Chapter 3 Taking Back What's Mine

Aria I stared at Brad, his words still hanging in the air, like poison I couldn’t scrub away. “You want to give me a child?” I repeated, my voice calm but deadly soft. He smirked, hands still casually shoved in his pockets like he hadn’t just insulted everything I had left. “What? You’d rather end up alone forever?” I took a slow step toward him, tilting my head, studying him like he was something disgusting I had found on my shoe. “You think I want a child from you?” I whispered, and his smirk faltered, but only for a second. I smiled, sharp, cruel, all teeth. And before he could blink, my hand snapped out. The crack of my palm against his cheek echoed through the room. He stumbled back a step, his hand flying to his face, his eyes wide with shock. “You think so little of me that you believe I would accept pity?” I hissed, my body trembling with rage I could no longer contain. “You think after everything you’ve done to me, I would let you touch me?” Brad’s shock quickly melted into anger. “You crazy bitch—” But I was already moving. I walked to the bookshelf, running my fingers over the row of leather-bound books. “You know what’s funny, Brad?” I said softly. “Everything in this house… everything you enjoy… I bought it.” With a sharp shove, I knocked the entire row of books to the floor. His eyes widened. “What are you doing?” I turned to him, eyes blazing. “Taking back what’s mine.” I marched to the decorative vases by the window—the ones I had picked out. Without hesitation, I swept my arm across the table, sending them crashing to the floor, shards scattering like the pieces of my broken marriage. Brad lunged forward. “Aria, stop!” But I wasn’t finished. I moved to the paintings on the wall—art I had chosen, paid for. I yanked the first one down and let it crash to the ground. “Everything I bought,” I said, voice cold as ice, “everything I brought into this prison you called a home, I’m taking back. And what I can’t take—” I turned and kicked over the side table, watching it splinter against the floor. “I’ll destroy it.” “Aria!” Brad barked. “Are you insane?!” I whirled on him, laughing bitterly. “No, Brad. I was insane to ever think I could make this marriage work. But I’m done being the quiet, obedient wife.” He stared at me, jaw tight, but before he could speak again, the door burst open. Margaret stood there, her face pale with shock and growing rage as she took in the mess around me. “What the hell is going on here?” She snapped, her eyes darting between me and Brad. “Oh, don’t mind me,” I said sweetly. “I’m just collecting what belongs to me.” Margaret marched toward me, her eyes blazing. “You ungrateful little bitch! How dare you destroy this house?” I arched a brow. “House? You mean my house? Funny, because last I checked, my name is on half the deeds, half the shares—” “That belongs to Brad now!” she spat. “You’re nothing but an outsider, a woman clinging to a name she no longer has!” I stepped closer to her, our faces inches apart. “No, Margaret. I’m the woman who propped up this family’s business when your precious son was too busy in bed with his mistress.” She raised a hand like she was about to slap me, but I caught her wrist midair. “Don’t,” I warned softly, my eyes locking onto hers. “Don’t make that mistake.” For a moment, we stayed frozen like that—she glaring, me calm but cold as ice. Finally, she yanked her hand back with a sneer. “You’ll regret this, Aria. You’ll leave this marriage with nothing but the clothes on your back.” I gave her a slow smile. “Try me.” Brad rubbed his jaw where I had slapped him, still glaring but silent. “Go ahead,” I added, my voice sharp as glass. “Call your lawyers. Call whoever you want. But by the time I’m done, everyone will know who built Blackwell Holdings back from the dead—and who nearly destroyed it.” Margaret’s lips thinned. “You always were a mistake. My son never should have married you.” “Believe me,” I said with a bitter laugh, “that’s the only thing we agree on.” Without another word, I turned on my heel and strode toward the door. “I’ll be sending people to collect everything that belongs to me,” I threw over my shoulder. “And if you try to stop me, I’ll see you in court.” Brad didn’t stop me. Margaret didn’t either. They just stood there in their ruins, watching me leave. By the time I arrived at my apartment, night had fully fallen. The city lights outside glowed like tiny embers, and for the first time in a long time, the weight on my chest felt lighter. I dropped my bag on the floor and kicked off my heels, walking to the window and resting my forehead against the glass. “I’m done,” I whispered to the night. Done pretending, and I'm done pleasing everyone but myself. I stared out over the skyline, my mind already spinning with plans. I would take back what was mine—my father’s company, my name, my life. My phone buzzed; I rushed to it, and it was my attorney: "Miss Kensington, you got the shares, but they aren't enough." I froze. Shit! I hung up, and as I was about to throw the damn phone against the wall, it rang again. I stared at the phone. It was an unknown number. I hesitated but answered. “Hello?” “Arian Kensington?” a deep, smooth voice asked. “Who’s asking?” There was a pause—and then the man spoke again, “Ethan Stone.” My breath caught in my throat. Ethan Stone. The man everyone in the business world feared. The man who was whispered about in every boardroom—and the one person my mother had refused to let near me before she died. “I just wanted to let you know that if you ever need anything from me. I'm always here to help." With that, he hung up.