Page 42

Ares

My palms are sweating. Actually sweating. Christ, when was the last time I felt this nervous? Even breaking off my engagement in front of Los Angeles' elite didn't make my heart hammer quite like this.

"Breathe, man." Ethan's voice carries that infuriating note of amusement as we approach Six-Pack's entrance. "They're not going to eat you alive. Well, maybe Alisha might try, but—"

"Not helping." I adjust my cuffs, a habit I can't seem to break when anxiety creeps in. The club's neon sign casts blue shadows across the sidewalk, and my stomach does another uncomfortable flip.

Isabella's fingers find mine, squeezing gently. When I look down, her green eyes hold understanding and something softer. Of course she knows what's going through my head. She always could read me better than anyone.

"They're going to love you," she whispers, rising on her toes to press a kiss to my jaw. "Just be yourself."

"That's what I'm afraid of." The words slip out before I can catch them.

Ethan barks out a laugh. "The great Ares Saint, terrified of meeting the in-laws?"

"They're not—" I start to protest, but Isabella's thumb brushing across my knuckles stops me. The simple touch sends warmth spreading through my chest, calming some of the chaos churning inside.

"You faced down the entire Los Angeles social scene," she reminds me, her lips curving into that smile that still makes my heart skip. "Pretty sure you can handle my friends."

"Your friends who've been there for you through everything." Through everything my family put you through, I don't add. The weight of that knowledge sits heavy in my gut. "Who've watched you rebuild your life after—"

"After things that weren't your fault." Her voice carries steel now. "They know that, Ares. Trust me."

Before I can respond, the club's door swings open. A man steps out—tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of presence that commands attention without trying. His eyes sweep over our group, sharp and assessing, before landing on Isabella with obvious warmth.

"There's my favorite artist!" His smile transforms his whole face. "Welcome to the celebration, Bells."

"Brian." Isabella releases my hand to accept his hug, and I find myself studying their interaction. The easy familiarity between them speaks of years of friendship, of shared history I wasn't part of. "Thank you for doing this."

"Are you kidding? This is the least we can do." Brian's gaze shifts to me, and I straighten unconsciously under his scrutiny. "And you’re the famous Ares Saint."

He extends his hand, and I take it, noting the firm grip and direct eye contact. "Brian Fox. Welcome to Six-Pack."

Something in his manner—professional but genuinely welcoming—helps ease the tension in my shoulders. "Thank you for having us."

"Ethan Hawk." My best friend steps forward with his usual easy charm. "Have to say, your marketing strategy for this place is brilliant. The way you've positioned Six-Pack as both exclusive and approachable? That's not easy to pull off."

Brian's eyes light up with pride. "You know about marketing?"

"Know about it?" I can't help but smirk. "He was head of marketing at Saint Industries. Best in the business."

"Was being the operative word." Ethan grins, loosening his tie. "Now I'm just a jobless man following this one into unemployment. And with him not being single anymore, I've got nothing left to market."

Brian laughs, gesturing us toward the bar. "Could use some professional insight, if you're offering. Been thinking about expanding our social media presence, maybe targeting a broader demographic."

"Now you've done it," I mutter, but I'm smiling. "He'll talk your ear off about engagement metrics and brand positioning."

"Hey, marketing is an art form," Ethan protests, already pulling out his phone. "Look at your Instagram layout. Good, but with a few tweaks..." He swipes through some examples. "You could really amplify your reach."

They fall into an animated discussion about target audiences and social media strategies as we make our way inside, and I can't help but admire Ethan's ability to connect so effortlessly with people. Even now, unemployed and uncertain, he's still the same charismatic force he's always been.

"What about influencer partnerships?" Brian asks, and Ethan's eyes light up with that familiar spark of creative energy.

"Oh, I've got some ideas about that..."

"Some things never change," I mutter. "Ethan could charm the scales off a snake. While I..." The words stick in my throat.

Her hand finds mine again. "While you observe, analyze, and care more deeply than anyone realizes." She tugs me to a stop, forcing me to meet her gaze. "That's not a weakness, Ares. It's one of the things I've always loved about you."

The simple admission hits me right in the chest.

"Thank you, Red. There are also many things I love about you," I say, gliding my hand over her ass.

"This way." Brian's voice breaks through my wandering thoughts. He leads us to the VIP section—all sleek leather and warm lighting. "I've made sure you'll have privacy tonight. No uninvited guests or cameras allowed."

I recognize immediately that this isn't the same VIP area where Ethan and I sat during our first visit. That space had been open. This section is tucked away in a different corner of the club, more secluded and intimate. A sanctuary rather than a showcase.

"This is the friends and family section. Much more private," Brian gestures.

What catches my eye and makes me stop dead in my tracks is the massive canvas dominating one wall. It draws me in like a magnet—swirls of deep blues and golds creating a vortex of emotion. Figures emerging from darkness into light. It's raw, powerful, and unmistakably Isabella's work.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Brian asks, pride evident in his voice. "Bells painted it specially for the club."

I stare at the canvas. Every brushstroke seems to pulse with meaning, with energy.

"It's gorgeous."

A burst of female laughter fills the space.

I turn to see three women descending on Isabella like a whirlwind of designer clothes and genuine affection.

My heart rate kicks up again as I recognize them, her inner circle, the ones who've been there through everything.

Who were there when her art event was cancelled.

Emma breaks away first, her gaze warm and welcoming as she approaches me. "Ares, nice to see you again," she says, extending her hand. "Welcome to our little family gathering."

"Emma," I say, returning her smile. "It's good to see you too."

There's something soft in her presence that instantly puts me at ease. Maybe it's the gentle way she smiles, or how she genuinely seems interested in my response.

"That's my wife," Brian announces proudly, wrapping an arm around a stunning brunette. "Amanda Fox, co-conspirator in tonight's gathering."

Amanda's assessment is sharp but not unkind. "So you're the man who's turned our Bella's world upside down again." There's a warning in her tone, subtle but clear.

"Again?" A familiar voice cuts through the tension. "More like hurricane Saint, back for round two."

Alisha. Even without turning, I recognize that voice. The same woman who nearly tore me apart during our first encounter at the club and later looked ready to shove me down the stairs at Bella's home. She steps into view, her expression blazing with that familiar protective fury.

"Hello, Alisha." I meet her gaze steadily. "Good to see you're still protecting Isabella's honor."

"Someone has to."

"Alisha," a deep voice rumbles from behind her as a tall, imposing man with striking blue eyes appears. His hand settles on her shoulder, both restraining and supporting. "Give the man a chance to breathe before you go for the jugular."

He extends his other hand toward me. "Cole Walker. Husband to this fierce warrior here and occasional voice of reason."

I take his hand, appreciating the straightforward introduction. "Ares Saint. Though I'm guessing you already knew that."

"Hard not to, with your face plastered across every gossip site in Boston." Another man joins our group, his easy smile reminiscent of Emma's warmth. "Nick Brown. Emma's better half and resident peacekeeper."

The tension in my shoulders eases slightly as Nick guides us toward the seating area. Ethan, already settled in like he's known these people for years, is deep in conversation with Brian about some architectural features of the club.

Isabella catches my eye from across the space where she's still surrounded by her friends. The soft smile she gives me makes my heart stutter.

"Gross," Alisha announces, dropping onto the leather couch. "They're doing that whole silent communication thing already."

"Like you and Cole are any better," Amanda teases, settling beside her friend.

"Speaking of better," Alisha's attention snaps back to me, "what exactly are your intentions with our girl? Because if this is some temporary rebellion against mommy and daddy dearest—"

"Alisha!" Emma's voice carries surprising authority.

"No, it's fine." I lean forward, meeting Alisha's challenge head-on. "You want to know my intentions? I love Isabella. I never stopped loving her, even when I believed the lies my parents fed me. And I'll spend every day making up for the years we lost, if she'll let me."

A heavy silence falls over the group. Even Ethan stops mid-sentence to stare at me.

"Well, damn." Cole breaks the tension with a low whistle. "He's actually genuine."

"Told you," Emma says softly, but her eyes shine with approval.

Alisha studies me for a long moment before her lips twitch. "Fine. But I'm still watching you, Saint."

"I'd expect nothing less."

The conversation flows easier after that. Stories start circulating—embarrassing moments, shared adventures, the kind of memories that come from years of genuine friendship. Ethan, the traitor, contributes tales from our boarding school days that have everyone laughing.