Chapter 164: "What Do You Even Know About True Love?"

The rows of chairs outside the surgical wing were more crowded than they had ever been on an ordinary day.

Men from both House Sartori and House Lombardi had been sent there, surrounding Aren with a heavy security detail, while Jordan remained inside undergoing emergency surgery.

Aren sat beside Leo, but she could barely stay still.

Every few minutes, she abruptly rose from her chair, startling the men nearby, and hurried toward the doors leading to the operating suite.

She could see nothing beyond the corridor outside, but that did little to quiet the anxiety twisting inside her.

After a few moments, she would return to her seat, only to repeat the same restless routine minutes later.

When Leo saw her settle back down again, he felt compelled to offer whatever reassurance he could.

"The bullet struck Mister Jordan in the shoulder, not the spine or the skull. I’m not entirely sure why he lost consciousness from a shoulder wound, but I’m fairly certain it isn’t life-threatening and shouldn’t leave any lasting consequences."

He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"You shouldn’t worry too much, my lady. The young man should be fine."

Aren sighed, grateful for his attempt, though the knot in her chest remained.

"Thank you, Leo... but I can’t help it," she murmured. "Jordan must have lost half his blood before they even got him onto the operating table. The bullet may have clipped one of the major arteries beneath his shoulder."

Her voice lowered with concern as her gaze returned to the surgical doors.

"Patching something like that requires real expertise."

That effectively exhausted Leo’s supply of reassurance. His expression tightened, and he lowered his gaze without offering another empty promise.

The heavy silence between them returned once more, until echoes of footsteps suddenly sounded from farther down the corridor.

Leo looked up and immediately recognized the group coming down the hall.

Giovanni Porto was walking toward them with several of his men, and beside him was Natalia — the very person responsible for turning what should have been a celebration into the current crisis.

Alarm flashed across Leo’s face. He shot to his feet and immediately waved toward the guards.

"Attention. It’s the Porto heiress! Gather around! Protect Lady Ariana!"

The surrounding men reacted instantly.

Chairs scraped against the floor as they rose, weapons ready, before they formed a protective wall around Aren.

Giovanni, meanwhile, had finished enjoying his cigar and returned to his usual cheerful, easygoing demeanor.

Carefully arranging an expression of regret, he signaled for his men to stop and raised both hands toward the guards.

"No, no, no," he said quickly. "This is a terrible misunderstanding. I’ve come in peace. May I have a word with Lady Ariana personally?"

Leo stepped forward, speaking on behalf of the men.

"With all due respect, Don Giovanni, we’ve been ordered by our boss not to let Lady Natalia anywhere near Lady Ariana under any circumstances."

Aren, however, had no intention of remaining hidden behind the men.

She moved around them and cautiously poked her head past the edge of the protective formation.

"Oh, it’s Don Giovanni..." she said quietly.

Her expression cooled the moment her eyes settled on Natalia.

"Excuse me, but why is she here? I don’t wish to see her anywhere near Jordan right now."

Natalia returned the look with an equally cold glare.

For an instant, the murderous hostility that had filled her eyes in the warehouse returned in full force.

Giovanni immediately stepped between the two women before the tension could escalate.

"Oh, dear! Lady Ariana, there you are. We’ve come looking for you regarding a very important matter."

He turned toward Natalia, and his expression hardened at once.

"What are you waiting for? Go ahead and redeem yourself."

Natalia’s expression changed immediately.

Hatred still lingered plainly across her features, but she forced it down and took a reluctant step forward.

"Would you mind if we had a private conversation, Lady Ariana?" she asked, attempting to sound casual. "There’s a waiting room down that way. I... I’ve got..."

Something caught in her throat, and she had to force the next words out.

"...I’ve got an apology to make."

The Lombardi and Sartori guards exchanged confused glances. Leo narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Natalia, then turned toward Aren.

"My lady, I strongly advise against it. Even if you wish to speak with her, we should send some of our men along with you."

Giovanni readily agreed.

"Of course!" He clapped his hands together. "All of you may come along and stand guard outside. I assure you, we’ve only come to apologize to Lady Ariana personally. Nothing more."

Aren fell silent as she considered the sudden invitation. Her gaze swept over Natalia carefully, searching for any concealed weapon.

The purse Natalia had carried earlier was gone, and Aren could see no obvious firearm or blade on her.

’I should be able to take her out on my own if anything goes wrong.’

’Besides, I want a word with her myself.’

With that decision made, Aren finally stepped away from the protective wall of men. She turned toward the corridor Natalia had indicated and gestured for her to lead the way.

"Lady Natalia, shall we?"

─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─

The waiting room was small and enclosed, with Aren’s army of guards now stationed outside the door.

A single sofa occupied one side of the room, but neither Aren nor Natalia showed any interest in sitting. They stood several paces apart instead, arms folded as they regarded each other in silence.

Whatever courtesy they might once have maintained between them had disappeared. After what had happened in the warehouse, there was no longer any reason to pretend they were anything but enemies.

Natalia was the first to speak.

"How’s Jordan’s condition?"

"I can’t tell yet," Aren replied flatly. "He lost a lot of blood. Fatal shock at worst. Several months of recovery at best."

Something lurched painfully inside Natalia’s chest.

She had watched Jordan fall. She had seen the blood. Yet she hadn’t imagined the consequences would be so severe.

For a fleeting moment, an uncomfortable vulnerability passed through her, but she quickly clenched her teeth and forced it down.

"Let me make this clear, Ariana Lombardi."

Natalia gestured toward the corridor outside.

"I intended to shoot you, not Jordan. Jordan was merely collateral damage I hadn’t accounted for. My father sent me here to make a formal apology to you, and that’s what I’m here to do."

Her gaze sharpened, the hostility in it unmistakable.

"But don’t misunderstand me. I don’t regret what I did, and I don’t feel sorry about any of it. So don’t get too full of yourself and start thinking you’ve gotten everything your way."

Aren returned the glare with one of her own. She had known all along that Natalia had intended to kill her.

What she couldn’t understand was how the woman could stand there without a trace of remorse after shooting Jordan instead.

"Don’t you feel sorry at all for shooting Jordan?" Aren asked, narrowing her eyes. "I thought the two of you had been friends since childhood."

The question struck a nerve.

"We are!" Natalia snapped immediately, her carefully maintained composure cracking. "We are supposed to be engaged. We’re supposed to get married. We’re supposed to have a family together!"

Her voice dropped into something bitter.

"...Until you suddenly decided to ruin everything."

"Excuse me?" Aren stared at her in disbelief. "You claim you and Jordan are supposed to become a family, and yet you’ve tried to sabotage his ammunition? You even sent your men into the maze to corner him."

"What’s the big deal about those?" Natalia muttered challengingly, making no attempt to deny it. "I’ve loved Jordan since I was twelve. I’ve loved him for eleven years. What would a few tricks cost if they could keep us together for another eleven years? Or even longer?"

"...Love?" Aren repeated, incredulous.

The word felt completely out of place. Natalia spoke of love as though it could somehow justify everything she had done, and the idea made absolutely no sense to Aren.

Aren stepped closer, her expression hardening.

"Do you even know what those men did to Jordan because of your plan? They stomped on his hand until it bled. They hit him hard enough in the head to leave deep injuries along the side of his face. Then they wrapped him in chain-link wire, sharp enough to dig into his ribs whenever he moved, even slightly."

Disgust twisted across her features.

"Is that the kind of love you’re talking about?"

The more Aren spoke, the more Natalia’s cold expression began to fade. Disbelief replaced it as the details sank in.

She had ordered them to restrain Jordan. She certainly had never imagined they would brutalize him to that extent.

’Fucking morons.’

’I didn’t tell them to do any of that.’

She swallowed her anger and stepped closer, her voice turning colder.

"Don’t stand there lecturing me about love when you’re the sort of whore who’ll sleep with one man one day and crawl into another man’s bed the next. Aren’t you with Caio Sartori already? Why can’t you keep sucking his cock and leave Jordan alone?"

A harsh scoff escaped her.

"But you can’t, can you? The temptation is too great. You’re already addicted to the chase. You enjoy it. But when the thrill eventually disappears, will you even be capable of loving Jordan the way I do? Would you ever go to the lengths I would for him?"

Her voice dropped, sharp with contempt.

"What does a whore like you even know about true love between a man and a woman?"

For a moment, Aren had no answer.

She simply stood there, studying Natalia as the words filtered through her mind, each concept strangely foreign to her.

’Temptation?’

’The chase?’

’The thrill?’

’What is she even talking about?’

Slowly, her hands clenched at her sides with growing fury.

Memories of her final mission surged back into her mind — the bunker, the detonator in her hand, the certainty that she might never walk out alive.

She remembered accepting death without hesitation because there were people she had loved enough to die for.

’What does she know about me to question what I know about love?’

’What does she know about what I’m willing to do for it?’

She lifted her gaze and met Natalia’s eyes without wavering.

"I might not know much about the kind of love you’re talking about," she said steadily, "but I know one thing for certain. I would never claim to love someone and then do horrible things to them the way you did."

She took another step forward, her voice tightening with conviction.

"And if you really want to know, I care about Jordan more than you could ever imagine. If anything happens to him, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect him. I wouldn’t even mind dying for him."

Her gaze never wavered.

"That’s my kind of love."

Natalia stared at her, as though she had just heard something impossible.

She could hardly believe Ariana Lombardi was capable of saying such a thing, much less saying it with that unwavering certainty.

For reasons she couldn’t explain, Natalia suddenly felt an invisible pressure bearing down on her. Aren wasn’t doing anything except looking at her, yet the intensity of that gaze unsettled her so deeply that she instinctively took a step backward.

"Like I’d believe a single word you say." Natalia scoffed, forcing the unease out of her voice. "Save that bullshit for someone more naive, like Jordan."

She turned sharply toward the door, then paused long enough to throw Aren one final glare over her shoulder.

"This whole apology ends here. Enjoy your victory while you can, but don’t enjoy it too much." Her voice hardened. "I’m not losing another battle this easily."

With that, Natalia strode toward the door and slammed it hard behind her.

WHAM!

A moment later, the sound of her heels echoed through the corridor, followed by the footsteps of the Porto men as they left with her.

Aren remained where she was, staring at the closed door for several seconds before finally releasing a quiet breath.

’...True love between a man and a woman?’

Her gaze lowered thoughtfully.

’Seems like there’s a lot I need to ask Don Caio tonight.’