Chapter 35
BELLE
Iwoke before the sun because my brain wouldn’t let me sleep.
The house was quiet in that heavy, expensive way it always was in the early morning. The river beyond the windows looked like brushed steel. I slipped out of bed carefully.
In the kitchen, I made coffee the way I always did. Measured grounds. Steady pour. The normalcy of it grounded me.
I made breakfast too. Eggs. Toast. Cut fruit arranged neatly on a plate.
Then I covered it with foil and left it on the counter.
I didn’t wait for him to come downstairs.
I couldn’t. I still had too much thinking to do.
Buying my company. Buying my boss. Buying my problem. Was that protection? Or was that control dressed up in good intentions?
I grabbed my keys and left before I could spiral further. The drive to Tripp’s office felt familiar and tense all at once. My stomach twisted the closer I got.
I needed this check. Dad’s payment was due. With this one, I might finally be caught up. Fully caught up. That thought alone steadied me.
I parked and sat in the car for a moment, bracing myself. I’d rehearsed responses in my head the whole way over.
When I stepped inside, the receptionist barely looked up.
“I’m here for my check,” I said evenly.
She handed it to me.
“Do I need to talk to Tripp first?”
“That won’t be necessary,” she replied. “He’s in a meeting.”
My heart skipped. “With who?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“With his father.” Of course he was.
She reached into a drawer and handed me an envelope.
“There you go.”
That was it. No confrontation. No smirk. No comment about Lancaster. Best case scenario.
I didn’t linger. I didn’t breathe fully until I was back in my van with the envelope torn open in my lap.
The check was correct. No games. No deductions. I exhaled slowly.
I didn’t let myself overthink it.
I drove straight to Long Creek. Dad was in the game room again, working on a puzzle that absolutely did not match the pieces on the table.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said when he saw me, like I’d just stepped briefly out for milk.
We talked. He told me a story about a carburetor that I was ninety percent sure he’d told me three times this week already. I listened anyway. Then, while he was distracted by a passing nurse, I logged into the billing portal on my phone.
Time to catch up. I typed in the amount. Hit submit. The screen refreshed.
Balance: $0.00.
I blinked.
No.
That wasn’t right. I refreshed again. Still zero. Paid in full. It was not only paid in full, but it was paid for a full twelve months.
My heart began to pound. That had to be a bank error. Some glitch. Some miracle that would be reversed the second I let myself relax.
I didn’t want a surprise correction three weeks from now. I kissed Dad on the cheek and told him I’d be right back.
At the front desk, I forced my voice to stay steady.
“I’m looking at the billing portal,” I said. “It says my father’s balance is paid through next year.”
The woman behind the desk smiled politely. “Yes, ma’am. That’s correct.”
“That can’t be right.”
She clicked a few keys. “It was paid in full yesterday afternoon.”
Yesterday afternoon. My stomach dropped.
“Are you sure it wasn’t a mistake?” I asked.
“No mistake.”
She turned the screen slightly so I could see the payment entry.
I stepped back slowly.
The air felt thin.
Raphael.
Of course, he did this.
I didn’t need confirmation.
He had said he would eliminate my problems. He had said I would never live like that again. He hadn’t asked. He had just . . . done it.
My chest filled with something complicated and sharp. I didn’t know what it was. It was relief, gratitude, fear, and anger all rolled into one. I should be happy. A full year of nothing to worry about with dad’s care, I should be elated. Why did it feel like the floor had shifted beneath my feet?
I don’t remember the drive back. I remember gripping the steering wheel too tightly. I remember my pulse in my ears. I remember thinking over and over that he does not get to do this.
I parked crooked in the drive and barely shut the door behind me before I was inside the house.
“Raphael!” I called, not caring that my voice carried.
No answer from downstairs. Of course. Office.
I marched up the stairs and didn’t bother knocking.
I pushed the door open. He was behind his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled, reading something on his laptop.
He looked up, and for a split second, he smiled like he was glad to see me.
Then he saw my face. He leaned back slowly in his chair and took a deep breath.
“What happened??” he asked evenly.
I held up my phone, the screen still open to the billing portal.
“What is this?”
He glanced at it. Then back at me. “I assume that is your father’s account.”
“You paid it?!”
“Yes.” Just like that.
My chest tightened.
“You don’t get to do that.”
He pushed back from the desk and stood, hands braced on the edge of the wood. His voice stayed maddeningly steady. “I removed financial instability.”
“You removed my choice.”
His jaw tightened slightly. “You would have paid it anyway.”
“That’s not the point!”
The calm in his posture didn’t shift. “Then explain the point. I have given you freedom to choose. Your father’s bills are no longer hanging over your head. I have acquired Merry Band of Maids and will give everyone insurance.”
“You did what?” My mouth fell open. I could not believe that is how he fixed this. “You plan to fix the power imbalance by owning my company and paying my bills. Raph, do you hear how crazy that sounds?”
His brow furrowed, and he licked his bottom lip, but he stayed quiet.
I stepped forward, heart racing. “The point is you don’t get to decide, to swoop in and solve my life without asking me.”
“I was not aware this required permission.”
I let out a sharp huff of laughter. “Of course you weren’t.”
His eyes narrowed faintly. “Belle.”
“You cannot have this much control over me.”
“It is not control.”
“You bought my company.”
“I acquired a subsidiary.”
“You paid my father’s bills.”
“I secured his care.”
“You are rearranging my life like it’s a spreadsheet.”
Silence.
His gaze held mine.
“You were drowning,” he said quietly.
“I was surviving.”
“You were exhausted.”
“I was managing.”
“You were vulnerable.”
“And I was handling it!”
The words echoed in the office.
He straightened slowly. “You believe I did this to diminish you.”
“I believe you did it because you can.”
He exhaled.
“That is not an answer.” I shook my head. “You can’t just pay everything and expect me to be grateful.”
“I did not expect gratitude.”
“You expected what? That I would just . . . fall in line?”
His eyes darkened. “I expect you to understand that I will not allow you to struggle unnecessarily.”
“I don’t want to live at the whim of a man,” I said, my voice shaking now, “who I won’t even be married to in two months.”
That landed. Hard. For the first time, the calm cracked.
He shook his head slowly. “Is that truly what you believe?”
“I don’t know, Raph. You haven’t told me otherwise.”
He stepped around the desk. Not aggressively, but with purpose. “I have no intention of divorcing you.”
The room went still.
I blinked. “What?”
“I did not enter this marriage intending to dissolve it.”
“That’s what we agreed to.” My heart started pounding harder. “You said six months.”
“I said we would review in six months.”
“That means the end.”
“That means decide.”
His voice was still controlled, but there was something underneath it now.
Heat.
“You think I purchased a company and prepaid a year of care for a woman I intend to release in sixty days?” he asked quietly.
I stared at him.
“You never said—”
“I believed my actions were sufficient.”
“That’s not how this works!”
“Then how does it work?” he demanded, finally losing that irritating calm. “Because I’m attempting to build a future with you, and you are speaking as though this is temporary lodging.”
My throat closed.
“A future?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
The word was immediate. Unhesitating. “I have no intention of divorcing you, Belle.”
And suddenly, the ground shifted in an entirely different direction.