The one that made everything clear.
The game had already started.
She was just now realizing she was on the board.
Chapter 5
Belle
I locked my apartment door. Tested the deadbolt twice. Told myself I was being ridiculous. Poured wine I didn't drink. Stared at bills I couldn't focus on. Tried reading—a mystery I'd sold three copies of yesterday—but the words slid past without meaning.
Gideon Jones.
His name sat in my skull like something poisonous I couldn't spit out.
I didn't want to think about him.
But my body had reacted before my brain caught up. That slow heat in my chest when he'd smiled. The way my pulse kicked when he'd said my name—familiar, intimate, like we shared something I didn't remember agreeing to.
Fucking traitorous biology.
I replayed the encounter against my will.
His voice. That easy, unhurried cadence that made every word feel deliberate. Calculated.
The way he'd stood in my doorway—not hesitant, not uncertain. Like he'd been there before. Like the space already belonged to him and he was just confirming ownership.
The smile.
God, that smile.
Calm. Certain. The expression of a man who'd never been denied anything that mattered.
Something about him felt wrong. Slimy. The kind of predatory polish that hid beneath expensive cologne and perfect teeth.
And yet.
And yet.
Some traitorous part of me had noticed the breadth of his shoulders. The way he moved—controlled, powerful, aware of every inch of space he occupied.
I hated that I'd noticed. Hated more that I was still noticing now, hours later, alone in my apartment with only wine and silence for company.
"He's just another arrogant athlete," I said aloud.
The words fell flat.
Because arrogant athletes didn't wander into failing bookstores on random mornings. Didn't know about your father's health. Didn't deliver warnings disguised as pleasantries.
Men like him didn't do anything by accident.
I'd rejected him once. A year ago at that insufferable gala, when he'd approached with that same confident smile, expecting... what? That I'd swoon? That his fame and face would override my disinterest?
I'd laughed.
Not cruelly. Just... reflexively. The absurdity of thinking we had anything in common.
He'd absorbed that rejection without flinching. Smiled like I'd done something interesting instead of insulting. And walked away.
