Chapter 11: The First Crack
The elevator ride back to the penthouse was silent except for the soft hum of machinery. Bella's hand stayed in mine, our fingers laced tight, as if she was afraid I'd vanish if she let go. I kept stealing glances at her. My shirt swallowed her frame, her legs were bare, and her hair was messy from my hands. She looked like she belonged to me.
Because she did.
The doors slid open and we stepped into the living room. The city sparkled forty-eight floors below, but the warmth we had an hour ago was gone. Vanessa's poison was already seeping in.
Bella finally spoke, her voice small. "She's not going to stop, is she?"
"No," I answered honestly. "She's never known when to quit. And right now, she's desperate."
She walked to the windows, wrapping her arms around herself. "The things people are already saying online… gold digger, mistress, charity case. They don't even know my name, and they hate me."
I crossed the room in four strides and pulled her back against my chest, locking my arms around her waist.
"Let them talk," I said into her hair. "In a week, they'll be bored and onto the next scandal."
She turned in my arms, her eyes searching mine. "And if they don't? Damian, I've never even been to a gala. I don't know which fork to use, or how to smile for cameras, or…"
"You don't have to know any of that tonight." I cut her off gently. "Tonight, you're just Bella. My Bella. That's enough."
Her phone buzzed on the kitchen island, her old one with the cracked screen. She tensed.
"It's my mom," she said, reading the preview. Twenty seven missed calls. Texts were piling up faster than she could scroll.
I took the phone from her hand, powered it off, and set it facedown.
"Tomorrow," I said. "We'll get you a new number, new everything. Tonight, the world stays outside."
She nodded, but I could feel the worry vibrating through her.
I kissed her forehead, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth until she softened against me.
"Come on," I murmured. "Shower. Food. Bed. In that order."
The master bathroom made her stop in the doorway again. Dual rain showers, heated floors, a tub big enough for four. I started the water, and steam filled the space fast.
She watched me like she still couldn't believe this was real.
I unbuttoned the shirt she was wearing, my shirt, slowly, kissing every inch of skin I uncovered. By the time it hit the floor, she was breathing hard, her hands fisted in my hair.
We didn't talk in the shower. Just hands and mouths and water so hot it turned our skin pink. I washed her hair, massaging her scalp until she melted against me. She returned the favor, her fingers tracing the scars she'd never asked about yet. One day I'd tell her the stories. Not tonight.
When we finally stepped out, I wrapped her in a towel thick enough to be a blanket and carried her to the kitchen. She laughed, real and light, when I set her on the counter.
"What does the king want for dinner?" she teased.
"Anything that doesn't come from a takeout box," I said, opening the fridge Marcus had stocked that morning. "How do you feel about steak?"
Forty minutes later we were on the terrace, barefoot, eating medium rare ribeyes and garlic potatoes off one plate because neither of us wanted to let go of the other's hand. The pool lights shimmered turquoise. The city noise was just a low hum this high up.
Bella fed me a bite, then licked sauce off her thumb. "This is insane. Yesterday I was eating cold lasagna on a cracked counter while my mom yelled about the water bill."
"Yesterday was the last yesterday like that you'll ever have," I told her.
She went quiet, staring at the skyline.
"I keep waiting for the catch," she admitted. "Like someone's going to show up and say there's been a mistake. That you're not actually mine."
I set the fork down and cupped her face with both hands.
"Listen to me. Five years ago, I lost everything that mattered to people who never deserved it. I'm not losing you. Not to Vanessa, not to the press, not to your own doubts. You're stuck with me, Isabella Reyes. Deal with it."
Her eyes filled, but she was smiling.
"Okay," she whispered. "I'll try."
We finished eating and left the plates where they were. Someone would handle it tomorrow. I carried her to bed.
We didn't sleep right away. We mapped each other's bodies like we were afraid tomorrow we'd forget. Slow this time. Worshipping. I kissed every freckle, every stretch mark, every place she'd ever been ashamed of. She cried when she came, clinging to me like I was the only real thing left in the world.
After, she fell asleep with her head on my chest, her fingers curled over my heart.
I stayed awake.
Because at 2:13 a.m., my phone lit up with a message from an unknown number.
A single photo.
Bella, asleep in my arms right then, taken from the terrace glass ten minutes earlier.
Below it were three words:
She's very pretty.
It would be terrible if something happened to her.
I sat up slowly, careful not to wake her, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it.
I knew who it was.
Ethan.
He was out.
And he was already watching.