Chapter 67
Arianne knew she was dreaming. Yet she could do nothing but watch the scenes unfold before her. These nightmares had persisted for years, resurfacing most often around the anniversary of her mother’s death.
She watched a younger version of herself standing outside her parents’ bedroom. She was eight and had just returned from her piano lesson. She had never liked it, though her mother insisted she continue.
“Mommy?” the young Arianne called through the closed door.
Faint crying came from the other side
The scene shifted.
Now she watched herself years later, hiding behind a door late at night while her parents argued inside the bedroom. The words were sharp, overlapping. Tears ran down the young girl’s face.
The door swung open without warning. Her father stepped out, knocking the child backward onto the floor. He paused, looked down at her, and clicked his tongue in disapproval before walking away.
Ysabella followed him into the hallway but failed to stop him. The front door closed moments later.
When Ysabella returned, she found her daughter standing near the bedroom entrance. Her expression had changed.
She grabbed Arianne’s shoulders.
“This is all your fault. I should never have given birth to someone like you p>
Arianne jolted awake.
She sat upright in bed, her breathing uneven. A cold sweat clung to her skin. She pressed both hands over her face and held still until her breathing slowed.
Today, she would meet the head of the Conway family—her maternal grandmother. Though she had long chosen distance from both the Conways and the Summers, avoidance was no longer possible.
The persistence of the dream made that clear.
She no longer mistook these dreams for coincidence. They surfaced when contact became unavoidable. The mind tended to retrieve unfinished arguments before negotiation.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. The silk nightrobe rested on the armchair beside the window. She slipped it on and tied the sash securely at her waist.
The adjoining washroom light flicked on. She leaned over the sink and turned the tap. The water ran cold against her palms. She splashed her face once, then again, until the lingering traces of sleep receded.
Arianne slightly shivered from the cold. She immediately dried her face with a clean towel and applied a toner to prevent dryness.
After drying her face, she returned to the bedroom just as her alarm rang. She silenced it immediately.
She descended the stairs intending to prepare breakfast despite her lack of appetite. Skipping meals before negotiation had never improved performance.
When she entered the kitchen, she found Franz standing before the open refrigerator, examining its contents.
“I thought I warned you about making a mess before sunrise,” she said evenly. “Are you trying to burn the kitchen down p>
Franz stepped back from the refrigerator door, color rising faintly to his face.
“No, Aria. I was just looking for something to prepare for breakfast p>
Arianne crossed her arms.
“That concerns me more. I’d rather avoid Aunt Estella’s complaints. Let me handle it. You can cut the vegetables and start the coffee p>
“You can cook?” he asked.
She raised a brow.
“I am capable of feeding myself p>
Franz nodded.
They moved around the kitchen without collision. Franz rinsed vegetables at the sink positioned beneath the window. Arianne arranged bread, ham, and produce on the counter island between them.
He watched her assemble the sandwich.
“How do you think the Conways will respond to our marriage?” he asked.
The ham met the heated pan with a quiet sizzle. She did not look up immediately.
“If they disapprove, it will not alter anything,” she replied.
When she first married Franz, she had anticipated discomfort in cohabitation. Five months later, that concern had not materialized. Their schedules conflicted, but conflict between them had not.
“They care about appearances,” Franz said.
Arianne flipped the ham once before transferring it onto the bread.
“They care about order,” she corrected.
There was no bitterness in her tone.
Franz watched her assemble the sandwich with steady hands. The conversation about her mother’s death from the night before did not seem to have unsettled her movements. If anything, she appeared more composed.
“Will they question your marriage?” he asked.
“If they do, it will not be in a way that invites discussion,” she replied.
She placed the final slice of bread on top and cut the sandwich cleanly in half. The blade met the cutting board with a firm sound.
“They will observe first. They will not confront without preparation p>
Franz nodded.
She removed the apron and folded it over the back of a chair. The moment of domestic quiet had served its purpose. There was nothing more to delay.
Gio entered the kitchen already dressed in a dark suit.
He did not comment on the food.
“The car will arrive in thirty minutes,” he said.
Arianne finished her coffee and set the cup down near the edge of the counter. There was no hesitation in her movements now. The earlier remnants of sleep had long disappeared.
Franz watched her stand.
“You don’t need me there,” he said, not as a question.
“No,” she replied. “This concerns the Conways p>
There was no dismissal in her tone. Only clarity.
Aunt Estella stepped into the kitchen doorway but did not approach further.
“You’ll return before dinner p>
“Yes p>
No elaboration followed.
Arianne went upstairs briefly and returned dressed in a tailored dark suit. The lighter fabric from earlier had been replaced.
Gio waited near the entrance.
Franz moved aside to open the door without being asked.
Arianne paused for a fraction of a second as she stepped past him. Their eyes met, but no reassurance was exchanged. None was needed.
Outside, the car idled at the curb. The driver stepped out to open the rear door.
Gio entered first. Arianne followed.
The door closed. The vehicle pulled away smoothly from the curb and turned toward the road leading to the Conway estate.
The city blocks passed in familiar sequence. Traffic remained light at that hour. As they approached the older district, the spacing between properties widened. Stone walls replaced modern fencing. The Conway estate would appear at the end of the private drive, unchanged.
Arianne did not look back.