Chapter 7- The Conference

ARIANA'S POV

I stared at the glowing screen of my desktop, my eyes narrowing as I pulled up my assistant’s profile. The audacity of that man—his resume was painfully average, yet my grandfather seemed to speak about him like he was God’s gift to the business world. I didn’t get it. I didn’t want to get it.

Last night at dinner, Grandpa went on and on about him—his potential, his manners, his “refreshing perspective.” I wanted to throw my wine glass at the wall. He had no idea how infuriating it was to listen to praises about someone I could barely stand.

He thought this guy was special.

Let’s see how “special” he looks after I’m done with him. He signed that contract, agreed to work under me, so now—he’s in my world. He asked for hell, and hell is what he’ll get.

A soft ding interrupted my thoughts—a calendar notification sliding across my screen like an annoying whisper. I had a press conference in thirty minutes. Perfect. Just what I needed—more fake smiles, more cameras in my face, more carefully calculated answers.

I sighed and closed the assistant’s profile. Not enough time to get real work done.

A knock came at my door—light, yet annoying. I knew who it was before the sound even finished.

“Come in,” I said tightly, not bothering to hide my irritation.

The door opened, and there he was. Tall. Composed. Annoyingly neat. He stood there like he owned oxygen.

“Don’t knock so loud next time,” I snapped, watching his jaw tighten slightly. He said nothing, just stared. His eyes didn’t flinch, but I could see thoughts racing behind them—he wanted to say something. Good. Let him suffer in silence.

“What do you want?” I asked even though I knew damn well why he was here.

“It’s time for the press conference,” he said, his voice even.

I rose from my chair slowly. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I know what time it is.”

He didn’t respond.

I grabbed my bag and thrust it toward him. “Put everything I need inside. Every. Single. Thing. And be careful. That bag is worth more than your monthly paycheck.”

Without a word, he took the bag and began arranging it.

I walked to the door but paused, turning to him slowly. “This office is hideous. I want everything changed by the end of the week. The furniture, the walls, the lighting—tear it all down if you have to.”

No response.

I tilted my head. “Did I just talk to someone?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he bit out between clenched teeth.

“Good.” I smiled with poison. “Now, let’s go.”

We entered the elevator together. I didn’t have to look at him to know he was staring. I could feel it—the weight of it digging into my skin like a blade. His silence was louder than words.

But did I care?

Not in the slightest.

When we reached the ground floor, the moment the elevator doors opened, the idle chatter of employees faded into silence. I didn’t have to say a word—my presence alone was enough. They scrambled like mice, pretending to look busy. I filed their names in my head. Slackers. I’d deal with them soon.

My assistant opened the car door for me and I stepped in, settling into the leather seat. Just as he moved to enter behind me, I slammed the door shut.

He can walk around.

Moments later, the other door opened and he entered—quiet, collected, robotic.

The driver pulled into traffic, weaving through the city toward the hotel hosting the press conference. It was a five-star affair—nothing less than perfection for the Millers.

As we arrived, my assistant exited swiftly and opened my door. I stepped out to a sea of flashing lights and clicking shutters. Reporters were already lined up, cameras aimed like rifles. I smiled, my lips curling into a polished, perfected grin. Public image was everything. I could be cold and ruthless in the boardroom—but in front of a camera? I was warmth, elegance, control.

A hotel aide guided me through the crowd and up to the stage. A single chair waited at the center, flanked by microphones and a long table. I took my seat, legs crossed, hands poised, chin lifted.

The questions began immediately.

“Miss Miller, thank you for your time. First question—how do you feel about being appointed CEO at such a young age?”

A safe one. I nodded graciously. “Thank you for asking. I’ve spent my entire life preparing for this. The Miller Corporation is in my blood. My family built it from the ground up, and I’m honored to carry that legacy forward. Age is irrelevant when passion and preparation are at the core. I’m here to grow this empire—and I will.”

Flashes. Applause. Nods of approval.

Another question followed.

“Are you officially the new CEO, or is this a temporary appointment?”

I clenched my jaw. Stupid question. “Well, I believe I was just announced as the new CEO. Wouldn’t that make it official?”

A few reporters chuckled nervously.

“But Miss Miller,” one voice piped up, sharper, more pointed. “There were rumors that Garry Miller was next in line. Why you?”

Ah. There it was. Garry’s pet reporter.

I didn’t flinch. “Because the board, and more importantly my grandfather, recognized talent. Competency isn’t about gender or seniority—it’s about results. And no one delivers better than I do.”

A ripple of murmurs followed. A smirk tugged at my lips.

I was ready to end the Q&A. I had played the game long enough. But just as I began to rise, a question stopped me cold.

“The position you hold now... came as a result of your father’s untimely death. If you had the choice, would you have preferred things to be different?”

Silence.

The room fell completely still.

My eyes searched the crowd until I found the reporter. Young. Cocky. Cold-eyed. Waiting for my response like he was watching a reality show.

Rage coiled in my chest like a serpent. I smiled anyway.

“If you’re asking whether I’m happy my father is dead,” I said, voice calm but tight, “the answer is no. That will be all. Thank you for your time.”

I stood and turned to leave the stage.

But before I could take a step, something cracked against my temple.

The world spun.

Pain exploded in my head like a gunshot. My knees buckled. My hand shot up instinctively, fingers brushing against something warm and wet.

Blood.

My blood.

The cameras erupted into chaos. Screams. Gasps. Shouts.

“Miss Miller!”

“Oh my God!”

Security rushed forward as I stumbled backward, disoriented. My assistant was already at my side, catching me before I hit the ground.

“Get her out of here!” someone yelled.

But all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears and the frantic pounding of my heart.

Flashing lights turned to blinding white.

My legs gave out completely.