Beneath the Billionaire's Signature

"Promise you'll wait for me."

Ariella's voice trembled as she tightened her grip on Liam's hand. The bustling airport around them faded into the background, drowned by the pounding of her heart. Her boarding gate flashed FINAL CALL, but she couldn't bring herself to let go just yet.

Liam chuckled softly, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I've waited three years just to ask you out, Ari. I can handle a few more."

His smile was boyish, familiar, the kind that used to make her believe in every love song.

"Go. Become the star I know you are."

She gave a watery laugh, standing on her toes to kiss him lightly, lingering, full of everything she didn't know how to say.

When she turned toward the gate, her heart ached, but her dreams were louder.

Her father, Alexander Voss, had fully funded her admission into the world-renowned École de Design de Luxe in Paris. He had called it her destiny. "Design is in your blood," he'd said one evening, handing her a sketchbook and an embossed leather portfolio. "Make the world your canvas."

And so, she did.

Paris was a blur of ancient architecture and future dreams. Ariella buried herself in colors, textures, and form. She designed like she was breathing elegantly, fiercely, tirelessly. Every project she took on felt like a tribute to her father's unwavering belief in her.

They spoke weekly. He'd always ask, "What did you fall in love with this week?"

She'd tell him about rose-gold finishes, vaulted ceilings, and hand-stitched Moroccan rugs. And he'd listen, proudly, like she was already everything he dreamed she'd become.

Then, one rainy Thursday halfway through her second year, the call came.

"Miss Voss, I'm so sorry. Your father... he passed away this morning."

The world froze.

She dropped the phone. Dropped herself. Dropped into grief so heavy she couldn't breathe.

She couldn't fly back. International lockdowns, legal delays, and her visa complications collided at once. Her stepmother didn't pick up her calls, and Vanessa didn't bother texting back. She missed the funeral, the closure, and him.

In her tiny Parisian dorm, she mourned him alone. But in the quiet nights, staring at the ceiling with puffy eyes, she made a vow:

I'll make you proud, Daddy. I swear I will.

And she kept that promise.

She became an exceptional student, earning awards for her innovation and vision. Her final thesis was featured in Maison Moderne, and an invitation to exhibit at a London design week followed. She was no longer just a hopeful student. She was becoming Ariella Voss, a name whispered in creative circles.

Still, one part of her heart remained untouched.

Liam.

Their calls had gone from weekly to monthly to nothing. For three years, she tried to reach him. His number changed. Emails bounced. Her letters came back unopened. Her heart whispered, maybe he was busy, his phone got stolen, maybe...

But the fourth year arrived, and with it, a milestone.

She graduated top of her class.

As she stood on the grand stage of the École, diploma in hand and her father's watch around her wrist, she whispered, "I did it, Daddy." The crowd cheered, but all she felt was a longing to go home. To see Liam. To walk into his arms and feel grounded again.

And so, she planned her return, no calls, no messages. She wanted it to be a surprise. A cinematic homecoming. She imagined his stunned face, his wide smile, his arms lifting her like he used to.

She didn't expect her fingers to tremble as the taxi pulled up outside Liam's house in the Hamptons of Modern Elite. The sun glinted off the glass panels of his luxury beach villa. She clutched the bouquet of white tulips, his favorite, and stepped out of the cab, her heels making a soft, rhythmic sound on the cobbled driveway.

Music echoed faintly from inside. Laughter. The clinking of champagne glasses.

Maybe he's having a party? She thought. Maybe he's celebrating something. I'll be the best surprise.

She didn't knock.

She pushed the door open gently.

And her world shattered.

Inside, dozens of well-dressed guests filled the grand living room, gathered around a floral archway. At the center stood Liam in a tuxedo.

On one knee.

Holding out a ring.

To Vanessa.

Ariella froze.

Her tulips dropped to the marble floor, petals scattering like her heartbeat.

Liam looked up, the color draining from his face. Vanessa turned and smiled a cruel, victorious twist of her lips.

"Ariella," she purred, her voice smooth as silk. "Didn't know you'd be back today."

Catherine Voss appeared beside them, raising a champagne glass. "Surprise, darling. Vanessa's engagement party. You remember your stepsister, don't you?"

Ariella couldn't speak. Her mouth moved, but no words came. Liam stepped forward. "Ari, wait, I can explain."

"Explain?" she choked. "You disappeared for years. I waited. I wrote to you. And you"

Her eyes burned.

"You're marrying her?"

His silence was louder than any answer.

The guests watched, hungry for drama.

Ariella turned.

She didn't run, but she didn't look back either.

She left the tulips, the dream, and every broken piece of her heart behind.

And outside, beneath the burning gold of sunset, she realized something:

She had come home chasing love.

But maybe, just maybe

Love wasn't home anymore.