Chapter 23

Aria POV
The restaurant was called Celestine—all white tablecloths and crystal chandeliers, the kind of place where people came to be seen.
I hadn’t wanted to be seen today.
Olivia sat across from me, her auburn curls pulled back in a neat bun as she stabbed at her salad with more force than necessary.
“So he’s been showing up every day?” She looked up at me.
“Every single day.” I cut into my salmon. “Flowers. Voicemails. Waiting in lobbies. This morning he was in the parking garage.”
“That’s borderline stalking.” She set down her fork.
“It’s definitely stalking.” I took a bite, though the food tasted like nothing. “But what am I supposed to do? Call the police on a Blackwood?”
“You could get a restraining order.” She reached for her water glass.
“That would make everything public.” I shook my head. “The press would have a field day. ’Billionaire CEO’s Ex-Wife Files Restraining Order.’ My face would be everywhere.”
“So what, you just let him harass you?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I’m handling it.” I set down my knife and fork.
“By ignoring him?” She wasn’t buying it.
“By refusing to engage.” I picked up my wine glass. “He’ll get bored eventually.”
“Will he?” She leaned forward. “Because from what you’re telling me, he sounds desperate.”
“He’s guilty,” I said, taking a sip. “That’s different from desperate.”
“Is it?” She tilted her head.
I opened my mouth to respond, then saw them.
My parents. Walking through the restaurant entrance.
My blood turned to ice.
“Aria, what’s wrong?” Olivia turned to see what I was looking at.
“We need to leave.” I reached for my purse.
Too late. They’d spotted me.
Charles Monroe approached our table in his expensive suit while Eleanor followed behind in pearls and a designer dress. They looked exactly as I remembered—rich, cold, and entitled.
“Aria, darling.” Eleanor’s voice dripped false warmth. “What a lovely surprise.”
“It’s not a surprise.” I didn’t stand. “You’ve been following me.”
“Don’t be dramatic.” Charles pulled out a chair from a nearby table. “We’re simply dining at the same restaurant.”
“Celestine is two hours from Ravenwood.” I set down my wine glass. “You don’t eat here.”
“We thought we’d try something new.” Eleanor sat in the chair Charles had pulled over. “Can’t a mother have lunch with her daughter?”
“You’re not my mother.” The words came out flat. “You stopped being my mother the day you threw me out.”
Olivia’s hand found mine under the table and squeezed it.
“We’ve come to apologize.” Charles sat as well, uninvited. “What we did was wrong.”
“Save it.” I pulled my hand away from Olivia’s. “Whatever you want, the answer is no.”
“We heard you’ve done very well for yourself.” Eleanor’s eyes swept over my designer dress, my jewelry. “Monroe Global is quite impressive.”
“You heard,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Or you’ve been keeping tabs?”
“We’re proud of you, sweetheart.” Charles’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve accomplished so much.”
“Without your help.” I watched them both carefully. “In fact, despite your help.”
“We made mistakes.” Eleanor reached across the table toward my hand.
I pulled it back. “Don’t touch me.”
She withdrew, her wounded expression perfectly practiced. “Aria, please. We want to make amends.”
“Why now?” I asked. “Three years of silence. No phone calls. No letters. No concern about whether I was alive or dead. Why now?”
Charles and Eleanor exchanged a look.
“We’ve fallen on hard times,” Charles admitted.
There it was. The real reason.
“Hard times.” I repeated the words slowly. “You mean bankruptcy?”
“The business has struggled.” Charles cleared his throat. “Some bad investments. The market downturn”
Charles’s face flushed with desperation. “You think we chose this? After you left, Damien cut us off and ended the Blackwood contracts that propped us up. Bad investments buried us, and now we’re losing everything.” His voice turned pleading. “We’re your parents, Aria. Help us.”
“You want money.” I cut him off. “That’s why you’re here.”
“We’re your parents,” Eleanor said, actual tears forming in her eyes. “We’re still your parents—you owe us.”
The rage hit me like a tidal wave. I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor.
“I owe you?” My voice was low. Dangerous. “I owe you nothing.”
“Aria, people are staring.” Eleanor glanced around nervously.
“Let them stare.” I leaned forward, palms flat on the table. “You threw me out pregnant. You chose Vivian over me. You called me a liar and a disappointment. You told me to get rid of my baby or never come back.”
“We were upset—” Charles started.
“You were greedy.” I straightened. “You sold me to Damien Blackwood like I was property. Then when that didn’t work out, you discarded me.”
“That’s not fair.” Eleanor’s tears were flowing now—the first time I’d ever seen her cry.
I almost believed them. Almost.
“Fair?” I laughed, the sound bitter. “You want to talk about fair? I gave birth alone in a foreign country. I worked odd jobs while nursing a newborn. I built everything I have from nothing while you sat in your mansion and pretended I didn’t exist.”
“We’re sorry.” Charles stood now too. “We’re truly sorry, Aria. We made terrible choices.”
“You made choices,” I said, grabbing my purse. “And now you have to live with them.”
“We’re broke.” Eleanor’s voice cracked. “The house is in foreclosure. We have nothing.”
“Then you understand how I felt.” I pulled out my wallet and threw three hundred dollars on the table. “For the meal. And the entertainment.”
“Aria, please—” Charles moved toward me.
“Don’t.” I held up a hand. “Don’t come near me. Don’t call me. Don’t show up at my office or my home.”
“We’re your parents.” Eleanor was openly sobbing now. “You can’t just abandon us.”
“Watch me.” I turned to Olivia. “We’re leaving.”
“Aria Monroe, you walk out that door, and I’ll make sure everyone knows what kind of daughter you are.” Charles’s voice had changed—harder now, threatening.
I stopped, then turned back slowly.
“Is that a threat?” I took a step toward him.
“It’s a promise.” He straightened his tie. “I’ll go to every newspaper, every gossip site. Tell them how you abandoned your family. How you kept your child from his father. How you’re a cold, calculating”
“Do it.” I smiled. “Please. I’d love to see you try.”
His confidence wavered. “You don’t think I will?”
“I think you’ll regret it.” I moved closer. “Because I have lawyers. Very good lawyers and expensive lawyers. And if you breathe one word about me or my child to anyone, I will bury you so completely, you’ll wish bankruptcy was your only problem.”
“You can’t” He started.
“I can.” My voice was soft but deadly. “I’ve spent years building power specifically so people like you can never hurt me again. So test me, Dad. See what happens.”
The color drained from his face.
Eleanor grabbed his arm. “Charles, maybe we should”
“You should leave.” I stepped back. “And if I ever see either of you again, I’m calling the police. Do you understand?”
Neither of them moved.
“Do. You. Understand?” I repeated each word slowly.
“Yes.” Charles’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Good.” I turned to Olivia. “Let’s go.”
We walked toward the exit as the entire restaurant fell silent, every eye on us.
I didn’t care.
Outside, the afternoon sun was too bright. I fumbled for my sunglasses, my hands shaking.
“Holy shit.” Olivia grabbed my arm. “That was—”
“Necessary.” I put on the glasses. “It was necessary.”
“Are you okay?” She studied my face.
“No.” I took a breath. “But I will be.”
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out. Another message from Damien: Please. Just let me explain. I know I don’t deserve it, but—
I deleted it without reading the rest.
“Him again?” Olivia asked.
“Always him.” I dropped the phone back in my purse. “It’s like he doesn’t understand the meaning of no.”
“Men like that usually don’t.” She started walking toward the parking lot. “They’re used to getting what they want.”
“Well, he’s not getting this.” I followed her. “Not me. Not Noah. Not anything.”
“What if he doesn’t give up?” She unlocked her car.
“He will.” I opened the passenger door. “Eventually, he’ll realize I’m serious.”
“And if he doesn’t?” She slid into the driver’s seat.
“Then I’ll make him.” I got in and closed the door.
Through the restaurant windows, I could see my parents still sitting at our table—Eleanor’s face buried in her hands, Charles staring at nothing.
For a moment—just a moment—I felt something like regret.
Then I remembered the night they threw me out, the way Eleanor had called me an embarrassment, the way Charles had told me to “handle” my pregnancy and never come back.
The regret vanished.
“You did the right thing.” Olivia started the engine. “You know that, right?”
“I know.” I watched the restaurant disappear in the side mirror. “Doesn’t make it easier.”
“Nothing about this is easy,” she said, turning onto the main road. “But you’re handling it.”