There's silence, then Hope's suspicion sharpens. “What? Since when? You didn't say a word about going to Denver. And what about the money, Sage? We talked last week. No big expenses until after tourist season. You said we couldn't risk it.”
I watch Sage carefully. Her pulse beats fast in her throat, visible even from where I stand, but she steadies herself, craftingreassurance with the desperation of someone who has held together too many crumbling pieces for too long. Every muscle in her body remains taut, ready to fracture under pressure she can’t afford to acknowledge.
“I didn't want to worry you. It came up suddenly, and it'll be fine. Jenny's covering the café, and this is cheaper than replacing everything later if the machine fails in the middle of season.”
Hope huffs into the phone, her worry bleeding into irritation. “You should've told me. You can't just disappear without saying anything. You know what that does to me.”
“I know,” Sage murmurs, her eyes glistening though she refuses to let the tears fall. Her tone is firm despite the tremor underneath. “I'm sorry. But it's handled. You don't need to stress yourself sick over it. Call Hannah and have her stay over until I get back.”
Hope sighs again, weaker this time, the fight draining from her voice. “Bossy.”
“Always.” Sage forces a small laugh, the sound cracked at the edges, paper-thin and barely holding together. “I'll be home soon.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Sage ends the call before her voice can falter any further. The silence that follows feels thicker than it should, crowding against the walls of the bedroom.
She spins toward me, her face flushed with fury and exhaustion that she tries to hide behind anger. “Satisfied? I gave you exactly what you wanted.”
“Not exactly.” I tuck the phone into my pocket, my fingers brushing against the cool metal. “Your sister doubted you. She heard the crack in your voice. She knows you hid something.”
Her hands ball into fists at her sides again, her nails digging into her palms. “What choice did I have? You forced me to lie to her. And now she'll be sitting at home, counting pennies, wondering why I didn't tell her first.”
Her anger flares, but beneath it lies the truth of her words. Everything about her screams burden. A woman dragged down by responsibility she cannot set aside, delegate, or escape. The exhaustion carved into the lines around her eyes tells a story of sleepless nights and impossible choices. If she were playing a role for me, she would be smoother, more polished, and rehearsed. Not raw and bleeding emotion across every syllable she utters.
“You run a café,” I state, taking a step closer and watching her body tense in response. “With failing equipment. With debt from medical bills that never stop mounting. You expect me to believe that is all you are?”
Her chin tips higher in defiance, her blue eyes blazing with indignation that borders on reckless courage. “Yes. Because that's the truth. Every dollar I make goes to keeping the lights on and paying for my sister's medication. If you think that makes me suspicious, then maybe you're looking for conspiracies in the wrong places.”
Her words should sting. Instead, they land in my chest with jarring intensity, sending ripples into parts of me I've kept sealed and guarded for years. Parts I buried the day my father's empire became mine to shoulder.
I take another step, forcing her to look up at me and hold my gaze even though every instinct probably screams at her to back down. “Tell me about your father.”
Her expression falters. A shadow passes over her face, genuine sorrow etched deep enough that I recognize it immediately. The grief of someone who lost something irreplaceable before they understood its value. “His name was Thomas Bellamy. He left when I was four. Died when I was nine. I don't remember much, just the empty chair at the table, and my mother's voice getting smaller every time his name was mentioned. He's gone, Luka. That's all there is.”
“And your mother's side?”
“She was an only child. My grandparents died before I was born. No cousins. No family gatherings. Just us.”
Her voice thins on the last word, but she straightens her shoulders as if preparing herself for another blow that life has trained her to expect.
I let the silence linger, testing her resolve, and watching for any telltale signs of deception. Then I drop the name that burns through my mouth with the bitterness of old betrayals and fresh suspicions. “Ray Bellamy.”
Her eyes widen immediately, confusion sparking so genuinely and unguarded that I almost believe her on instinct alone. “I already told you I've never heard that name before.”
If she’s lying, she deserves an award for the performance of a lifetime. If she’s telling the truth, then fate has bound me to a woman with bloodlines that run red with violence and broken alliances. Before I can decide what’s true, my phone buzzes inmy pocket, pulling me away from her pale face and trembling hands.
Albert’s message flashes across the screen.She’s here.
Anya.
I pocket the device and move to the door. Sage steps forward as if she might follow, believing she has any authority in this situation.
“You're leaving?” she challenges, her voice rising with disbelief and fresh anger. “And I'm just supposed to sit here like some prisoner?”
I turn back, closing the space between us until I’m towering over her and she has to tilt her chin higher to maintain eye contact. Her breath catches audibly, but she doesn't retreat or give me the satisfaction of her fear. “That is exactly what you are until I know otherwise.”
