For the first time all day, I feel like I might actually break. Before I can respond to him, the back door swings open, and Lila storms in like an incoming tornado.
“This is an outrage,” she announces, dropping her bag with enough force to rattle the floor. “I have beenabductedagainst my will.”
Julian doesn’t even look at her. “You’re welcome.”
Lila whirls on me. “Do you know whathedid?”
“Judging by the dramatics, I’m guessing it’s something that saved your life,” I say, twirling the spaghetti in the pan.
“Hehauledme out of Maya’s house like some caveman and threw me into the car! In front ofeveryone!”
Julian finally looks at her. “It’s not my fault you thought sneaking out was a solid plan.”
Lila lets out a strangled noise of frustration. “Ihada plan! Maya’s brother was going to drive me home.”
Julian raises an eyebrow. “The guy who vapes inside and tried to start a fight with the cashier at 7-Eleven last week?”
Lila glares at him like he’s personally ruined her life. “Ihateyou.”
“Sure,” Julian says, taking another bite of cheese. “But I’d hate me too if I were 14 and dumb.”
Lila turns to me, her face all righteous betrayal. “Bella, tell him he’s a controlling freak with a God complex.”
I sigh, handing her a fork. “He’s a controlling freak with a God complex. Now go wash your hands. Food’s almost ready.”
Lila groans but stomps off.
I turn to Julian, softer now. “Thank you.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “She’s 14. It’s not a party. It’s atrap.”
I press a hand to my forehead. “I’m failing at this.”
Julian leans against the counter, watching me. “You’re not.”
I let out a breath, looking at him. “Yeah?”
He gives me a half-smirk. “Yeah. Now sit down. You look like you need carbs more than anyone.”
I let out a small laugh and shake my head, but I listen.
Because for now, this is all we can do—get through another meal, another day.
And hope that the men outside the café, the ones who watched me too long… were just my imagination.
18
Bella
Monday morning.
The kind of morning that kicks you in the teeth before you’ve even had coffee.
I walk into the office earlier than nearly everyone else becauseof courseI do. It’s a habit. Success in real estate isn’t about luck—it’s about showing up before the bastards who want to take your clients. And today, I need to talk to James Cavanaugh, the owner of Elite Property, to discuss my latest deal and—more importantly—chase down my commission check before Sandra finds a way to screw me out of it.
Except… I haven’t seen James in weeks.
And the last time I did, he lookedoff.
