr Fisher…"
I snapped back to attention, my gaze sweeping across the room to meet the stares of the board members and investors. The room fell silent, broken only by the faint buzz of the speakers.
I cleared my throat, the sound echoing through the room. I shifted my computer to the side, my gaze flickering back to it repeatedly.
I leaned back in my leather chair, intertwining my fingers and resting them on the wooden conference table "You were saying?"
All eyes were on me, wondering why I wasn't paying attention. I met their gaze, my expression neutral, as my eyes briefly drifted to the empty seat where Andrew once sat.
Mia Roussel, A redhead and the chairperson, broke the silence, her words blunt. "We were discussing our recent decline in sales. What's your plan to address this, Mr. Fisher?" Her blue eyes locked onto mine.
Our history was complicated, but we'd both agreed to keep things professional when I decided to focus on Ariana. Yet, Mia's definition of 'professional' was… flexible.
My brows furrowed as her words hung in the air. "I believe we can turn that around within the next—" I began, but Lucas Brooks, his glasses perched on the end of his crooked nose, cut me off.
"I'm not convinced, our financials are taking a hit," his frown deepened.
Well, you'd be convinced if you let me finish
Sofia, the Arabic venture capitalist, nodded in agreement. "I agree with Lucas. We need tangible results, not just promises."
My glare swept across the room, meeting their sceptical gazes "I'll provide a detailed report by the end of the week, outlining our strategy and financial projections," I replied with a measured tone.
How dare they question me? I'd built this company from the ground up, and my track record spoke for itself. Their doubts were nothing but a personal attack and a selfish attempt to threaten my position.
My gaze flicked back to my computer screen, where multiple camera feeds were fixed on Aria.
I watched as she walked towards the door, her movements cautious and sluggish, she grabbed her lunch through the food slot. I had ordered James to ensure she was fed before he returned to our meeting.
She took the tray, placed it on a table, and then returned to the door, peeking through the food slot to check if anyone was there. Seemingly satisfied that she was alone, she grabbed the tray and headed to the bathroom.
I switched to the bathroom camera feed and watched as she flushed the contents of the tray down the toilet.
Her stubbornness was almost...amusing. She was starving herself out of spite, and somehow still managed to look elegant doing it. I should've been furious. Instead, I found myself smirking. Of course, she'd pull something like this. I hated that part of me respected it—her quiet rebellion, her need for control. It made her real.
Raw.
Mine.
"We expect to see—" the IT director began, but I abruptly cut him off.
"Meeting dismissed," I declared, my gaze remaining fixed on Ariana as she wiped the tray and plates clean with tissues.
Her skin was pale and her movements were slowed by a lack of energy. She was hungry – like, seriously hungry. As in, one-step-away-from-passing-out hungry.
But she'd rather wither away than give me the satisfaction of obedience. It was petty. It was reckless. It was... so undeniably her. She was collapsing in slow motion, just to prove she wasn't mine. But she was. She is. Even now.
If this was her version of resistance, it was beautiful in a way that made me sick with guilt—and burning with desire. She looked like a dying rose, proud and wilting, and I hated how much I wanted to reach through the screen and save her from herself.
She was trying to make a point. And yet, all I wanted was to carry her to the bed and force-feed her something warm—because watching her like this was driving me insane.
Mia's smile grew wider, "We heard you're getting married," Her voice dripped with false innocence. "It's a shocking news to everyone."
My expression remained stoic as I raised my gaze to meet hers. "Yes, I am," I replied flatly then paused for a moment before repeating, "Meeting dismissed."
The conference room slowly cleared the murmur of conversations fading into the distance. I took a moment to collect my thoughts, reviewing the key points discussed during the meeting. Just as I thought I was alone, the unmistakable scent of Mia's cherry perfume caught my attention.
"What is it?" I asked, my gaze remaining fixed on the computer screen, where I continued to monitor Ariana. She had re-entered the room, empty tray and dishes in hand.
"You've been staring at your computer far too much," She finally spoke.
"How does that physically affect you?" I retorted. I wasn't angry, I just wanted her to leave like everyone else, but I knew she wouldn't. God, I hated when beautiful women like her didn't know when to stop. I've always tried to be nice with my words when I spoke to ladies but Mia was always testing my patience.
She was beautiful, yes. But even the most stunning roses have no place in a garden that already belongs to someone else. I didn't want to be cruel. But every time she batted her lashes and lingered too long, I felt the leash on my civility tighten.
"It doesn't," she replied, leaning in, deliberately showcasing her cleavage. I didn't flinch. Her little act of seduction fell flat, and when she realized it, the smug smile slipped right off her face.
"You found her," she stated, the words landing heavier than she intended.
Yes, I did. But I had no intention of wasting another second on this pointless conversation with Mia. I had far more urgent matters to handle—like feeding my wife. My Angel. I wasn't wasting another second here. Not when the woman I adored was wasting away behind a locked door.
"Can you leave?" I asked, keeping my tone as polite as I could manage. She scoffed, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.
I wasn't a saint, but I tried not to bite unless I had to. She kept poking like she wanted to be the exception. I didn't hate her—I hated that she wasn't Ariana.
"Well, good luck with that" She glared at me, her eyes flashing with fury before she finally spun on her heel and exited the room with a loud bang, the door slamming shut behind her. The sound of her heels clicking on the floor faded into the distance
I let out a frustrated sigh. It seemed like people were constantly pushing me to my limits these days.
I leaned back in my chair, palms dragging down my face as I stared out at the blurred city skyline. A memory crept in—uninvited, vivid. I was eight, clinging to my mom's hand as we visited my dad's office. She was radiant, her laughter echoing like music. And then… the crash. Metal shrieking. Glass shattering. That sound has lived in my head rent-free ever since. It took everything from me in one breath. One blink.
It was strange how memories could come and go like tides—gentle one second, violent the next. One second I was seeing her laugh, the next, I was hearing her scream. That day rewrote everything about my life. I went from being someone's son to being no one's anything. I never forgot the way my mom looked that morning—like sunshine wrapped in silk. I also never forgot the way her hand slipped from mine when the world went dark.
Some days, I wonder if I died in that crash too—just not physically. Pain like that doesn't just fade. It etches itself into you, turning soft moments into razors when you least expect it. Every time I look out over the city, I see ghosts. Not of people, but of what life could've been.
It was a fatal accident that had taken everything from me. The numbness returned like an old, unwelcome companion, reminding me that no matter how many years passed, the pain of that loss never truly faded—no matter how hard I tried to pretend it did.
Grief had a funny way of disguising itself—sometimes it showed up as silence, sometimes as rage. And sometimes, like now, as a heaviness in my chest that I couldn't shake.
You'd think time would dull the edges, but it didn't. It just taught me how to bleed without making a sound. I told myself I'd moved on, built walls high enough to keep the past out. But memories had a way of slipping through cracks I didn't know existed.
I didn't cry anymore. Not because I didn't feel it, but because somewhere along the way, the tears dried up. Only the ache remained. Some part of me was still stuck in that moment, still hearing the screech of tyres and the finality of silence that followed.
I tore my gaze away from the window and back to the laptop, pushing old memories into a mental attic.
I steeled myself, eyes fixed on the screen where Ariana lay weakly on the bed, looking like she'd rather die than eat anything I fed her.
Why did she make everything so damn difficult? She thought I couldn't see it—how badly she wanted to give in. The truth was, she wanted to take the easy way out. But she was too proud, too angry to admit it.
I had to make her eat and fingers crossed she wouldn't treat me to a Broadway-worthy performance of dramatics and tantrums today.