CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
BELLA
I came back from the East Coast trip feeling energized.
Determined. Optimistic, even. The long visit with Lilly was productive, restful, and meaningful.
And I was glad I got a chance to see her life at boarding school.
Spending the holiday with her in a rented house a few blocks from campus had been just what I needed.
Besides, it was a new year, after all.
I’d never been one to put much stock in that kind of thing, never been one to focus on the change of a calendar page, but this January felt different.
And maybe it was different. I had enough money to float for a while.
I didn’t have to go back to FanZone. I could put that behind me and figure something else out.
For all its trouble, at least the website had given me that—at least it had provided me with the luxury of time.
That was something I hadn’t benefited from in ages.
Now that I had it, I hoped I wouldn’t have to give it up anytime soon.
I was still thinking of that when I got home, fresh off the plane from Boston and grateful for the warm weather that a South Florida January always brought.
I picked my car up from the long-term parking lot and drove to my apartment with the windows down, the sea breeze and fresh air kissing my face.
But when I pulled into the spot across from my front door, my breath caught in my throat. A large but wilted bouquet of flowers waited for me on the rattan welcome mat beneath my front door. From the looks of it, the arrangement had been there a few days.
Cade.
They had to have come from him. Who else would order something so ostentatious, then leave it there for days without inquiring about if it had arrived?
I got out of my car, dragged my luggage up the path, and exhaled when I saw the card tucked between the ferns highlighting the red and white flowers. Yep.
Cade fucking Weston.
I navigated around the flowers, pulled my suitcase into the apartment, and took a couple of moments to gather myself before retrieving the gift and placing it on the kitchen counter.
The card was written in a simple, slating script, one which I recognized immediately as Cade’s distinctive, masculine handwriting.
That meant he’d gone to the extra trouble of stopping by the florist himself to write it out instead of dictating the message over the phone or to Lois.
Which indicates he means business...
And that included the request at the end, asking me to call him as soon as I got this. Please, he added before signing his name. Bella, I was so wrong and I was an asshole who didn’t even give you a chance to prove your innocence. Please forgive me.
There was no doubt it was an earnest plea. It had to be if he’d taken this much trouble to reach out to me. The last time we spoke, he’d been clear about what little he wanted to do with me and how much I had hurt him. And he hadn’t been willing to listen to me, no matter what I tried to say.
That part hurt most. He hadn’t even been willing to listen to my side of the story.
Of course, I hadn’t been trying to sabotage the Promenade the whole time.
There was absolutely no upside to that, no reason at all to do it.
Dad was long gone, and he was nothing but a memory to the few people who cared about him as more than a business connection.
Destroying the Promenade wouldn’t bring him back, and it wouldn’t settle any old scores between my family and Cade’s.
I sank into my breakfast table chair, my head dropping into my hands, the weight of Cade’s card and those wilted flowers pressing down on me.
A month ago, I might’ve said I was in love with him, that being around him felt like coming home, like a warm blanket on a cold night.
Or at least, that’s what I’d thought, back when I believed he saw me for who I was.
But now? The memory of his accusations stung too sharply.
How could I still want a man who doubted me so deeply, who didn’t even give me a chance to prove my innocence?
His note said he had something important to share, but the last time he’d insisted on seeing me, it ended with him tearing into me, leaving scars that still ached.
Yet, the careful script of his handwriting, the effort of delivering the flowers himself, tugged at something in me.
I felt a faint flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he wanted to make things right.
I wasn’t sure I could trust it, or him, but the possibility gnawed at me, leaving me torn between guarding my heart and wondering if there was still something worth salvaging.
I rose from the chair and located my phone in the side pocket of my leather duffle bag. Seconds later, Cade picked up the other line, and a shiver traveled down my spine and through my legs at the sound of his simple hello.
“I got the flowers,” I said.
“I wondered when you would.”
“How long have they been here? They’re half dead.”
“Half dead? You didn’t get them right away?”
“No.” I paused, my voice steady despite the memories flickering at the edges of my mind. “I went out of town and just got back. I needed... space.”
“I see.” Cade’s voice was quieter than I expected, tinged with something I couldn’t quite place. Regret, maybe? Or was that wishful thinking?
The silence stretched between us, heavy and awkward, each second pulling at the threads of our fractured history. I leaned against the kitchen counter, gripping the edge to ground myself. Finally, I broke the quiet. “Your note said you have something to share with me. What is it?”
“Yes, and since I wrote it, I’ve dug deeper into what I suspected.” He hesitated, and I could almost hear the weight of his words settling into place. “It’s critical, Bella. More serious than I realized.”
As he spoke, I traveled into the living room, then sank onto my sofa, the cushions swallowing me as my pulse quickened. “How serious?”
“Serious enough that I don’t want to do this over the phone. I need to tell you in person. Will you come to the office?”
I stiffened, the memory of our last encounter flashing like a warning sign.
“The last time I came to your office, Cade, you tore into me. You accused me of trying to sabotage everything you’ve built.
Your career, your reputation. You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.
It was cruel, and it was completely unfair.
” You called me a whore, and I’ve never felt so humiliated.
“It was.” His admission came quickly, raw and unpolished.
I pictured him in his sleek office, the ocean glittering beyond his window, his tailored suit a stark contrast to the vulnerability in his voice.
“I was wrong. I let my fear and my pride cloud everything. I hurt you, and I’ve regretted it every day since.
I owe you an apology and more than that, I owe you the truth. ”
“You do.”
“It’s not something I want to do over the phone,” Cade’s voice softened, raw and desperate. “Please,” he said, each word a plea pulling at my heart. “If not the office, then how about... our bench? Will you meet me there?”
Our bench.
I gripped the phone, its edges biting my palm, anchoring me against the longing threatening to drown me.
How can I trust him again? My pulse pounded, torn between his sincerity and the walls I’d built.
That bench was where I’d felt safe, seen, but his betrayal had shattered that.
My throat tightened, tears threatening as I remembered his cold eyes in his office, accusing me of sabotage I didn’t commit.
But even so, I’m still in love with him.
The truth cut deepest, a wound that wouldn’t heal.
“Cade, I don’t know.” My whispered, choked words betrayed my hurt. “You can’t just say you’re sorry and expect me to drop everything. You broke something between us that day. Trust doesn’t stitch itself back together because you’ve had a change of heart.”
I wanted to run to him, to believe we could rebuild, but the pain screamed for caution. I needed to stay grounded. I can’t let him break me again.
“I don’t think I should meet you there,” I said.
“It’s true that I don’t deserve your trust, not after what I did. But this isn’t only about me or my mistakes.” His voice cracked, and the sound sent a deep pang through me. “I’m begging you, Bella. Give me a chance to explain, to show you I’m not that man anymore.”
I stood and paced the room as my thoughts churned. The part of me that remembered the Cade I’d once trusted wanted to believe him. But the part that had been burned, that still carried the weight of his words, screamed for caution. “Why can’t you tell me now? Why does it have to be in person?”
“Because you deserve to see the evidence for yourself. And because I need you to see that I mean every word of this apology.” He paused, and I could hear the faint creak of his chair, as if he were leaning forward, willing me to agree. “Please. One meeting.”
I stopped pacing, staring out my window at the quiet street below. My heart thudded, caught between fear and curiosity, between the past and the possibility of answers. “I still need time to think about it. You don’t get to call the shots this time, Cade.”
“Fair enough,” he replied. “Take the time you need.”
I didn’t respond, letting the line go silent before hanging up.
My hand lingered on the phone, his words echoing in my mind.
Part of me wanted to stay far away, to keep the distance I’d fought so hard to maintain.
But another part, the part that still burned with questions, knew I’d always end up at his office.
If only to hear him out.
After a restless hour of pacing and second-guessing, I picked up my phone again. My fingers hovered over the screen before typing a simple text: I'm coming over now. You’re right, we need to talk. I hit send, my pulse racing as the message delivered. There was no turning back.
Minutes later, his reply buzzed through. I'll be waiting. I grabbed my keys, the decision settling over me like a fragile peace. Whatever he had to say, I was ready to face it.
And him.