Page 242 of Money Reigns

I slip through the front door as quietly as possible, my pulse hammering in my ears. The living room is blessedly empty.

Then I hear them, voices drifting from the kitchen, low and casual, like any other Friday. My stomach knots.

I dart for the stairs, taking them two at a time. My bedroom door clicks shut behind me, muffling the sound of laughter below.

I sag against it for half a breath before shoving myself into motion. Time to pack, get dressed, and say goodbye to my family.

My heart twinges, but I whisper to myself:It’s okay. I’ll be back sooner next time.

***

By the time I make it back downstairs, the kitchen is full; voices, laughter, the smell of something warm and buttery drifting through the air. And right in the middle of it all,War.

He looks completely at ease at my family’s table, like he’s been here a hundred times instead of once. Logan tosses barbed jokes his way, and he just smirks, firing back with that sharp Beaumont wit that somehow doesn’t rub them wrong. They laugh with him, not at him.

I linger in the doorway for a beat, quiet and still, letting the moment wash over me.

Warfits. Like he’s always been here. Like he belongs. He’s relaxed in a way I rarely see, a smirk tugging at his lips as he talks to Chase about the next stage of renovations. Mama sneaks extra sweets into foil, muttering that “he should eat more,” He thanks her with a smile that transforms his rugged face into something boyish, making her beam like a teenager, and my chest twists with something warm and terrifying all at once, like a sparkler burning too close to my heart.

My heart sings.

Because this—thisis what I wanted. Not the chaos. Not the tension. Just peace. A morning like this.

And he’s here. Loose and light, so different from the version of him I’ve seen with his family; stoic, strained, always carrying the weight of expectation. Here, he’s free. Here,he’s happy.

Mama looks up and catches sight of me in the doorway. “There she is,” she calls, drying her hands. “We thought you two were going to leave without saying goodbye.”

“Never,” I say, stepping into the room as my chest swells with something warm and full and a little bit aching.

When he catches my eye across the room, his ice blue gaze locks onto mine, and his lips curve into that knowing half-smile that makes my knees weak. He fits here like the last puzzle piece clicking into place.

He stands, bag of treats in his hands. “You ready?”

His voice tender. I nod and look around at my family. My father steps inside from the porch. “Car’s here!”

Logan’s already waiting by the door, coat on, my bag slung over his shoulder like always. He doesn’t say a word, he just gives me a look, the same look he’s been giving me since I was old enough to carry a backpack:I’ve got it.

I smile, slipping into my coat as War grabs one more treat from my mother.

I step outside with Logan. My father talking to the driver.

“Ella’s not here?” I ask, scanning the porch, expecting her to pop out of nowhere with a hug and sage, sharp advice.

Logan’s steps falter—just barely. “She’s, uh… not feeling great. Said to tell you bye. She’ll call you later.”

Something in his voice tugs at me. Too even. Too practiced.

“Uh-huh,” Imurmur, glancing up at him. “You sure you’re okay?”

“What? Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’reblushing.”

“I’m not.” He adjusts the strap of my bag and keeps walking. “It’s cold”

A smile tugs at my mouth. “Right. Of course. Just cold.”

He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t rise to the bait. But his ears are definitely pinker than before. He puts my bag into the trunk.