Lucas woke before the alarm. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in a strip of pale light that fell across the bed. Bella was still asleep, curled on her side, her breathing slow and steady. Her hair had slipped across her cheek, and for a long, quiet moment he just watched her.
The memory of last night returned—his own voice, low and reckless, whispering words he hadn't meant for her to hear. I like you. He had said it when she was fast asleep, when her hand had brushed against his chest in unconscious trust. Now, with her lying so close, the weight of it pressed against his ribs. 'What if she had heard? What if she hadn't?'
He reached out almost without thinking, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered a second too long before he pulled back. He wasn't supposed to be this far gone.
A sound from the next room broke his thoughts—Rachel's small feet padding across the hallway. Lucas slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Bella, and opened the door. The little girl stood there, hair sticking up in a mess, rubbing her eyes.
"Morning, Dada," she mumbled.
"Morning, munchkin," Lucas said, crouching to scoop her up. She nestled against his shoulder, still half-asleep. "Come on, let's get you ready for school before Mama wakes up and catches us slacking."
Rachel giggled softly. "Okay."
By the time Bella stirred awake, she found the bed empty but the faint scent of Lucas still clinging to the sheets. She sat up slowly, one hand instinctively resting on her stomach. Fourteen weeks, and some mornings were harder than others. A wave of nausea nudged at her, and she closed her eyes, breathing through it.
The door creaked open. Lucas stepped in with Rachel perched on his hip, her hair now neatly braided. He set her down with a kiss on the crown of her head before his gaze immediately found Bella.
"You okay?" His voice held that quiet sharpness she was starting to recognize—concern disguised as command.
"Mm. Just a little dizzy," she admitted, reaching for the glass of water on the bedside.
Lucas was quicker. He crossed the room in two strides, poured fresh water from the jug, and pressed it into her hands. "Drink this. Slowly."
Bella obeyed, half because she wanted to and half because arguing seemed pointless when he looked at her that way. Rachel climbed onto the bed, patting Bella's arm with exaggerated seriousness.
"Dada said you need food," Rachel announced. "He made toast."
Bella's lips curved. "Did he now?"
Lucas straightened, arms folded. "Yes, he did. And you'll eat before I leave."
The way he said it—firm but oddly gentle—made her roll her eyes. Not in irritation, more in an effort to hide how his care touched her.
"Bossy," she muttered.
"Efficient," he countered smoothly, a flicker of a smirk in his eyes.
Rachel laughed at their exchange, clapping her hands. "You fight like cartoons."
That made Bella chuckle, the heaviness of her morning easing. She ruffled Rachel's hair, then paused. The braid. Neat, clean. She blinked, then turned to Lucas.
"You braided her hair?"
He shrugged, reaching for his watch. "Someone had to. She was not feeling comfortable when her hair keeps falling on her face."
Bella tilted her head, suspicion mingled with amusement. "And where did you learn to braid? I didn't take you for the type."
Lucas fastened the strap, his movements casual, though his mouth tugged with memory. "I have a sister, remember? Aunt Vivian's daughter. She had a beautiful doll house back in the days. But she didn't let me play because I was of no help. So my mother taught me how to braid her doll's hair and then my sister appointed me as her doll's caretaker."
Bella stilled. Somehow that detail softened something in her chest. She could picture him as a boy, fumbling with ribbons, probably grumbling under his breath, yet doing it anyway because he wanted to play with her sister.
"That's…" She smiled faintly. "Surprisingly sweet."
"Don't spread it around," he warned dryly. "I have a reputation."
She laughed, genuine this time, and Rachel leaned between them with a grin as though she'd solved a puzzle. "Dada knows everything."
Lucas met Bella's eyes briefly. Something unspoken passed there—his possessiveness, her reluctant warmth—but Bella looked away first, clearing her throat.
"Rachel, let's go and have breakfast quickly or we'll be late for school."
The morning passed in its steady rhythm. Lucas drove them, insisting on dropping Rachel off himself despite the tightness of his schedule. Bella watched from the passenger seat as Rachel skipped into the schoolyard, waving back at them until she disappeared through the doors.
On the way home, Bella checked her phone, half-distracted. A new email blinked in her inbox. The subject line froze her in place: Auréline – Creative Identity Task Invitation.
Her heart stumbled. Hands trembling, she opened it.
Dear Ms. Bella,
Thank you for sharing your design drafts. We were truly impressed by the emotional depth and precision in your work. As a next step, we would like to invite you to submit a concept piece based on the theme: "Transformation through Memory."
You may choose any medium — a pendant, a brooch, a ring — but it must reflect your personal story. Deadline: one week.
We look forward to your vision.
Warm regards,
The Aureline Team
She read it again. And again. Her chest tightened, excitement tangled with nerves. This was it—the opportunity she had dreamed about for years.
Lucas noticed her silence. "What is it?"
Bella bit her lip, handing him the phone. "They… they want me to submit a design. Aureline."
He skimmed the email, then handed it back, his expression unreadable for a second before it softened into quiet certainty. "Of course they do."
"You say that like it's obvious," she whispered, almost afraid to believe it.
"Because it is," he said simply. "You've got grit, Bella. Talent and persistence. That combination is rare. You'll do it."
She swallowed, overwhelmed not just by the opportunity but by the way he believed in her so easily. Like he saw something in her she hadn't yet dared to claim for herself.
"Thank you," she said softly.
He didn't reply, only reached over to brush his thumb against the back of her hand before pulling away, as though the touch had been an accident. She knew better.
Back at the house, Lucas dressed for the office while Bella stood by the window, still holding her phone like a lifeline. He adjusted his cufflinks, glanced at her reflection in the glass.
"Work on your design today," he said. "Don't overthink. Just start."
She turned, eyes narrowing slightly. "You sound like you've done this before."
"Maybe I have. I've been there too Bella, when I started my company. Just do what you are good at," He gave her that half-smile again, the one that always seemed to hide more than it revealed. Then he leaned down, pressed a quick kiss to her forehead—too quick for her to react—and picked up his jacket.
"Lucas—" she began, but the words tangled in her throat.
He paused at the door, eyes dark, unreadable. 'You're mine, Bella. Whether you realize it yet or not.' The words weren't said aloud, but they echoed in his head as he walked out.
Bella exhaled shakily once the door closed. She touched her forehead where his lips had been, torn between confusion, warmth, and the unsettling flutter of her heart.
She didn't know what his motive was, not fully. But she knew this—Lucas was changing everything, piece by piece, and she wasn't sure she wanted to stop him.