*This is between me and my fiancée. You have no right to interfere.*
*She stopped being your fiancée when she walked away from the altar. She's under my protection now. If you come anywhere near her, there will be consequences.*
The typing indicator appears and disappears several times. Finally: *She's mine, old man. You can't keep her from me forever.*
I stare at those words—*she's mine*—and feel rage so cold and pure it's almost calming. This is who my son is. Not confused, not heartbroken, not worried about Belle's wellbeing. Just angry that his possession escaped.
I block the number and make a mental note to have my IT team trace it, get a record of the communication. Evidence, for whatever comes next.
Because something will come next. Nathan isn't the type to give up easily, especially not when his ego is involved. He'll come looking for her eventually, and when he does—
When he does, he'll have to go through me.
The thought should concern me. I'm forty-five years old, too old for physical confrontation, too civilized for violence. I have security for this kind of thing, lawyers to handle threats, money to solve problems without getting my hands dirty.
But if Nathan shows up here, if he tries to take Belle, if he so much as looks at her wrong, I'll handle it myself.
I'll show him exactly where he gets his ruthlessness from.
Another buzz from the intercom. Marcus this time, letting me know he's implemented the security upgrades. Three guards on rotation at each checkpoint, new cameras installed, perimeter sensors activated. My fortress just became even more impenetrable.
Good.
I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, trying to find some semblance of calm. Trying to logic my way through this impossible situation.
Belle is upstairs, safe, fed, protected. That's what matters. Whatever I feel about it is irrelevant. She needed help, I provided it, end of story.
Except it's not the end. It's barely the beginning.
She'll need to stay here for at least a few days while we sort out the legal complications, get her access to her own money, find her somewhere permanent to live. A week, maybe two at most.
I can maintain professional distance for two weeks. I've endured longer, harder things in my life.
I can watch her from across rooms and not think about closing the distance. Can listen to her voice and not imagine it whispering my name. Can see her smile and not wonder what it would feel like directed at me with intent instead of gratitude.
I can be what she needs—a protector, a benefactor, a safe harbor, and nothing more.
I have to be.
Because the alternative, acknowledging these feelings, acting on them, admitting that I've been halfway in love with my son's fiancée for two years, would destroy us both.
She deserves better than a bitter, isolated man old enough to be her father. Deserves someone young and whole and uncomplicated, someone who can give her the normal life Nathan stole from her.
I'll help her build that life. From a distance. And then I'll let her go.
My office suddenly feels suffocating. Too small, too quiet, too full of thoughts I can't afford to have. I stand abruptly and walk to the windows, looking out at the forest that's now completely dark, my reflection staring back at me.
I look like a man at war with himself.
I look like a man who's already lost.
Upstairs, Belle is safe. That's what matters. That's all that can matter.
I'll keep telling myself that until I believe it.
Even if it takes the rest of my life.
Chapter 3 - Belle
