36. Chapter 36
36
Bella
B lackwood Academy.
I don’t drive here—I arrive. Like I’m supposed to curtsy at the gates and pay tribute in blood and a small yacht.
The campus sits on a cliff like a Bond villain’s vacation home. Gothic towers. Modern glass walkways. A freaking falcon sculpture perched over the entrance like it’s silently judging everyone’s SAT scores.
Is this even a school?
I park between a matte black Bentley and what I swear is a bulletproof G-Wagon with diplomatic plates. There’s a sign that reads “Parent Parking Only,” which is hilarious, considering most of these “parents” probably sent their assistants’ assistants in their place.
I cut the engine and just sit for a second.
Breathe.
Get it together.
Two weeks. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen them. Julian’s texts have been short—“good,” “fine,” “school’s fine.”
I smooth down my coat, grab my bag, and step out like I belong here. Like I’m not the girl who used to cry in her car after school drop-off because I wasn’t sure I could do this.
A woman in head-to-toe beige cashmere passes me. She gives me the kind of look usually reserved for suspicious stains and people who ask for directions inside Whole Foods.
I smile.
Keep walking.
Inside, the halls are cathedral-high and museum-silent. I pass a trio of students who look like they just stepped out of a European fashion editorial. I catch the faint scent of expensive cologne, freshly waxed floors, and generational wealth. Possibly war crimes.
The receptionist waves me through without even asking who I am. Which is either flattering or terrifying.
And then—
I see them.
Julian’s taller. How is he taller? In two weeks? He’s got a hoodie on with the school crest, hair slightly messy, jaw more defined, and I feel a pang so sudden it makes my ribs ache.
And Lila. My Lila.
She’s in uniform—navy blazer, pleated skirt, polished shoes—probably imported, definitely over-designed. Everything about this place whispers legacy and pressure.
I know that look.
Her posture straight, chin lifted just a little too high. She looks fine.
Except she doesn’t.
She’s not talking to anyone. No friends. No side conversations. Not even a fake smile.
And that’s not her.
Lila makes friends everywhere—grocery stores, elevators, once at a dentist’s office in the middle of a cavity. But these kids? These aren’t normal kids. These are the kind who get birthday presents wired from offshore accounts and think empathy is a debating skill.
She’s pretending she’s fine.
She’s always been good at pretending.
Until she sees me.
Her face crumples in a way that punches straight through my chest, and she takes off at a full sprint like the hallway’s on fire.
I barely drop my bag in time before she barrels into me.
“Okay, ouch,” I wheeze. “Have you been working out with the military?”
“You’re here!” she yells into my coat.
“I am.” I grin, burying my face in her hair. “In the flesh. Did you miss me or just the snacks I sneak you?”
“Both.”
Julian walks over slower. More reserved. His face doesn’t give much away—never has. But his eyes scan me like he’s trying to make sure I’m actually here. Like I might disappear if he blinks.
He doesn’t hug me. Not right away.
“You’re here.”
“I promised I’d visit,” I say, reaching out and smoothing down the front of his hoodie like some out-of-touch suburban mom. “You think I’d miss watching you two live out your elite boarding school drama? Please. I’m here for the full season arc.”
That gets me a flicker of a smirk. Barely there.
And then he pulls me in.
It’s not quick. It’s not casual. It’s strong. Solid.
Too grown up.
“I missed you,” I whisper against his shoulder. “I missed you both so much.”
He lets go first but stays close. Always watching. Always making sure I’m okay in that quiet, serious way of his.
“I’m proud of you,” I say, just for him. “How’s everything?”
He shrugs, eyes scanning the courtyard like someone might be listening. “It’s fine.”
That answer again.
He didn’t ask why we sent them here. Didn’t push back. Didn’t fight me the way I expected. Maybe because he could see I was at my limit. Maybe because, deep down, he knew there was more going on.
And now, he’s watching me like he wants to ask—but doesn’t want to be the reason I break.
“Lila’s up soon,” he says, nodding toward the building. “Her class is presenting volcanoes. You’re lucky—she bribed the teacher to go last just in case you came.”
“Oh, my God.” I blink hard. “I love that chaotic little manipulator.”
“Wonder where she got that from,” he says, deadpan.
Inside the science wing, the hallway smells like paper, Elmer’s glue, and nerves. The walls are lined with perfectly constructed dioramas and projects with actual circuitry . One kid’s model has fog machines and LED lighting. Jesus.
We slip into the back of the classroom just as a redhead finishes explaining tectonic plates like she’s pitching a Netflix documentary.
Then Lila steps up.
She doesn’t look nervous.
She looks like she belongs.
“Hi,” she says, voice clear. “I’m Lila Marquez, and this is Mount Dandelion. I know, it’s not a real volcano name, but it should be.”
A ripple of laughter.
“I made this out of papier maché, clay, and my soul. And maybe some glitter.”
The volcano actually erupts. Foam, food coloring, vinegar, the whole thing. Kids cheer. Parents clap. I laugh so hard I nearly snort.
When she’s done, she finds me with her eyes and mouths, “You saw it?”
I nod, giving her a double thumbs-up like a totally uncool human.
She beams.
Twenty-five minutes later, after the polite round of parent selfies, teacher thank-yous, and one small incident where someone’s model volcano combusted with suspicious enthusiasm, we find a quiet spot near the courtyard fountain.
Julian has fifteen minutes before his lacrosse practice. Of course he plays lacrosse now. Because why wouldn’t my baby brother become a full prep-school stereotype the second he touches Monterey soil?
Lila’s still halfway focused on her muffin, humming softly, pulling the wrapper into symmetrical strips like she’s dissecting it for science.
I sip a lukewarm latte from the school café. It tastes like wealth and minimalism—foam, oat milk, judgment.
Julian’s been glancing at me for five minutes straight.
Finally, he says it. “You okay?”
I nod. Too fast.
He doesn’t buy it.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he says, voice low. “But if something’s happening… I want to know.”
I glance down at the pastry I haven’t touched. Almond croissant. Flaky, fancy, not nearly sweet enough to distract me from what I’m about to say.
Julian deserves the truth.
I exhale. Long. Slow. Measured.
“I got married.”
His brows lift—but his face stays carefully steady. “To who?”
I glance around the courtyard like Konstantin might step out from behind the statue of Saint Benedict and light a cigar.
“His name is Konstantin Belov.”
Lila stops humming.
Crap.
She looks up, eyes wide. “Wait… what? ”
“I was going to tell you both—”
“When?” Julian cuts in. “After the wedding? Oh, wait.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It happened fast. Too fast. And I know I should’ve told you sooner, but—”
“Did he make you?” he asks, sharp.
“No.” I meet his eyes. “It was my choice.”
A beat of silence.
Then Lila: “Is he nice?”
I blink. “Define nice .”
She tilts her head. “Like… does he kill people?”
Julian groans. “Lila.”
“What? We’re at a school with bodyguards and facial recognition scanners. I’m just asking the real questions.”
I rub my face. “I don’t think he kills people on weekdays.”
Julian’s not laughing. Not even smiling. He’s still watching me, expression unreadable.
“I did this for us,” I say. “To protect the house. To make sure you both had a future. He’s in real estate. We met through work. He—he helped with some legal stuff.”
Lie. Partial truth. Defense mechanism. Repeat .
“Real estate?” Lila blinks. “Like flipping houses or… like… Bond villain compound real estate?”
“He owns a company,” I mutter. “Several.”
Julian stares for a second too long.
Then, deadly serious: “Are you pregnant?”
I choke.
Actually choke.
Croissant flakes shoot out like confetti. “ What?! ”
Julian’s eyebrows shoot up. He leans back, blinking like he misheard, then lets out a short, disbelieving laugh—no humor in it.
“You married a guy out of nowhere. That usually means one of two things.”
Lila’s hand is covering her mouth now. “WHAT.”
“I’m not—” I cough, wiping my face. “Jesus. Julian.”
“You didn’t deny it.”
“Because I was dying!”
They’re both looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.
And now I’m sweating.
“This isn’t—look, it’s not like that, okay? I’m not pregnant. I’m just… married. Legally. To a man.”
Temporary, I think.
Julian doesn’t flinch. “I want to meet him.”
“No.”
“Lila hasn’t even seen him yet.”
“Still no.”
“Then we’re coming to see you for the weekend,” Julian says.
“That’s not—”
“Figure it out,” he says, already standing.
Lila nods in agreement. “We’ll pack nice outfits. I wanna see if he actually exists.”
“Guys, it’s not that simple—”
Julian stands, slinging his backpack over one shoulder like he’s already done with this conversation.
“You’re hiding him,” he says, calm. Too calm. “Which means you don’t trust him.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m not staying at some overpriced school living in someone else’s plan if you can’t even be honest with me about the guy who’s funding it.”
His voice cuts clean. No yelling. Just truth.
“Julian—”
“You have until Sunday.”
He turns.
“I mean it, Bella. If you don’t let us meet him… I’m done.”
Then he walks away.
No hug. No second glance.
Just the sound of my little brother making it very, very clear—
He’s not a kid anymore.
And I’m not the only one capable of drawing a line.