24 Hours Later
The Monroe estate looked exactly like what it was—old money trying way too hard to impress people. All glass and sharp angles, perched up on the hills like it was judging the rest of LA. The paparazzi were still camping out by the gates like vultures, which was just fantastic for Ariella's already pounding headache.
She stood at the top of the marble steps, squinting through her oversized sunglasses at the black SUV rolling up her driveway. Her arms were crossed, partly from attitude and partly because she was still a little shaky from last night's... activities.
Here we go, she thought. Time to meet Daddy's newest punishment.
The guy who got out of the driver's seat?
Yeah, he was definitely not what she'd expected.
No cheesy chauffeur hat. No fake smile. No "Good morning, Miss Monroe, what a lovely day."
Leo Cruz looked like he could break someone in half without breaking a sweat. Tall, built like he actually used those muscles, wearing all black like some kind of off-duty bodyguard. Buzzed hair, sharp jawline, and these intense gray eyes that seemed to look right through her designer bullshit.
He opened the back door and just... waited. Didn't even say hi.
Rude much?
"Wow," Ariella said, not moving from her spot. "First day at work and you're not trying to impress your boss? Not even a good morning?"
Leo's expression didn't change. "Good morning."
His voice was all gravel and zero emotion. Like he was reading from a script he didn't particularly care about.
She rolled her eyes. "Charming. You know, I was expecting some uptight ex-cop with a superiority complex, but you're more like—"
"Ex-Marine," he said simply. "Six tours. Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria. You want to keep guessing, or can we get moving?"
Oh. Oh.
Well, that explained the whole "I've seen some shit" vibe he had going on.
Ariella clicked down the steps in her ridiculous heels, because if she was going to be babysat, she was at least going to look good doing it.
"Fine, soldier boy. Let's get this over with."
She slid into the backseat, crossing her legs and immediately pulling out her phone. If he wanted to play the strong, silent type, she could play the spoiled princess. Easy.
The Silent Treatment
The tension in that car was suffocating.
Ariella scrolled through Instagram, trying to look like she didn't care that this guy was completely ignoring her existence. But she did care. She hated being ignored. It made her feel invisible in all the wrong ways.
After what felt like forever, she cracked.
"So... don't you want to know where we're going?"
"You'll tell me when you figure it out," Leo said, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
She stared at the back of his head. Was he seriously going to be this boring the entire time?
"You're not curious about me at all? No questions about my 'wild lifestyle'?" She used air quotes, even though he couldn't see them. "Most people have opinions about me."
Silence.
This was getting ridiculous. She leaned forward, close enough that she could smell his cologne—something clean and understated, not like the expensive stuff the guys she usually hung out with wore.
"You know," she said softly, "most men would consider this a pretty sweet gig. Getting paid to drive around a beautiful woman all day..."
Leo's eyes flicked to hers in the rearview mirror. For a second, she thought she might have gotten to him.
"I'm not most men," he said quietly.
And somehow, the way he said it made her stomach do this weird little flip.
She sat back, biting her lower lip. She didn't know whether she wanted to scream at him or... something else entirely.
A Memory She'd Rather Forget
Age 17. Some producer's son's birthday party in the Hills.
She remembered the bathroom floor being cold against her cheek. The way the room spun like a carnival ride. Someone screaming her name, but it sounded far away and underwater.
When she woke up in the hospital, her father's assistant was there with paperwork. Not her dad. Not her mom. Just Janet with her clipboard and her fake concerned expression.
"Your father's in Tokyo," Janet had said. "But don't worry, we've handled everything with the press."
Handled everything. Like she was a PR crisis instead of a person.
She'd wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. They never came anymore.
Back to Reality
Leo pulled up to a curb downtown without any warning.
"You're late," he said.
Ariella looked around, confused. "Late for what?"
"PR meeting. Damage control interview. Check your phone."
Sure enough, her phone was buzzing with missed calls and texts. Her publicist, her father's assistant, someone from some morning show wanting a statement about the crash.
Fantastic.
"So you're stalking my calendar now?" she asked, but there wasn't much bite in it. She was mostly just tired.
"I'm doing my job," Leo said simply. "Your father pays me to make sure you show up where you're supposed to be. Alive and functional."
She opened the car door slowly, suddenly feeling about a hundred years old.
"I don't like you," she said, because it seemed like the right thing to say.
Leo looked at her in that calm, steady way of his. Like she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out.
"You're not supposed to," he said.
And with that, Ariella got out and slammed the door harder than necessary.
Downtown Los Angeles – Private Studio
The studio felt like stepping into a dentist's office, all bright white lights and that antiseptic smell that made your skin crawl. Ariella Monroe took one look around and immediately wanted to bolt.
She fiddled with her sunglasses as some overly enthusiastic producer practically bounced over to greet her.
"Miss Monroe! Oh my gosh, thank you so much for coming in today. We're just going to have a nice little chat, you know? Nothing too serious."
"Right," Ariella muttered, trying not to roll her eyes. "Because getting grilled on live TV is totally my idea of a fun Tuesday."
Her manager was practically vibrating with nervous energy beside her. "Ari, honey, please remember what we talked about. Just... try to be yourself. The nice version of yourself. The version that doesn't make headlines."
She shot him a look. "Dave, when have I ever made things easy for you?"
He opened his mouth to answer, then seemed to think better of it.
Over by the exit, Leo was doing that thing he always did, standing perfectly still, watching everything, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. She hated how he could make leaning against a wall look like some kind of art form. And she really hated how his quiet confidence made her feel like she was about to mess everything up.
She plopped down in the interview chair, crossing her legs and trying to channel some semblance of composure.
The host, a woman with the kind of smile that probably took years of practice to perfect beamed at the camera.
"Good morning, everyone! I'm here with Ariella Monroe, and we're going to have an honest conversation about second chances, growing up in the spotlight, and how she's moving forward after a really tough time."
The red light blinked on. Here we go.
ON AIR
Host: "So Ariella, I have to ask—how are you holding up? Really?"
Ariella:(with a small, genuine smile) "You know what? Some days are better than others. I'm still figuring it out, honestly."
Host: "A lot of people have opinions about what happened. Some say you're just misunderstood, others think you're... well, struggling. What's your take?"
Ariella:(laughing softly) "I think people are going to think what they want to think, you know? I had a really bad night. Like, spectacularly bad. And yeah, I made some terrible choices. I'm not going to pretend I didn't."
Host: "The accident footage was pretty scary to watch. What do you remember about that night?"
Ariella:(her smile fading) "Mostly just... chaos. Flashing lights, sirens. And this overwhelming feeling of 'Oh god, what have I done?' The fact that nobody else got hurt ,that's the only thing that lets me sleep at night."
Host: "There's been speculation about whether you were under the influence. Can you address that?"
Ariella:(sighing) "Look, I wasn't in a good place. I'd been drinking, I was upset, and I made the incredibly stupid decision to get behind the wheel. I take full responsibility for that. I can't undo it, but I can learn from it."
The studio felt quieter somehow. Even the cameras seemed to be holding their breath.
Host: "Some people see your behavior as a cry for help. Do you think that's fair?"
Ariella:(her voice getting softer) "Maybe it was. I've spent so long trying to be what everyone else wanted me to be that I kind of lost track of who I actually am. And when you're drowning like that... sometimes you make a lot of noise hoping someone will notice."
Her manager looked like he was having a mild panic attack, but Leo was watching her with something that looked almost like... pride?
Host: "What would you say to people who think you're just another spoiled rich kid who can't handle reality?"
Ariella was quiet for a moment, really thinking about it.
"I'd say... you're probably not wrong. I've had every advantage in the world, and I still managed to screw things up pretty spectacularly. But I'm trying to do better. Not because I have to, or because it'll fix my reputation, but because I want to be someone I can actually respect when I look in the mirror."
Post-Interview – Backstage
The cameras stopped rolling, and suddenly everyone seemed to exhale at once. The host gave Ariella a quick hug, a real one, not the fake TV kind—and whispered, "That was really brave."
Ariella was pulling off her mic when Dave practically pounced on her. "Okay, that wasn't terrible. I mean, it wasn't the script we discussed, but it wasn't terrible."
"Dave, when have I ever stuck to a script?" she asked, grinning despite herself.
Leo pushed himself off the wall and walked over, his expression unreadable as always.
"So what now, Cruz? Ready to drive the wild child home?"
"Sure ," he said, falling into step beside her as they headed for the exit.