CHAPTER 19 - DON’T MISTAKE ME
Saturday mornings at the Callahan estate were typically quiet — the calm before the curated chaos. But this one buzzed beneath the surface, like something had been disturbed and refused to settle.
Zelda had invited Ariyah over again.
Under the pretense of working on their Gothic redesign.
They were holed up in the sunroom, surrounded by tracing paper, colored pencils, and half-eaten macarons from Marie's favorite French bakery. Ariyah sat cross-legged on the couch, animatedly sketching a window arch as she talked about spatial symbolism.
Zelda just watched her — chin resting in her palm, a small smile tugging at her lips.
There was no performance in Ariyah. No careful pauses. No double meanings. She just was.
And Zelda? She could breathe around her.
Which was probably why it couldn't last long.
---
Footsteps clicked on marble.
Marcella.
She stepped into the sunroom like she'd been summoned — silk robe cinched tight, espresso in hand, expression unreadable.
"Oh. Didn't know we were hosting today," she said smoothly, eyes landing on Ariyah.
Zelda didn't rise. "We're working."
Marcella's gaze skimmed the sketch mess. "On?"
"Our Gothic redesign for the studio."
Marcella smiled faintly. "That's sweet. It's nice you're… including everyone."
Ariyah's pen paused. "Everyone?"
Marcella waved a hand. "People outside the family. Outsiders."
Zelda's spine straightened.
But Ariyah? She simply placed her pen down, turned fully toward Marcella, and smiled.
"Would you like to see the renderings?" she asked pleasantly. "Maybe then you'll comment on the work instead of the people doing it."
Marcella blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I just think if you're going to interrupt, it should be for something useful," Ariyah continued, still smiling. "Otherwise, it starts sounding personal."
Marcella's lips parted — but no words came.
Zelda held back a grin.
---
Ten minutes later, Marie entered the room with a tray of drinks — water, hibiscus tea, lemon slices. She paused when she noticed Ariyah.
"You're here again," she said, not unkindly. But not warmly either.
Zelda stood. "We're halfway through our project."
Marie set the tray down. "I see. I just thought you might want some space to… focus."
Zelda tilted her head. "We are focused."
Marie's eyes flicked to Ariyah. "Still. It's a sensitive time. There's been a lot of change. And not everyone handles change gracefully."
Ariyah met her gaze. Calm. Clear. "Are you talking about me, ma'am?"
Marie blinked. "I didn't say that."
"But you implied it," Ariyah said gently. "So I want to be clear — I didn't come here to change Zelda. I came because she asked me to. Because we're in the same department. Because she's a person, not a pedestal."
Zelda's breath caught.
Marie said nothing.
Ariyah stood. "I'm not interested in your money. I'm not impressed by this house. And I'm not intimidated by people who think worth comes with inheritance."
Marie stiffened.
But Ariyah stepped forward, not aggressive — just grounded.
"You think I don't belong? Maybe I don't. But I've earned everything I have — even if it's not much. And I won't apologize for being enough for someone who finally feels safe."
Zelda's chest swelled with something like pride. Like warmth. Like the truth.
Marie studied Ariyah for a long moment.
Then nodded, slow. "Thank you for your honesty."
And left.
---
Later that day, Zelda sat with Ariyah under the old willow in the backyard, tracing her fingers through grass while Ariyah munched on strawberries.
"I've never seen someone talk to Marie like that," Zelda murmured.
Ariyah laughed. "I was terrified."
"You didn't look at it."
"I've been poor all my life," she said. "But never powerless."
Zelda turned her face toward the sun. "They'll test you. Again and again."
"I'm not going anywhere."
Zelda blinked at her.
Ariyah smiled. "Unless you ask me to."
"I won't," Zelda whispered.
---
But not everyone was outside.
Lucien watched from the library window, arms folded, unreadable.
He'd seen it all.
Marcella's attempt to sting.
Marie's hesitation.
Ariyah's quiet defiance.
And Zelda — choosing her. Over comfort. Over control. Over him.
He didn't know whether he admired her.
Or envied her.
---
That night, Marcella paced her room. Her phone buzzed — a message from someone unnamed.
We saw her.
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
And then she typed:
Make sure the others see it too.
She's not one of us.
---
But neither was the man in the shadows.
The second brother leaned against the balcony railing, watching the garden below.
Watching her.
Zelda.
Laughing softly with someone who didn't wear masks.
His jaw clenched.
Not because he hated it.
But because she was slipping away.
And he hadn't even said hello yet.