Ariella struggled to concentrate. The text in the book Gabby had pushed her to read swam before her eyes, her thoughts consumed by Wellington's intense gaze from that morning. The honesty in his voice and his quiet worry unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
Something felt off.
Days drifted by in a blur of doctor appointments which seemed endless and overwhelming, specially prepared meals tailored to suit Gabby's preferences and Gabby's constant presence. Wellington, however, remained a distant figure, always observing. Each time their eyes met, Ariella sensed a strange connection, as if she were on the brink of something significant.
It was during a late-night walk through the townhouse that she began to connect the dots of her discomfort.
Well after midnight, Ariella surrendered to her insomnia. She slipped out of bed, pulled on a warm cardigan, and meandered through the softly lit hallways. The townhouse was hauntingly quiet, with only the soft ticking of an old clock echoing in the background.
She paused outside the study—the very room where she had overheard the argument between Wellington and Gabby days earlier, unsure whether to go in. An unusual urge compelled her to step inside.
The door was open.
She carefully pushed it aside and entered. The room had a scent of leather mixed with a hint of cologne. Bookshelves filled with expensive literature lined the walls. In the center, a large mahogany desk was neatly organized.
Her eyes scanned the room taking in a beautifully designed flower pot with African patterned lines. Beside it rested a wooden drawer with a polished gold nameplate and crested on it were the initials W.L.A.
She moved closer and noticed that the drawer was slightly open. She ran a finger across the initials and pulled the drawer open. Inside it were some old newspapers dated some fifteen years back, a stopwatch, old letters neatly stacked and some picture frames. A particular picture frame drew her attention.
She carefully reached for it, her breath catching as she lifted it.
It was an old photo, edges slightly worn. A young boy with familiar dark eyes smiled next to a girl with messy auburn hair.
Ariella's heart skipped.
She recognized this picture.
She recognized this boy.
Memories flooded back, overwhelming her.
Years ago, in a foster home filled with dust and sorrow, there had been a boy. He was everything to her. Her protector. The only warmth in a cold world.
His name was—
"Ariella?"
The deep voice startled her, jolting her back to reality. She turned quickly, gripping the photo frame tightly.
Wellington stood in the doorway, his face unreadable.
She found it hard to speak. "This—this picture—" She lifted it, needing to show she wasn't imagining things. "This is me."
For the first time, Wellington's calm façade broke.
"You remember." He said.
It wasn't a question.
Ariella felt her throat tighten. "It's you," she murmured. "You're—"
"Leo," he replied, his voice strained. "That's what you called me back then."
Her legs almost gave way.
Leo.
The name flooded her with forgotten feelings. She recalled the warmth of his hand, the soft promises shared under worn blankets, and how he vowed to always protect her.
And then... nothing.
He had disappeared one night, just like that. No explanation. No farewell.
She couldn't bring herself to comprehend what was happening. How could this be Leo, how could this man whose child is growing in her womb be Leo. Tears stung her eyes. Memories flooded her mind.
"You left me."
Wellington—no, Leo—stepped forward slowly. "Ariella, I—"
"Don't." Her voice trembled. "All these years, I thought you were gone. I thought you were a figment of my imagination"
His jaw tightened. "I never forgot you."
She let out a shaky, bitter laugh. "But you did. You never returned."
Something dark flashed in his eyes. "I tried."
His words hung heavily between them.
Ariella shook her head, trying to understand. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say anything when we met at the Agency?"
Wellington sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I wasn't sure if it was you or if you'd remember me. And by the time I was certain… things had already become complicated."
Ariella scoffed. "Complicated? I'm having your child."
He flinched.
For a moment, silence filled the space.
Then, Wellington stepped closer. "You have every right to be angry with me, but please believe that I never wanted to leave you. I fought to stay. But…" His eyes darkened. "Not everything was within my control."
Her stomach churned. "What does that mean?"
Wellington paused. "There are things you don't know Ariella. About my family. About Gabby."
At the sound of Gabby's name, a shiver ran through Ariella.
"What are you saying?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
His face grew serious. "I'm saying that this situation isn't what it looks like."
Ariella's heart raced in her chest. "Wellington, what are you hiding?"
He seemed ready to speak, but then the door creaked open wider.
A slow clap filled the room.
Gabby.
She appeared in the doorway, her smile sharp as a knife.
"Well," she said, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Isn't this just the most touching reunion?"
Ariella felt ice in her veins.
Gabby's eyes shifted to Wellington, her expression darkly amused. "Didn't I warn you, darling? You're awful at keeping secrets."
Wellington's fists clenched tightly as he gave Gabby a menacing look.
Ariella stepped back, her breath quickening in panic.
In that moment, she understood something horrifying.
Gabby had known everything from the start.
And whatever game she was playing… Ariella was caught right in the middle.