CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CADE
I bolted out of the house, barely registering the door slamming behind me.
My keys jangled in my hand as I leaped into the Ferrari, the sleek machine humming to life with a quiet ferocity that matched the urgency thrumming in my chest. I didn’t pause to think or weigh my options.
I just yanked the gearshift and peeled out of the garage, tires squealing faintly against the polished concrete.
Whatever is going on, I’m going to help her if I can. If she’ll let me.
The decision sank into my gut, a heavy, unyielding weight. Bella, true to her Moretti blood, was too damn stubborn to ever ask for help from me. She’d probably sooner chew glass. But that didn’t matter. I’d be there. No questions, no hesitation.
The drive blurred past in a haze of palm-lined streets, the opulence of Palm Beach fading as I crossed into a less manicured territory on the west side of the Intracoastal Waterway.
When I pulled up to Bella’s apartment complex, the sight hit me like a punch.
Cracked asphalt stretched like a scar across the lot, weeds clawing through the fissures.
The building itself sagged under years of neglect.
Peeling paint curled off the walls like dead skin.
Windows were smudged with grime or patched with duct tape.
A rusted bike missing a wheel leaned against a dumpster overflowing with trash.
The faint tang of mildew hung in the air, seeping through the car’s vents even with the windows up.
I recoiled. Sure, I knew people lived in places like this.
Hell, I wasn’t naive. I was many things, but not that.
My father’s sprawling real estate empire included plenty of properties that teetered on the edge of habitable.
Some of his tenants had whispered “slumlord” behind his back, and I’d overheard enough growing up to know it wasn’t entirely unfair.
But knowing it and seeing it up close were two different beasts.
And Palm Beach County was a paradox.
On the one hand, it was a glittering jewel of wealth where multimillion-dollar estates flaunted their manicured lawns and infinity pools, where my own life had unfolded in a bubble of privilege.
The town of Palm Beach itself was a postcard of excess, the kind of place that landed centerfold spreads in architectural magazines or lured tourists with its postcard-perfect facades.
But beyond the glossy veneer, there were pockets like this.
People scraped by, living in homes that looked to be one hurricane away from collapse, and they eked out their lives in apartments that should’ve been razed decades ago.
I’d driven past them before, sure, but always at a distance, a fleeting blur outside tinted windows. This time, it was Bella’s reality.
That shook me. The fact that she was tied to this place sent a ripple of disbelief through me, followed by something sharper.
Guilt? I shifted in the driver’s seat, the leather creaking under me as I stared at the building.
This wasn’t the world I remembered her in.
Back when we were kids, her family’s house had been large but also alive.
Warm. Now? This crumbling complex was a physical echo of how far she’d fallen, a testament to years of struggle I hadn’t been around to witness.
I’d known things had been tough for her, but this made it visceral.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel. Whatever had gone wrong today, it was just the latest hit in a long line of them. And I’d be damned if I let her face this stress alone. Not this time.
I parked my car in the row of open spaces and jogged to the second building, a short row of eight units that were wrapped around a derelict swimming pool and overgrown courtyard. Bella lived in unit 5B. I gave the front door two sharp raps, taking in the peeling paint and splintered wood.
She opened the door wearing a blue sweatshirt and light pink jogging pants, and her hair swept back from her face in a ponytail. She wore no makeup, and her red-rimmed eyes made it obvious she’d been crying. “You didn’t have to come.”
She stepped aside and I barreled into the small living room.
“This isn’t the kind of thing people should have to deal with alone.”
“Thank you.” Bella shoved the door shut with a force that rattled the flimsy frame, then twisted the deadbolt with a sharp click, then the chain lock above it.
I stood just inside the threshold, watching as she crossed the room in three quick strides to the small kitchen table, a rickety thing with a chipped glass top and metal legs that wobbled under pressure.
She collapsed into one of the mismatched chairs, the metal scraping against the linoleum with a shrill whine.
Her elbows hit the table hard, and she dropped her head into her hands, fingers threading into her hair.
“I have no idea what I am going to do,” she muttered, her voice low, raw, and thick with despair.
“Will you share the details?” I stepped closer.
I needed to understand, to piece this mess together before it swallowed her whole.
She didn’t answer right away. She just sat there, head bowed, shoulders hunched.
The silence stretched until I couldn’t stand it any longer.
I moved to the table and slid into the chair across from her, the cold metal biting through my pants.
Leaning forward, I rested my forearms on the glass, my fingers twitching with the need to hold her hand, to reassure her.
Anything to make her feel better. Plus, I was in fact-finding mode now, my mind shifting gears, racing to gather intel.
Every moment counted, and I wasn’t going to waste any.
“Bella,” I said, sharper this time. “What got leaked? Just the photos?”
She didn’t look up. Her hands stayed clamped over her face, muffling the words that slipped out next. “I am so screwed.”
Her voice cracked on the last syllable, a small, broken sound that hit me square in the chest. Panic radiated off her, a live wire sparking in the space between us.
“Well, yeah, but is your personal information out there too? Your address, phone number, all of it?”
“All of it.”
The words smothered against her palms. She shifted then, her hands sliding down just enough to reveal her face, which was pale and drawn, her eyes wide and glassy with a mix of exhaustion and dread.
“Every photo, every video, every damn live stream I’ve ever done on FanZone,” she added. “And yeah, my personal info too. It’s all out there, floating around for anyone to grab.”
My jaw tightened. “Did you try contacting FanZone tech support? They’ve got to have policies for this kind of thing.” I leaned in closer, my voice firm as I tried to anchor her with the question. Platforms like that lived or died by their user trust; surely, they’d jump on a breach this bad.
“I tried that.” She lifted her head fully now, her hands falling to the table with a dull thud.
Her fingers curled into loose fists, nails digging into her palms as she stared past me, at some invisible point on the peeling wall behind my head.
“I called their tech support line right after I found out. Waited on hold for twenty minutes listening to some godawful elevator music before I got through. The guy I talked to sounded half asleep and said they’d ‘look into it’ and get back to me within twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours.”
“Jesus.”
“They didn’t care. They didn’t even pretend to.”
“Bastards,” I muttered.
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
But this wasn’t a shock, not really. The internet was woven into every corner of our lives, and yet it could still be this impenetrable, faceless void when you needed it to make sense.
Companies like FanZone raked in millions from people like Bella, but when the gears broke down, they left everyone dangling, never accountable.
I studied her across the table, the faint tremor in her hands, the way her breath hitched like she was holding back a scream.
Fuck, I’m going to fix this or die trying.
“What else did they say?” I asked. My mind was already spinning through the contacts I could call and favors I could pull. I wasn’t about to let her drown in this misery alone. Not if I could help it.
“Well, the terms and conditions say they are not liable and that I agreed to use the site at my own risk.”
“Probably ninety-five percent of the creators on FanZone don’t read the terms and conditions,” I replied in a low voice.
She scoffed. “Right, I forgot, you don’t think highly of people who use that site.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms as I considered what she was telling me. “I’m saying it’s not your fault. FanZone probably banks on people just zipping through the paperwork without any idea what they are signing up for.”
“The whole point of being on that site was to gain a following and have control over my images. It was for subscribers only, and there were supposed to be measures in place to make sure that content didn’t show up on other parts of the internet.
” She sounded so sad, so defeated. Her body language said the same things: slumped, heavy shoulders and eyes full of tears, ready to explode.
Life had won, and reality had beaten the fight out of her.
“I have an idea,” I finally said. “I think I can help.”
She frowned. “Unless you have a time machine, I don’t think you can.”
“No, I don’t have that, but I keep a team of professionals on standby for this very issue.”
Now Bella laughed.
“A few years ago, I hired a group, RepuMang, based in Geneva, which specializes in reputation management. I pay them a ridiculous amount of money to be on standby for things like this. I bet they can erase the files.”
Bella scrunched her nose and tilted her head, her brows knitting together in a mix of skepticism and unease. “And you’re willing to have them help me?”