Page 63

Ares

The mahogany walls of the Los Angeles courthouse seem to close in around me as I watch my father stand before the judge, his Armani suit hanging loose on his frame after months in custody.

Gone is the imposing figure who once ruled this city with an iron fist. In his place stands a man diminished, though his spine remains rigid with that familiar Saint pride that refuses to bend, even in defeat.

"Theodore Saint." Judge Morrison's voice echoes through the packed courtroom, each syllable weighted with gravity. "You have been found guilty of multiple counts of embezzlement, money laundering, conspiracy, and involvement in the death of Jacob Wells."

Red's fingers intertwine with mine, her artist's calluses rough against my palm. The familiar touch grounds me, keeps me from drowning in the surreal nature of this moment. Beside us, Ethan sits ramrod straight, his usual playful demeanor replaced by grim satisfaction.

"The evidence presented by the prosecution, including documents recovered from your private servers and testimony from former employees, paints a clear picture of decades of criminal activity.

" The judge adjusts her glasses, her expression stern as granite.

"Your actions have destroyed lives, Mr. Saint.

Your abuse of power and influence has left a trail of victims that this court cannot ignore. "

My father's jaw ticks—that subtle tell I've known since childhood.

The only sign that his perfect mask is cracking beneath the weight of justice.

Mother isn't here. She's under house arrest in Bel Air, awaiting her own trial.

The great Olivia Saint, reduced to pacing her marble floors like a caged animal, her empire of influence crumbling around her designer heels.

"Taking into account the severity and duration of your crimes, this court sentences you to twenty-five years in federal prison."

The words land like physical blows. Twenty-five years. A quarter century. Despite everything he's done, despite knowing this is justice, something in my chest constricts painfully. This man who shaped me, who broke me, who tried to own me—still my father, still blood.

Red's thumb traces gentle circles on my wrist, and I focus on that small point of contact like a lifeline.

The migraines that once plagued me have diminished to almost nothing since breaking free of my parents' control.

Yet watching my father being led away in handcuffs, I feel the familiar pressure building behind my eyes.

"You okay?" Red's whisper carries notes of concern and understanding. She knows this isn't simple. Nothing about watching your father's empire crumble ever could be.

"I will be." The words come out rougher than intended, scraped raw with emotion I can't fully name.

As we stand to leave, my father turns. Our eyes lock across the courtroom, and for a moment, I see something I've never witnessed before—fear.

Real, human fear in those steel-brown eyes.

His lips part as if to speak, but the guards lead him away before any words can escape.

I wonder what he would have said—an apology? A final threat? I'll never know.

Hours later, as our private jet cuts through clouds back to Boston, Red curls against my side, her fingers absently tracing the compass tattoo over my heart.

The gentle touch soothes the storm of emotions still raging beneath my skin.

Ethan sprawls in the seat across from us, phone in hand as he coordinates with the others.

"Brian says they're all waiting at Six Pack," he reports, a grin tugging at his lips. "Fair warning—Alisha's threatening to make you do tequila shots if you try to brood too much."

Red laughs softly against my chest, the vibration spreading warmth through my body. "She would."

The sound warms something in my chest, chasing away the lingering shadows of the courtroom. Los Angeles and its ghosts fade behind us as we soar toward home—toward the family we've chosen, the life we've built from the ashes of my father's empire.

Brian's done something special with Six Pack tonight. The usual thumping bass and dancing crowds are nowhere to be seen. Instead, the club stands empty but for our small gathering, the cavernous space transformed by warm, intimate lighting that softens the edges of the normally pulsing nightclub.

As we enter the VIP section, familiar voices and laughter drift down to meet us, wrapping around me like a welcome embrace. The sound is jarring in its normalcy—a stark contrast to the courtroom, to the sight of my father in handcuffs, to the weight of everything that's happened.

The space glows with dozens of candles, their flickering light casting gentle shadows across the walls.

Soft music plays from hidden speakers, replacing the usual thundering beats with something gentler, more healing.

Brian's transformed his kingdom of nightlife into a sanctuary, just for tonight, just for us.

"There they are!" Alisha's distinctive voice rings out. She launches herself from Cole's lap, clicking across the floor in her signature heels. "About damn time. I was about to send out a search party."

The twins, Axel and Harley, are curled up asleep on one of the plush couches, their blonde heads resting against each other like mirror images.

Cole watches them with that soft expression that still surprises me, coming from such an imposing man—tenderness beneath strength, a lesson I'm still learning.

"The prodigal Saints return," Emma teases from her spot next to Nick.

Her eyes, warm with affection, belie the playfulness of her words.

Their kids, Charlotte and Liam, are engaged in what appears to be a funny board game with Amanda and Brian's son Chase in the corner, their laughter punctuating the adult conversation.

Red immediately gravitates toward her friends, drawn into their orbit of warmth and acceptance. The sight of her there, surrounded by people who love her fiercely and unconditionally, soothes something raw inside my chest. This is what family should look like, chosen, cherished, real.

"Here." Brian appears at my side, pressing a glass of whiskey into my hand. "The good stuff. Figured you could use it."

"Thanks." I take a long sip, letting the familiar burn ground me. "For all of this."

He shrugs, but his eyes are serious. "This is what family does."

Family. The word doesn't hurt anymore, doesn't carry the weight of expectations and manipulation it once did.

Instead, it feels like this—like Amanda's bright laugh as she shows Red photos on her phone, like Ethan's steady presence at my side, like the way Cole and Nick are already pulling out contracts to discuss our latest business venture.

"Alright, enough brooding." Alisha materializes in front of me, a tray of shots in her hands. Her green eyes spark with that familiar mix of challenge and concern. "Time to celebrate the end of the Saint empire and the beginning of something better."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" I can't help but smile at her determination.

"Have you met me?" She starts distributing the shots, her movements precise despite the dangerous height of her heels.

"Besides, your father's going to rot in prison, your mother's under house arrest, and you're finally free of their toxic bullshit.

If that's not worth celebrating, I don't know what is. "

"She's got a point," Ethan chimes in, accepting his shot with a grin. "Though I'd argue finding love again might be worth celebrating too."

Red appears at my side, fitting perfectly against me like she's always belonged there, her warmth seeping through my clothes and into my skin.

"To justice," Cole raises his glass, his deep voice carrying across the space.

"To freedom," Nick adds, his arm tightening around Emma's shoulders.

"To family," Red says softly, looking up at me with those emerald eyes that saw past every wall I ever built.

"To love," I finish, holding her gaze as something powerful passes between us.

The tequila burns going down, but the warmth in my chest has nothing to do with alcohol.

It's in the way Emma fusses over making sure we've eaten, in how Amanda's already planning a celebration dinner at her place.

It's in the comfortable way Cole and Nick include me in their business discussion, like I've always been part of their circle.

It's in how Brian runs his club with the same dedication I once admired in my father, but tempered with genuine care for the people around him.

The night unfolds in a blur of laughter, stories, and the kind of warmth that only comes from being surrounded by people who love you unconditionally.

By the time Red and I make it home, the Boston sky is starting to lighten with hints of dawn, the first tentative rays breaking through the darkness.

Morning comes too soon, sunlight streaming through the loft's windows in golden ribbons.

Red's still sleeping, her auburn hair spread across my chest like liquid fire, her breathing deep and peaceful.

I watch her for a moment, memorizing the way the early light catches the spray of freckles across her nose, how her lips curve slightly even in sleep, the delicate flutter of her eyelashes against her cheeks.

Everything's ready. Has been for weeks. But this morning, watching her sleep in our bed, I know it's time.

"Red." I brush my lips against her temple. "Wake up."

She stirs, those eyes blinking open slowly. "Mmm... what time is it?"

"Early. But I want to show you something."

She stretches, cat-like and graceful, her body arching against mine. "Now? After last night's celebration?"

"Trust me?"

Her smile, still soft with sleep, lights up her entire face. "Always, Sainty."

BELLA