Rebranding

Dr Chen's office

The therapist's office had this weird mix of lavender candles and that particular smell of people spilling their secrets. Ariella curled up in the corner of the couch, absently spinning her gold ring while trying not to laugh every time Dr. Chen mentioned her "inner child."

"Look, I'm not really sure what you want me to say here," Ariella finally said, slumping deeper into the cushions. "I'm always on drugs.... nearly killed someone the last time. Half the city thinks I'm trash, and my dad's basically throwing me into the deep end of a company I know absolutely nothing about. But hey, at least I'm here talking to you instead of popping pills, so... win?"

Dr. Chen's smile was gentle but knowing. "Sometimes recognizing the mess is the hardest part."

Ariella let out a dramatic sigh and flopped backward. "Fantastic. I've officially recognized my mess. Do I get a gold star? Can I go now?"

A week later, Ariella found herself standing in what looked less like a boardroom and more like the set of a magazine shoot. Everything was glass and marble, with stylists buzzing around and a full camera crew setting up in the corner like they were preparing to photograph the next cover of Vogue.

"You could have mentioned this was going to be a whole production," she muttered to Dave, tugging at the blazer that made her feel like she was playing dress-up in someone else's life. "I would've at least worn the shoes that don't scream 'daddy issues' quite so loudly."

Dave smiled back at her. "It's a branding shoot. PR strategy. You're the pretty face of Monroe Estate, remember?"

"Yeah, well, nobody asked me to run for that position."

"Your very public breakdown kind of put your name on the ballot."

She shot him a look that could've melted steel. He just smiled back and continued giving directions to the crew.

Two weeks into what everyone was calling "The New Ariella Era," she was officially shadowing different departments, trying to figure out how her family's empire actually worked.

So far, she'd managed to offend the VP of Finance by asking if "gross margin" was a description of his personality. She'd misread three different spreadsheets, accidentally dumped water all over a marketing prototype, and somehow nearly approved a $200,000 furniture order because she thought it was the lunch invoice.

"Why does everything have to be so incredibly serious all the time?" she asked Dave during a coffee break in the executive lounge.

"Because it's a billion-dollar company," he said, not looking up from his tablet. "Not a reality TV show."

"Hmmm..."

But here's the thing—despite all her jokes and eye-rolling, Ariella was actually trying. She showed up on time (mostly). She paid attention during meetings (when she could follow what they were talking about). She even stayed late sometimes, reading through reports until her eyes burned.

Her father had started giving her these little nods of approval. The staff had stopped whispering quite as much when she walked by. The board members were still watching her like she might explode at any moment, but at least they weren't actively flinching.

And Leo? He just kept observing everything. Her small victories, her spectacular failures, the tiny moments of progress that nobody else seemed to notice.

"So what's different?" Dr. Chen asked during their third session.

Ariella stared out the window, watching people rush by on the street below. Everything felt different. Nothing felt different. It was confusing.

"I think..." she started, then stopped. "I think I'm just exhausted from pretending I don't care about anything. The company, my dad, what people think of me. Other people."

"Other people?"

Ariella's mind immediately went to Leo—the way he'd started smirking at her ridiculous comments, how he'd gently steered her out of the gala when she had that breakdown, the little talk before the board meeting, treated her like she was capable of more than just being a beautiful disaster.

She cleared her throat. "Maybe."

Dr. Chen smiled knowingly. "We should definitely talk about that next week."

The drive back from therapy started out like most of their rides—quiet, with Ariella watching the LA skyline melt into golden ribbons through the passenger window. She was still processing her therapist's questions about "those people who matter" when Leo's phone lit up on the console.

He glanced at the caller ID.

"Hold on," he said, his voice already different as he answered. "Yeah?"

Ariella tried not to listen, but the way his voice dropped made her stomach clench.

"What happened? When did this start?... Is she conscious?... I'm coming now."

He hung up and immediately pulled over.

"Leo, what..."

"It's my sister." He wouldn't look at her, just stared straight ahead with his knuckles white against the steering wheel. "She had some kind of episode. Panic attack, maybe worse. They took her to the ER."

Ariella didn't even think about it. "Go."

"What?"

"You heard me. Go to her."

Leo turned to face her, and she could see him wrestling with something—duty, protocol, maybe pride.

"Look," she said, her voice gentler than usual, "You're her brother. That matters more than babysitting me."

St Louis General Hospital

Ariella had insisted on coming along, claiming she had nothing to do at home. The hospital hit them with that familiar cocktail of disinfectant and anxiety. Nurses moved between rooms like they were dancing to music only they could hear, and somewhere down the hall, machines beeped out their electronic lullabies.

Leo navigated the maze of hallways like he'd done this before, which made Ariella's chest tight in a way she didn't want to examine.

The room was small and dim, with one of those thin curtains that pretended to offer privacy. In the narrow bed was a young woman who looked like a delicate version of Leo—same dark hair, same expressive eyes, but fragile in a way that made Ariella want to speak in whispers.

"Mia," Leo breathed, and his voice cracked around the edges in a way Ariella had never heard before.

The girl's eyes fluttered open, and despite everything, she managed a smile. "There you are. I was wondering if you'd come."

Leo was at her side instantly, taking her hand. "They said you collapsed."

"I'm fine now, just got a little dizzy. I think I forgot to eat breakfast again." Mia's gaze drifted past her brother to where Ariella was hovering by the door. "You didn't mention your boss was gorgeous."

"Oh, I'm not....I mean, technically I'm not his boss," Ariella stammered.

Leo looked exhausted. "Mia, this is Ariella Monroe. Ariella, my sister , Mia."

"Hello," Ariella said softly, stepping closer to the bed.

Mia studied her with curious eyes. "You look kind of familiar."

"Yeah... I'm quite famous."

Mia squeezed Leo's hand. "He never talks about work, you know. Very mysterious."

"I know , right?," Ariella said, and Mia laughed.

Later, when Mia had drifted back to sleep, Leo and Ariella found themselves in the hallway under the harsh fluorescent lights that made everything look a little unreal.

"She's tougher than she looks," Leo said quietly, watching his sister through the doorway.

"Tough as you, soldier."

He glanced at her, something shifting behind his eyes. "You didn't have to come."

"I know." Ariella leaned against the wall beside him. "But I wanted to."

Without really thinking about it, she reached out and touched his wrist—just her fingertips against his skin, just one person telling another that they weren't alone. Just the quiet understanding that sometimes passes between people who've both learned that caring about someone can be terrifying and necessary all at once.