Page 49

Bella

The familiar bell jingles overhead as I push open the door to Joe's Diner, sunlight streaming through the windows in golden morning ribbons.

My fingers absently twist the chunky silver ring on my hand—an abstract piece that captures my artistic soul in swirls of polished metal.

Ares surprised me with it this morning, his eyes dancing with that signature Saint mischief that still makes my heart stumble.

"For the amazing artist who will one day conquer the art world," he'd murmured, sliding it onto my finger with that devastating smirk that makes my knees weak, even hours later. His lips had brushed my knuckles afterward, a gesture so tender it nearly undid me.

The new ring sits beside my grandmother's, two important pieces of jewelry that represent everything that matters to me—my past and my future, side by side on my fingers. One a reminder of where I came from, the other a promise of where I'm going.

It's been almost two weeks of strange silence from the Saint family.

The media attention has faded to occasional whispers, and as far as I know, Ares hasn't received any texts or calls from his parents.

Maybe they've finally accepted that their son isn't coming back to the fold.

Maybe they've moved on to other schemes that don't involve destroying what we're building together.

Relief washes through me at the thought, though something uneasy still simmers beneath the surface—a lifetime of wariness doesn't disappear overnight.

But I push the feeling away, burying it under gratitude for the present.

We deserve this happiness, this pocket of peace we've carved out together.

Whatever comes next, we'll face it together.

Alisha waves from our usual booth, the twins strapped in their double high chair beside her.

My steps feel lighter than they have in years, my body still humming from this morning's passionate encounter that left me breathless and sated.

The scent of coffee and warm pastries wraps around me like a comfortable blanket, matching the contentment that's settled deep in my bones.

"Hey, little monsters," I coo, bending down to kiss Axel and Harley's chubby cheeks. Harley giggles and reaches for my hair with sticky fingers, while Axel studies me with those serious eyes that are pure Cole—watchful and intense, even at two and a half.

"Bella! Bella come!" Harley squeals, bouncing in her seat and clapping her hands together. "Look! I got sammich!"

She holds up what used to be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, now more of an abstract art piece smeared across her fingers and face.

Axel, meanwhile, carefully picks apart his own sandwich with surgical precision. "No crusts," he announces solemnly, placing each discarded piece in a neat pile on his tray. "Crusts yucky."

"That's right, sweeties. Bella's here." I give Harley's tiny hand a gentle squeeze, careful of the peanut butter stickiness, before sliding into the booth across from Alisha. "And I see you're both making quite the mess."

“Harley big girl!” Harley declares proudly, managing to get more jelly on her shirt than in her mouth.

"Jesus Christ," Alisha says, eyeing me over her coffee mug with that sharp, knowing look she's perfected through years of friendship. "You look like you've been mainlining sunshine and orgasms. Ares Saint is clearly doing wonders for your female hormones."

Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I can't suppress the smile that seems permanently etched on my face these days. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Please." She sets down her mug with an emphatic clink. "You're practically glowing. And that's not just because you've had a good painting session. That's the look of a woman who's been thoroughly and expertly satisfied."

I try to contain my grin but fail miserably. The happiness bubbles up inside me, too big to contain, like champagne fizzing over the rim of a glass. "Fine. Things are good. Really good."

"How good?" Alisha leans forward, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Like, 'the sex is amazing' good or 'I'm thinking about forever' good?"

"Both?" I laugh, feeling free, like I could float right up to the ceiling and dance among the hanging lights. "I never thought I'd say this, but he's... different now. Still arrogant as hell sometimes, but he listens. Really listens. He sees me in ways no one else ever has."

"And?" Alisha wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Don't hold out on me. What else does the mighty Ares Saint do that's got you walking on clouds and wearing that 'I've been ravished' smile?"

"And he does this thing with his—"

"Mama!" Axel interrupts, banging his sippy cup on the high chair tray with the perfect timing of a toddler determined to avoid adult conversation.

"Saved by the toddler," Alisha says with a smirk, deftly handing him a piece of banana. "But don't think you're getting off that easily. I want details. All of them. Especially the dirty ones."

The warmth of friendship and happiness wraps around me like a cocoon, safe and precious. This is what I've missed—these easy moments with my best friend, sharing secrets and dreams over coffee while her twins create cheerful chaos around us.

I'm about to launch into a carefully edited version of my happiness when Alisha's phone rings. Her expression brightens as she checks the screen.

"It's Amanda," she says before answering. "Hey, what's up?"

The change in her face is instant—like storm clouds rolling over the summer sun, casting shadows where light once danced. I watch as the color drains from her cheeks, her knuckles whitening around the phone.

"Shit. I'm on my way." She hangs up and starts gathering the twins' things, her movements sharp with urgency. "There's been a flood in the inventory room at Venus. All the new clothing is damaged. Everything."

The happiness in my chest curdles like milk left too long in summer heat as she shoves a handful of cheerios into a ziplock bag with trembling fingers. "This after all the supplier issues—it's a goddamn disaster."

I freeze, my coffee cup halfway to my lips. "Wait, what supplier issues?"

Alisha sighs, wrestling a squirming Harley into her coat while Axel protests being wiped clean.

"Amanda's having problems with the supplier for the new spring collection.

Something about them suddenly not being a 'good fit' or some other corporate bullshit.

She's been dealing with it for over a week. "

"Why didn't you guys tell me?" The words come out sharper than I intend, guilt mixing with concern.

"Because you've been busy going down and dirty with a Saint." She manages a tight smile, but I can see the worry lurking in her eyes. "And honestly, it didn't seem like a big deal until now. Just bad business luck."

I grab my bag and help her with the stroller, already moving with purpose. "I'm coming with you."

"You don't have to—"

"I'm coming," I cut her off, my tone brooking no argument. "That's what friends do. That's what family does."

Together, we navigate the twins and stroller out of the diner, the happy bubble of my morning thoroughly popped as we hurry toward Venus, dread building with each step.

The stench of mildew hits me as soon as we push through Venus's front door, a damp, earthy smell that doesn't belong in a high-end boutique. Amanda paces near the register, her usually perfect hair a mess of tangles like she's been running her hands through it repeatedly.

"This is a nightmare." Her voice cracks, raw with desperation. "A complete fucking nightmare."

"Show us," Alisha says, parking the stroller.

Water squishes under our feet as Amanda leads us to the inventory room. The scene stops me cold—racks of designer clothing droop under the weight of water, puddles reflecting the fluorescent lights overhead. The spring collection, worth thousands, reduced to soggy fabric.

"The sprinkler system went off in the middle of the night." Amanda's hands shake as she lifts a ruined silk blouse, water dripping from its once-delicate hem. "The plumber says it's 'old building infrastructure' but can't find the actual cause. How convenient is that?"

"What did the police say?" I ask, scanning the room.

Amanda lets out a bitter laugh. "That the back door was loose, but there's 'no clear evidence' of a break-in. Nothing was stolen, so..." She shrugs, the gesture sharp with frustration. "They're calling it accidental damage."

"But?" I prompt, hearing the doubt in her voice.

"But that door was fine yesterday. I always check it before closing." She runs a hand through her hair. "And with everything else happening—the suppliers suddenly changing requirements, deliveries getting mixed up, inventory disappearing... Just really shitty timing, you know?"

This wasn’t just bad luck—it was too neat. Too surgical. And somewhere in the pit of my stomach, the dread that had been smoldering since the gallery cancellation flared into full-blown fire.

"Could this be sabotage? Any rival boutiques wanting to push you out?" I ask.

Amanda shakes her head, dropping the ruined silk back onto the rack with a wet slap. "No one I can think of." She wipes her hand on her jeans. "Maybe it’s just shitty timing,” she mutters, but the way her eyes flick toward the door again says she’s not convinced.

"Mercury must be in retrograde or something." Alisha shifts Harley to her other hip. "When it rains, it pours. Literally, in this case."

"Yeah," Amanda laughs, but it's hollow, echoing in the damp room. "Or karma’s finally cashing a check I don’t remember writing."

My stomach knots grow tighter as I survey the damage, dread coiling tighter with each ruined piece I see. "There has to be something we can do. Insurance?"

"They're already giving me the runaround." Amanda kicks a pile of wet cardboard, water splashing up around her designer boots. "But I'll figure it out. I always do."