Page 212 of Money Reigns

Ella flinches. Barely, but I catch it.

“What is it?” I press.

“What?” she says, too fast, lifting her mug again.

“You’re lying, or hiding something. I don’t know what it is, but all your tells are showing.”

Ella sighs, sets her cup down, and folds her hands on the table. Hazel eyes flick up to meet mine, guilt swimming there. “War called me.”

My whole body goes still.War called Ella?He knows about Ella?

“What did he say?” My voice is a whisper. “Why?”

She bites her lip, then finally admits, “He asked me to come here. To bring you out.”

A shiver rolls through me, sharp and electric. “El… why?”

She straightens in the booth, fingers lacing tight together. “Because his flight lands today. And he wants to talk to your parents alone.”

“Ella!”My palm slaps the table before I can stop myself, the sharp crack drawing stares from nearby patrons. Heat rushes up my neck and I shrink back, mortified. “Sorry,” I mutter.

Ella winces but gives me a sheepish look. “Is it worse if I say he paid for my first-class flight here?”

My chest tightens, the swirl of relief and betrayal and dread all crashing at once. He called Ella. He brought her here.He’s in town.

My town.

I grip my mug, fingers white-knuckled. “Wait.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. “So Warren Beaumont is in my house right now? At our crooked kitchen table, drinking from chipped mugs, with baby photos of me everywhere?”

Ella deflates, lifting her mug, guilt written all over her face. “Yes. And more than likely with your brothers around. I… may have warned them.”

“Ella!” My stomach lurches, nausea rushing through me, and I press a hand to my middle, breathing deep to hold it back. Then another thought hits me like a punch. The cookies. The stupid peanut butter cookies sitting in the kitchen. War is going to see them, and he’s going to know. He’ll be so—

No. I cut the thought off viciously. He was with another woman. He doesn’t get to be sad.

Ella studies me over the rim of her mug. “Oh, you look angry.” Her voice is quiet. “At me?”

I shake my head hard. “No. I’m over here worried about what War will think when he was out with some other woman.”

Ella lowers her cup, lips pressing together. “He says he can explain that.”

I freeze. My pulse stutters. “How long did you talk to him?”

Ella’s mouth twists, like she’s weighing how much to admit. “I may have gone into Dr. Marsh mode and… dug through his psyche for a moment.”

I gape at her, both horrified and desperate.

She softens, leaning in, her hazel eyes steady on mine. “If it’s worth anything, Liv, I’d say hear him out. Be honest. And let it happen.”

Ella reaches across the table, her fingers curling around mine, warm and steady. “You’ve got this,” she whispers.

I don’t feel like I do. My pulse is too loud, my breath uneven, but I nod anyway. Because what else is there?

We pay the bill in silence. Not tense, just full. Ella doesn’t push. She knows the storm inside me is loud enough.

The walk back is quiet too. Snow crunches under our boots, the air sharp in my lungs. A dog barks in the distance, someone shovels a driveway. Life goes on, even when yours feels like it’s teetering.

I keep my eyes forward, but my heart trips with every step. He’s at my house—War. No more photos. No more what-ifs. Just him.