The hot water was a baptism. It sluiced away the lingering grime of the mall, the phantom touch of Liam's gaze, and the last brittle shards of the wall I'd built between Kaelen and myself. Steam filled the enormous glass enclosure, a private sanctuary within his sterile, modern penthouse. I stood there until my skin was pink and my mind was quiet, until the only thing I could feel was the steady, grateful beat of my own heart.
Stepping out, I realized the inherent flaw in my spontaneous decision to stay: no clothes. My suitcase of calculated moves and strategic appearances was back in my own apartment, a world away. All I had were the denim shorts I'd worn to the mall. I eyed them, then eyed the walk-in closet I knew was Kaelen's. A slow, daring smile touched my lips.
A few moments later, I was enveloped in soft, grey cotton. His tee-shirt smelled like him—that clean, sharp scent of sandalwood and crisp linen, with the faintest, most intimate undertone of just him. It hung on me, the hem brushing mid-thigh, the neckline slipping off one shoulder. It was the most comfortable I'd felt in weeks. Using a smaller towel, I began to dry my hair, the damp strands clinging to my neck and cheeks as I padded barefoot out of the bedroom.
The low, steady murmur of his voice stopped me at the threshold of the living area.
"No," he was saying, his tone clipped, final. A pause. "Leave it with Mark. I'll review them tomorrow."
My breath hitched. Them. Documents. There was only one person who would be delivering documents to him personally on a day like today. Bella.
I leaned against the doorframe, unseen, listening not with the old, paranoid fear, but with a newfound, quiet curiosity. This was the man who had just spent two days orchestrating a war for me. How would he handle the first skirmish?
"That won't be necessary," he said, his voice dropping into that icy register that could freeze hell. "My schedule is not your concern. Goodbye, Bella."
The click of the call disconnecting was as sharp and satisfying as a period at the end of a sentence.
He let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing almost imperceptibly, and then he turned. His eyes found me immediately, as if pulled by a magnet. The intensity in his gaze softened, replaced by a warmth that felt like a physical touch. He scanned me from my damp hair to my bare toes, lingering on the way his shirt swallowed my frame.
"You…" he began, his voice rough now for an entirely different reason. "You look…"
"Like a drowned rat in very expensive cotton?" I offered, a playful smile tugging at my lips.
A slow, devastating smile spread across his face. "I was going to say perfect." He closed the distance between us, his hand coming up to cradle my damp cheek. "But we need to get you some clothes. Your own clothes. To keep here."
The statement was so simple, yet so profound. It wasn't a question; it was a declaration of intent, a tile being laid in the foundation of our future. My heart did a foolish, happy flip, but I arched a brow, feigning nonchalance.
"I'm not moving in just yet, Mr. Vancourt," I teased, my voice a low murmur. "This is just… an extended strategic cohabitation exercise."
He chuckled, the sound rich and deep, and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. My head fit perfectly under his chin. "Call it whatever you want, Miss Sterling. As long as you're here."
We stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in the quiet hum of the city below and the simple, staggering miracle of being us again. He led me to the vast, charcoal-grey sofa, pulling me down so I was tucked against his side, my legs curled under me. He told me about the security detail he'd quietly upgraded for me, and I told him about the new architect I wanted to bring onto the Island Residence project. We were fighting with each other, and the air crackled with the rightness of it.
The doorbell chimed, a soft, melodic note that shattered our peaceful bubble.
We both stilled. Kaelen's brow furrowed. "I'm not expecting anyone."
Flora, his ever-efficient housekeeper, moved from the kitchen to answer it. The foyer was out of our direct line of sight, but the acoustics in the open-plan apartment were unforgiving.
We heard the door open. A beat of silence. Then, a voice, sickly sweet and horribly familiar, sliced through our sanctuary.
"Kaelen, darling? I hope you don't mind the intrusion. Mark said you were working from home today, and these contracts simply couldn't wait."
Bella.
I felt Kaelen's body go rigid against mine. My own heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. I saw the look on his face—a flash of pure, unadulterated fury—before his expression smoothed into an impenetrable mask.
But a different, colder emotion was crystallizing inside me. This wasn't an innocent delivery. This was a territorial incursion. She thought she was the only woman granted access to this private space. She thought she had a right.
Flora's polite, hesitant reply was muffled, but Bella's footsteps were not. The sharp, confident click of her heels on the polished concrete floor echoed as she stepped inside, undoubtedly with a triumphant, possessive smile on her face.
And there it was. Her gaze swept the room, landing on Kaelen first—a look of smug victory, as if she'd just claimed a prize. Her lips were curved, her eyes gleaming with the assurance of a woman who believed she belonged here, in this intimate space. She held a leather-bound folder like a scepter.
Then, her gaze slid to me.
The triumph didn't just fade; it shattered. It collapsed in on itself, leaving behind a void of pure, unadulterated shock that quickly flooded with venomous understanding. Her eyes—wide and disbelieving—raked over me, from my damp, unkempt hair down to the oversize grey tee that so clearly belonged to Kaelen, to my bare feet curled on his sofa. I was the picture of casual, domestic ownership. I was living in the space she was only ever allowed to visit.
The folder in her hand trembled slightly.
Her painted lips parted, and the words that came out were not the cultured, society-bred barbs I was used to. They were raw and vulgar, scraped from the gutter of her fury. "Well, isn't this a picture," she sneered, her voice trembling with rage. "Couldn't even wait to get your hooks in, could you? I didn't know Sterling daughters were taught to dress like a cheap whore who just rolled out of her client's bed."
The air in the room turned to ice.
But before the chill could even settle in my bones, Kaelen moved. He didn't shout. He didn't even stand. He simply shifted, his posture becoming a wall of pure, unyielding authority. The look he fixed on Bella was so utterly dismissive it was more devastating than any anger.
"Enough, Bella." His voice was curt, final, leaving no room for argument. "Apologize and leave."
The color drained from Bella's face, leaving her makeup stark and garish. Her mask shattered completely, revealing the desperate, cornered woman beneath. Her bottom lip quivered, and her eyes welled with theatrical, wounded tears.
"Apologize? Kaelen, please," she whimpered, her voice a complete one-eighty, now dripping with pathetic vulnerability. "You can't be serious. In front of her no less. You know I don't mean it. I'm not usually like this... I'm just... I'm so upset. I'm not myself. Seeing her here, wearing your... it breaks my heart."
She took a shaky step forward, a single tear tracing a perfect path down her cheek. "I love you. I've always loved you. This... this girl is just using you! Can't you see that?"
I saw the muscle in Kaelen's jaw feather, a telltale sign of his boiling fury. He was about to unleash a verdict that would shatter her completely. But I knew he had a plan, and he needed to keep his composure, at least for the time being.
Before he could speak, I moved.
I reached up, cupping his face with both my hands. The gesture was so intimate, so possessive, it silenced the room. His furious eyes snapped to mine, filled with a storm of questions. I didn't answer them with words. I simply leaned in and pressed my lips to his in a quick, firm, and unmistakable kiss. It wasn't about passion; it was a seal. A claim.
I felt the tension in his jaw ease under my palms.
Then, I turned my head, my gaze settling on Bella. Her face was a frozen mask of horror, the single, perfect tear now looking absurd and melodramatic. I gave her a small, serene smile, the kind a queen might offer a particularly tiresome courtier.
"Miss Smith," I said, my voice soft but crystal clear in the vast space. "Are you sure you want to witness what comes next? The view won't be pleasant for you." I let my smile widen just a fraction, a silent, devastating promise. "I would leave. If I were you."
For a heartbeat, she was paralyzed, the reality of her complete and utter defeat crashing down. The facade crumbled, revealing the raw, seething hatred beneath. A strangled sound escaped her throat. Then, with a guttural cry of pure rage, she spun on her heels, the leather folder clattering forgotten to the floor, and stormed out, the slam of the front door echoing like a gunshot in the sudden, blessed silence.