Aria's POV
"Aria, do you need a minute?" Maya's voice crackled in my earpiece as I slipped away from my desk. My stomach knotted—not from nerves this time, but from the ache lingering since yesterday.
"Yeah," I whispered. "Be right back."
I tucked my phone into my blazer pocket and hurried down the quiet corridor to the women's restroom. The sleek marble floors and chrome fixtures reflected a sterile calm that stood in cruel contrast to my racing heart. I pushed open the door, stepped inside, and locked it behind me.
I sank against the cool tile wall, closing my eyes. My head swam with exhaustion and lingering pain from yesterday's collapse. My belly ached in sharp jolts, but worse was the hollow ache in my chest—betrayal that still stung like fresh wounds.
I pressed a hand to my stomach, fingertips brushing the faint curve that held my secret. You're not safe here, I thought, unease curling around my spine. Not with her still lurking.
A soft click at the door startled me. I jumped to my feet, my back hitting the counter with a sharp thud. The lock rattled, but the door didn't open.
"Aria?" Maya's muffled voice through the door. "Everything okay in there?"
I exhaled. "Just… give me a second."
The lock clicked again. "If you need me, I'm right outside."
Before I could respond, the door handle shifted violently. The lock yielded, and the door burst open.
"Well, well, look who's in here."
My blood ran cold at the sight of Celeste Langford—her red dress clinging like armor, heels clicking on the tile. Behind her, a male colleague peeked in, jaw slack.
"I thought I told you to stay away from him," Celeste snarled, stepping inside. The door slammed shut behind her.
"Celeste—" I began, but she cut me off with a sharp laugh.
"Don't 'Celeste' me, you little—"
She advanced, eyes flashing. "You think you can waltz into my life and steal everything? My man, my career, my future?"
My heart pounded. "You don't know what you're talking about."
She scoffed. "Oh, I know exactly what I'm talking about. You sold yourself for a few dollars and a secretary job. Pathetic."
I squared my shoulders. "I didn't steal anything."
She lunged, hand curling into a fist. "Lies!"
Before I could brace myself, her fist connected with my cheek. Pain exploded across my face, stars dancing in my vision. I stumbled back, hitting the counter, fingertips skidding across the marble.
"Maya!" I tried to shout, but my voice cracked.
Celeste's lips curled. "Don't scream. No one's coming to save you."
She grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. "You think you deserve him? You're a disease."
I tried to wrench free, but she twisted my wrist, pressing me against the wall. The pain in my palm flared—my new injury from yesterday's collapse—stinging like fire.
"Stop it!" I gasped.
She sneered. "Not until I make you regret ever breathing."
With a sudden, brutal shove, she shoved me toward the door. I stumbled out into the hallway and crashed down a short flight of stairs—three steps, but momentum carried me further. Pain shot through my ankle as I tried to catch myself.
I heard a sickening crack and felt wet warmth beneath me.
"Aria!"
Footsteps thundered. "Somebody help her!"
I pressed a hand to my cheek, where blood welled, and another to my ankle, which twisted beneath me. Pain radiated in every direction. My vision blurred.
"Call 911!" someone shouted.
I tried to speak, but nausea and shock braided my tongue. The last thing I saw was Celeste's retreating heel, disappearing around the corner as colleagues rushed toward me.
"Stay with me, Aria!" a frantic voice hovered overhead. I blinked against the harsh white of fluorescent lights. A mask hovered in front of me—an oxygen mask—and I croaked, "Wh… what happened?"
A nurse knelt beside me, pressing my bleeding cheek gently. "You fell down the stairs outside the restroom. You're going to be okay. We're taking you to the ER."
Maya's tear-streaked face appeared at the foot of the stretcher. "Aria!"
I tried to reach for her, but IV lines held me in place. "Maya…"
Her trembling hands brushed mine. "I'm here."
As they wheeled me down the hallway, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Maya pressed a finger to her lips. She'll handle it.
"Mr. Westin—"
"What happened?"
Damon's voice, urgent and raw, crackled through the speaker. I blinked at the wordless sound of his panic.
"It's Aria," Maya's voice answered. "Celeste—she attacked her. She fell down the stairs."
A strangled curse echoed. "I'm on my way."
I closed my eyes, the corridor lights swirling as they shoved my gurney into the elevator.
"We need a CT scan," the ER doctor said as they transferred me to a trauma bay. "Possible concussion, facial fractures, a sprained ankle. Let's get you stabilized."
Maya hovered at my side, holding the blanket around my shoulders. "It's going to be okay," she whispered.
I tried to smile, but my cheek throbbed with every heartbeat. I blinked back fresh tears.
"She's tough," the doctor murmured. "We'll take good care of her."
The next hours passed in a blur of tests and stitches. They cleaned the cut on my cheek, set my ankle in a brace, and gave me pain medication that turned the world into soft focus.
"Mr. Westin is here to see you," Maya said after what felt like days.
I opened my eyes to see Damon standing beside my bed—jacket slung over one arm, tie loosened, eyes heavy with guilt and fury. He crossed the room in three quick strides and took my hand.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, voice thick. His fingers brushed the bandages on my cheek. "Tell me where it hurts."
I tried to speak, but a fresh wave of nausea hit. My vision jerked.
"Brace yourselves!" a nurse cried.
My eyes widened as I felt a hot rush of fluid leak from my IV. My heart slashed against my ribs.
"Something's wrong with her drip!"
The nurse ripped the IV line from my arm. I gasped as the world spun, my vision collapsing into darkness.
When I drifted back into consciousness, the room was dark and quiet. The overhead monitors beeped softly. I blinked at the stark white ceiling.
"Aria?" Damon's voice.
I turned my head and saw him sitting by my side, hand cradling mine. Relief flooded me.
"Damon," I rasped. "What happened…?"
He swallowed hard, eyes distant. "You stopped responding. Your vitals tanked. We… we almost lost you."
My chest tightened. "What… was in the drip?"
He closed his eyes. "Tests are—" His voice broke. "It wasn't an accident."
My heart thundered. "Celeste…"
He nodded, anger and sorrow etched on his face. "She's gone."
I blinked. "Gone?"
A soft footstep at the door made me lift my head. A nurse entered, expression grave, carrying a file.
"Mr. Westin," she said, voice hushed. "The coroner's report… Celeste Langford is dead."
I stared at Damon. "What?"
He rose, moving so fast I thought he would lift me from the bed. "She… she suffocated. They found her… in the supply closet."
My blood ran cold. "Supply closet?"
He clenched his jaw. "They think she injected something into your drip…and then… she collapsed herself."
My head swam. "Why?"
His voice dropped to a whisper: "Jealousy. Rage. I think she wanted you out of the picture, too."
My heart hammered. "So she… killed herself?"
He looked away, eyes glistening. "Yes. And nearly killed you in the process."
I pressed a hand to my mouth, tears slipping free. "I… I can't…"
"Shh." He brushed my hair back, voice gentle. "You're safe now."