Her scent still clung to his memory, warm and dangerous. It was the kind of memory that makes doors feel like temptations.
Chris had never been afraid of doors. He was the kind of man who walked into places like he owned them: confident, unshaken, and bold. But tonight, standing at Bella's door, the same one he'd walked through a hundred times, made his chest tighten. It was as if a rope was pulled around his lungs.
For hours, he'd paced the hotel room floor, fighting himself. He had promised to stay away. To respect the fragile thread of peace that still existed between him and Bella. But desire and guilt made cruel twins. The thoughts clawed at him until he grabbed his keys, drove, and ended up here—at her door, trembling like a boy.
His hand hovered above the wood. What if she didn't open? What if she looked him dead in the eyes and said the word that would finish him—leave?
The knock sounded louder than he expected, like his guilt had echoed through it.
Inside, Bella froze. She knew that knock. A rhythm too familiar, a presence that wrapped around her even when she swore she wanted it gone. For a heartbeat, she didn't move. She held her breath, as if silence could shield her from the truth waiting outside.
Her mother wasn't home. There was no one else to play the shield, no excuse to pretend. It was her and him. And the storm they'd both been running from.
Her hand reached for the knob, then pulled back. She pressed her forehead to the door and closed her eyes. She pretended she could hear his heartbeat through the wood.
Did she want to open it? Yes. Did she hate herself for wanting it? More than she could bear.
Chris, on the other side, leaned closer, almost whispering against the wood. His voice was hoarse, cracking with a desperation he couldn't mask. "Bells… It's me. Please."
The sound almost undid her. Her knees weakened, and her chest swelled with anger and longing in the same breath. Every nerve screamed at her to stay locked away. But her heart—God, her heart—betrayed her.
With a sharp inhale, she turned the knob.
The door creaked open, slow and reluctant. And there he was. The man she loved. The man she hated. He stood tense, eyes restless, lips clamped as if holding back a thousand words.
She didn't move aside immediately. Her body blocked the space, a silent warning. Her hand clung to the doorframe like she was still deciding if she should slam it shut or let him in. Her eyes scanned him, searching, measuring the risk of giving him air again.
Chris met her gaze without flinching, though his insides were in chaos. His throat burned, and his chest ached. He didn't beg. He stood there, every inch of him saying what his mouth hadn't yet: I can't stay away. I don't want to.
Seconds stretched, long and sharp. The air between them buzzed like a live wire.
Finally, Bella stepped aside.
Chris entered, not triumphant, not relieved—haunted. The lavender scent of her home wrapped around him, soft and suffocating all at once. He sat on the couch, his body heavy with the weight of unspoken sins.
Bella didn't join him immediately. She lingered near the door, arms crossed, eyes burning holes into his back. She looked like a woman torn between throwing him out and throwing herself into him.
The silence grew unbearable.
Bella's voice cut through, sharp, accusing, dripping with something deeper than curiosity. "I don't even know why my mom hates you this much. Wasn't she the same woman who sang your praises? Who called you her future son-in-law? So what changed?"
"Ever since you left Abuja and I got pregnant, she's been acting strange. She sounds cool and calm now, but when I looked into her eyes, I saw it—fear and danger hiding behind the word closure."
Chris's chest tightened. The question was a blade, slicing open the truth he'd locked away. His hands rubbed together, restless. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in shadows.
"Bells… There's something I need to confess."
Her brows shot up, suspicion flashing. "Ehn? The way you're sounding—it's serious. What did you do this time? Because I've been feeling like you've been hiding something."
His eyes lifted, heavy, unblinking, carrying the weight of sins that begged for release. His voice came out rough, almost broken.
"Do you remember those nights when your mom and I first spoke? When you'd call late, and I'd tell you I was already on the phone with her?"
Bella's body stiffened, her arms tightening across her chest. A slow nod came, but her eyes betrayed her unease.
Chris's voice trembled. "There's a lot I never told you. Your mom… she wasn't being a mother. She said things, things no woman should say to her daughter's man. She told me she was lonely. That being alone wasn't easy. And sometimes…" His throat closed, but he forced the words out. "…she said she was horny."
The room cracked open. The air turned sour.
Bella's chest rose and fell, sharp and quick.
She wrapped her arms tighter, as if shielding herself from the filth seeping into her ears. Her eyes flashed, not only with anger but also with a strange, unspoken recognition.
Chris leaned forward, voice cracking. "I thought ignoring it would make it fade. I didn't want you to hate her. Or me. But it got… out of hand."
Her voice came in a whisper, jagged and disbelieving. "Out of hand? How?"
His hands shook now. His jaw locked. His eyes burned with shame. "That night we fought… You stormed into your room. Later, I went in. The room was dark. I thought it was you on the bed. I touched a leg… thinking it was yours. I even… I even touched her thighs almost close to her pussy…" His voice cracked, raw. "But it wasn't you. It was your mom. And she didn't stop me. I didn't know you both were together until you said something and she responded."
Bella's hand flew to her head, clutching her skull like she could hold the chaos inside. Her breath came ragged. "Oh my God. Oh my God."
Chris's voice broke as he buried his face in his palms. "I swear, nothing happened beyond that. But I should have told you. I should never have let it go that far."
The silence that followed was thunder. Bella's eyes burned, her chest heaved, and her soul tore. She wanted to scream, to cry, to collapse. Instead, she stood still, fire in her veins, storm in her heart.
Bella didn't sit. Couldn't sit. Her body felt like stone and fire all at once. She paced, arms folded, teeth biting into her lip so hard she tasted iron.
Chris lifted his head, desperate to close the distance. "Bells, please… Say something. Anything. Don't shut me out."
Her laugh came sharp, bitter, and almost choking. "Say something? You just confessed that my mother betrayed me. The woman who taught me to kneel for prayers and live life almost let you touch her like a whore. And you expect me to say something?" The words sliced the air like glass. Chris flinched, but he didn't retreat.
"I didn't want this," he said, voice rough, eyes wet. "I took my hands off immediately. But I froze. God, I froze. And I've been living in that silence ever since."
Bella turned on him, eyes blazing. "You froze? That's your excuse? You froze while her hand was open to sin? You froze while she let my life burn behind my back?"
Chris stood now, unable to stay still. His hands shook at his sides, but his gaze never wavered. "Don't twist this. I never touched her the way I touched you. I didn't cross that line. But if I had told you then—if I had spoken—you would've hated me. You would've hated her. And I wasn't ready to lose you both."
Silence. Heavy. Electric.
Bella stopped pacing. Her arms dropped, her fists clenched at her sides. She stared at him with eyes that looked like they could devour him whole.
Then she spoke, low, almost calm—but every syllable carried fire. "Chris… this isn't the first time. She's been crossing lines since I was a girl."
Chris froze. His breath caught, his chest tightening as her words unraveled the truth she'd buried for years.
Bella's voice sharpened, her tone cutting like a blade. "Do you know what it's like to see your mother flirt with men old enough to be your father? To catch her whispering on the phone, giggling, saying things no married woman should? I saw it, Chris. I saw her with Dad's best friend—calling him 'baby,' hiding her phone like a teenager. She made me doubt my own eyes."
Her throat tightened, but no tears came. She refused to give her mother that power.
"She blurred lines. Again and again. And I thought—God, I thought she'd at least respect me. Respect my heart. Respect the one man I gave her to meet, the one man I loved. But no. She dragged her filth into my life. Into us."
Her voice broke on the last word, not with weakness, but with fury.
Chris's face crumbled. He wanted to hold her, to tell her he wasn't part of her mother's sickness. But his hands stayed bound at his sides, trembling, because he didn't know if his touch would comfort her or curse her.
"Bells…" His voice was raw. "I swear, nothing happened beyond that mistake. I didn't want her. I wanted you. I only ever wanted you."
Her chest heaved, and her lips parted. For a moment, silence stretched, thick with pain and love, betrayal and need.
Then Bella whispered, softer than her rage but stronger than any plea. "I don't know how to hate you, Chris. God knows I've tried. But I can't hold a grudge forever. I forgive you… But I will never forget."
Chris closed his eyes, relief and torment mixing in equal measure. He took a step forward, stopped himself, then dropped to the couch again, head in his hands.
The air between them shifted—not healed, but transformed. No longer venomous, no longer pure rage. Now it throbbed with something darker. Hungrier. A storm waiting to split open.
Bella folded her arms again, but her eyes betrayed her. They lingered on him too long, burned too hot, and softened when they shouldn't.
Chris reached forward, his hand hovering over hers, trembling with restraint. His voice lowered, thick with hunger and repentance.
"Bella… if you ever let me, I'll spend the rest of my life proving I'm yours. All of me. No shadows."
Her eyes burned into him, fierce and wounded. But underneath, softer currents stirred. She hated him. She wanted him. She wanted to run. She wanted to stay.
Forgiveness wasn't born that night. But fire was. The storm hadn't ended—it had only begun.