Heartbeat Of Her Own

I stood by the window of our mansion, watching the rain hit the glass like it’s trying to break through and touch me. The room was cold but I didn't care and everything feels quiet, but it’s the kind of quiet that hurts. The kind that carries memories. I press my fingers to the cold glass and try not to cry again. Chicago is a big city, but somehow it still feels too small for me because it could not hold all this pain I carry. I’m not who I used to be. And if someone asked me what changed me, I would say: death. Not just one, but two. The first was my father. The second was the part of me that believed love was safe.

My father was everything. Strong, warm, wise. He used to hold my hand even when I was already a grown woman and say, “You’ll always be my little girl, Arielle.” He owned Monroe Enterprises, but to me, he was never the CEO. He was just Dad, the man who brought me hot chocolate during storms, who sang along to old jazz songs off-key, who looked at me like I was magic. The day he died, something in me cracked. I remember it like it happened yesterday. I was on my way to meet him for lunch as usual, dressed in a soft cream dress he loved. My phone rang just as I stepped into the cafe. I thought it was him. It wasn’t.

It was the hospital. A heart attack. Suddenly. No chance to say goodbye.

I still remember the way I fell to my knees in the middle of that cafe, clutching my phone like it was a lifeline. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I just wanted him to wake up. To call me with his deep voice and say it was all a bad joke. But he never did. I buried him under gray skies with my fingers digging into the wet earth like I could pull him back somehow.

After that, I should have had people around me. But I didn’t. I had Liam as my fiance. And I had Vivian, my best friend since I was fifteen. Or at least, I thought I did.

Grief is a strange thing. It makes you soft and raw and quiet. I stopped going to the company board meetings. I didn’t want to argue over numbers and power. I wanted time. Just a little time. But they didn’t wait. Liam started stepping into my father's seat. Vivian stayed by his side. I didn’t question it at first. I trusted them. They told me to rest. They told me everything was fine.

Until the day I walked into the office and found them kissing behind closed doors.

I can still hear Vivian’s gasp, still see the way Liam looked at me, guilt and coldness all in one. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just stood there, frozen. My hands shook as I listened to them tell me they didn’t mean for it to happen. That they were in love. That my father’s death changed everything.

But I had changed too. And not in the way they thought.

I left that building that same day. I left without fighting, without asking questions, without begging for answers. They stole my shares using legal tricks and forged signatures. They said I wasn’t mentally stable. That grief made me unfit. I could have fought back. I could have stayed and clawed my way through the lies. But I didn’t. I had no energy left.

I moved to Chicago two weeks later. I rented a small apartment with no heat, no luxury. I started over like a ghost trying to be real again. I took odd jobs consulting for broken businesses, managing money for people who had nothing. And slowly, I learned to live with silence. I didn’t go out. I didn’t date. I didn’t laugh the way I used to. But I survived.

Every night, I lit a candle for my father. Not because I thought he needed it. But because I did.

Then, three years later, it came.

An email. Simple. Cold. Unfamiliar.

From: Damian Wolfe

Subject: Proposal

Message:

Arielle Monroe, I need to see you. It’s about your father’s company. Your name still matters. We both have something to gain. If you care at all about the Monroe legacy, meet me. Tomorrow. 11 a.m. My office.

No greetings. No warmth. No explanation. Just that.

I stare at the message for a long time. I’ve heard of Damian Wolfe. Everyone has. He’s the man who builds empires and breaks competitors with one look. Ruthless. Silent. A billionaire who doesn’t smile. I don’t know why he wants me. Or what he means by "something to gain." But the name Monroe in that email feels like a string tied around my chest, pulling me back to the place I swore I’d never return.

I should delete it. I should protect the broken pieces I’ve tried so hard to glue back together. But instead, I whisper out loud, “What if this is my chance?”

What if this is the moment I stop hiding? What if I can finally take back what they stole from me? Not the company. Not the money. But my name. My fire. My heartbeat.

I take a deep breath. I replied.

“I’ll be there.”

And just like that, the storm inside me shifts. Not because I forgive. Not because I’m ready. But because I know now I can’t run forever.

If the past wants to face me, then I’ll meet it head-on.

Even if it comes wearing a billionaire's suit and speaks with ice in his voice.

Even if it means pretending not to be scared.

Even if it means falling again.

Because this time, I won’t fall apart.

This time, I’ll write every heartbeat with my own hand.