Chapter 18 – BELLA
CHAPTER 18
BELLA
I watch Cole disappear down the hallway, my hands still tingling from where they touched his scarred skin. My heart feels too big for my chest, like it might burst from the tenderness I feel. The way he let me help him, even though every line of his body screamed at him to run... it means something.
I can't stop thinking about the wooden duck he carved for me. Such a small thing, but the detail, the care he put into it—it shows a side of him I don't think many people get to see. An artist's soul in a warrior's body.
He doesn't hate me.
The realization settles warm in my chest. He's just... wounded. Closed off. Hurt too many times to trust easily.
"What's that?"
Braxley's voice makes me jump. I didn't hear him come into the kitchen, too lost in my thoughts. He's staring at the wooden duck I left on the counter while cleaning up the first aid supplies.
"Oh, yeah, Cole made it for me. He's?—"
"That scarred freak made this?" Braxley picks up the carving with two fingers like it might bite him. "It's so... rustic. Definitely not on brand. I could just buy you a better one if you like ducks so much."
Something hot and fierce flares in my chest. "Don't call him that," I snap, surprising myself with the fury in my voice. "And give it back. It's mine."
Braxley raises his eyebrows at me. "Or what?"
"Hey now." Liam's voice cuts through the tension like a knife. He materializes between us, seemingly out of nowhere. "Let's all take a step back, yeah?"
I become aware of the others then, hovering at the edges of the kitchen like wolves waiting to strike. Roman's eyes are hard, fixed on Braxley. Troy's usual easy smile is nowhere to be seen. Savva looks ready to vault over the counter at a moment's notice.
No sign of Cole, but I can feel his presence somewhere all the same.
I know, logically, that Braxley would never actually hurt me. If nothing else, he's too concerned about his image for that. But right now, with his alpha pheromones flooding the kitchen and his face twisted in anger, I'm not so sure.
"This is none of your business," Braxley snaps at Liam.
"Actually, it is." Liam's voice is calm, but there's steel underneath. "Your safety is our business. Both of you."
The air is already charged with anger and alpha pheromones. Not just from Braxley anymore, but from all of them. The Vanguard Pack's usually muted scents are stronger now, sharp with protective aggression.
Braxley's eyes dart between them, his bravado faltering as he seems to finally register just how many large, dangerous alphas are staring him down. His throat bobs as he swallows hard.
"Whatever," he mutters, practically throwing the wooden duck back onto the counter. "Keep your little... craft project. I have a video to film anyway."
I snatch up Cole's carving before Braxley can change his mind, cradling it protectively against my chest. My hands are still shaking, but it's from anger, not fear.
Braxley storms off toward his content creation room, but not before shooting me a look that's equal parts wounded and furious.
Like somehow I'm the one who embarrassed him.
The moment he's gone, some of the awkwardness bleeds out of the room. The alphas' scents settle back to their usual muted state, though I notice they're still watching me carefully.
"You alright there, lass?" Liam asks, his voice gentler than it was a moment ago. Then again, I'm not Braxley.
I nod, not trusting my voice yet. My heart is still racing, adrenaline coursing through my system with nowhere to go. I've never stood up to Braxley like that before. To any alpha, really. The rush of it leaves me feeling shaky and almost nauseated.
"Here, sit down before you fall down," Troy says, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs.
I sink into it gratefully, still clutching Cole's carving. The smooth wood is warm against my palms.
"I've never..." I start, then stop, swallowing hard. "I don't usually..."
"Stand up for yourself?" Savva supplies quietly.
I nod again, staring down at the wooden duck. The detail work is incredible—each tiny feather lovingly carved, the curve of the neck so graceful. How could anyone look at this and see anything but beauty?
When I look up, Liam is watching me with an odd expression. Like he's working something out in his head. Finally, he seems to come to a decision.
"How would you feel about learning some self-defense?" he asks.
I blink, caught off guard by the question. "What?"
"Self-defense," he repeats. "Basic stuff. How to break a hold, throw a punch. Might help with that excess energy you're carrying right now." He gives me a lopsided grin. "And the next time you're dealing with an asshole alpha, you'll know exactly what to do."
"A kick to the balls," Troy adds. "Or a throat punch. Both decent choices."
The laugh that bubbles up in my chest is a huge relief.
The idea is... appealing, actually. Very appealing. My body is still humming with unspent adrenaline, my muscles tight and twitching. And he's right. It would be good to know how to defend myself. Just in case.
Not that Braxley would ever actually hurt me.
Probably.
"I... yes," I say, surprising myself with how quickly I agree. "I'd like that."
Liam grins. "Brilliant. I saw a gym when Braxley was giving us the tour. Doesn't look like it gets much use, despite all his talk about those foul green shakes of his and 'clean' living."
He's right. Braxley's gym is just another backdrop for his social media posts. I don't think I've ever seen him actually work out there.
"Now?" I ask, glancing down at my clothes. I'm still in my jeans and sweater.
"If you want. Though you might want to change into something more comfortable first."
I nod and stand, carefully setting Cole's carving on the counter. Then I hesitate, not wanting to leave it where Braxley might get to it again.
"I'll keep an eye on it," Savva says, correctly interpreting my concern. "No one will touch it."
"Thank you," I murmur, then hurry off to change.
I dig through my suitcase until I find a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. I change quickly, pulling my hair back into a messy bun.
When I return to the kitchen, Liam is waiting for me. He's changed too, now wearing a sleeveless shirt that shows off the full extent of his tattoos. The black and gray designs cover both arms and hands completely like intricate sleeves, broken up here and there only by a few thin inkless scars.
"Ready?" he asks.
I nod, following him down the hallway to Braxley's private gym. It's a beautiful space, all chrome and glass like everything else in the penthouse. One wall is entirely mirrors, and the floor is covered in expensive rubber matting. Various pieces of pristine exercise equipment line the walls, looking like they've never been touched.
"Right then," Liam says, moving to the center of the room. "First things first—stance."
For the next several minutes, he walks me through the basics. How to stand, how to make a proper fist, how to move. His teaching style is patient but firm, correcting my form with gentle touches and clear explanations.
"Good," he says as I mirror his stance. "Now, I'm going to come at you slowly, and I want you to block like I showed you. Ready?"
I nod, trying to remember everything he's taught me. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, hands up to protect my face.
He moves toward me in slow motion, throwing a punch that I know he could make blindingly fast if he wanted to. I manage to block it, just like he showed me, deflecting his arm to the side.
"Well done!" he praises. "Again, a bit faster this time."
We continue like this, gradually increasing the speed. Each successful block builds my confidence a little more. Soon, I'm not just blocking but countering, throwing my own punches—which he easily deflects—and even attempting some of the kicks he's showing me.
It feels... good.
Really good.
With each movement, some of the anxiety I've been carrying starts to bleed away. The physical exertion burns through the lingering adrenaline from my confrontation with Braxley, replacing it with a different kind of energy. Something cleaner, more focused.
"You're a natural," Liam says as I successfully complete a combination we've been working on. "Ready to try some sparring?"
I hesitate.
"I won't hurt you," he adds. "Promise. We'll keep it light, just touch contact. And you can stop anytime you want, just say the word."
"Okay," I agree, settling back into my stance.
This time when he comes at me, it's different. He's still holding back—I know he could take me down in seconds if he wanted to—but there's more intensity to his movements. I block his first punch, then his second, but the third gets through my guard, tapping lightly against my ribs.
"Point to me," he says. "Remember to keep your guard up on both sides."
I nod, determination settling over me. We reset, and this time when he attacks, I'm ready. Block, block, duck under his swing, and—yes! My fist connects with his side, just where he showed me to aim.
"Point to you!" he says, grinning. "Excellent work!"
We continue sparring, trading light blows and points. I lose track of time, lost in the rhythm of it. Block, strike, move, reset. My muscles burn pleasantly. Every successful hit releases a little more of the frustration I've been carrying, not just from today but from months of biting my tongue and playing my part.
I'm so focused on the sparring that I don't notice we have an audience until I hear a low whistle from the doorway.
"Damn, girl's got some moves," Troy says, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed.
I stumble, startled, and Liam immediately backs off. "You okay?" he asks. "Need a break?"
I nod, suddenly aware of how hard I'm breathing. "Water?"
"Here." Roman materializes beside me, holding out a bottle of cold water. I hadn't even noticed him come in.
"Thanks," I say, accepting it gratefully. As I drink, I notice that Savva and Cole have appeared too. They're all watching me with expressions I can't quite read.
"How long was I...?" I gesture vaguely at the gym.
"About an hour," Savva replies.
I feel my cheeks heat up. "I got a bit carried away, I guess."
"Nothing wrong with that," Liam says. "Sometimes you need to let it out. Better here than slapping the piss out of Brax."
I laugh nervously. "I wouldn't have done that."
"I would," Savva says simply.
"Is he still filming?" I ask, desperate to change the subject.
"Still going strong," Troy confirms. "Something about his skincare routine. I tuned out after the third time he mentioned his 'pore-tightening serum.'"
"Yeah, that sounds about right," I mutter, taking another long sip.
"You should do this regularly," Roman says. We all turn to look at him. "The training. It's good for you. And it's a useful skill to have."
"He's right," Cole says quietly. It's the first thing he's said since I patched him up in the kitchen. "You should know how to protect yourself."
I don't have to ask him what he means.
He means alphas.
"I'd like that," I say, my voice suddenly hoarse. Do they really think Braxley was close to actually hurting me? Is that what this is about? Because they're certainly acting like that's the case here. The thought puts me on edge immediately.
"Would be my pleasure, lass," Liam says with a warm smile. "Same time tomorrow?"
I nod, already looking forward to it. My muscles are going to hate me in the morning, but right now I feel... good. Stronger. More centered than I have in months.
"For now though, you should rest," Savva suggests. "Before our esteemed client notices you've been doing something so… pedestrian."
I snort at his dead-on impression of Braxley's horrified tone. "Yeah, probably a good idea. Thank you, Liam. For everything."
He waves off my thanks. "Anytime. Really."
As I head for the shower, I catch one last glimpse of Cole. He's watching me with that intense gaze of his, but then he melts back into the shadows, silent as always.
Still, something has shifted between us.
Between all of us, really.
I'm not sure what it is yet, but I can feel it. Like the first tremors before an earthquake. Change is coming.
And for once, I'm not afraid of it.
Under the hot spray of the shower, I let my mind wander back over the events of the day. The park with Cole, Troy, and Savva. The wooden duck. Standing up to Braxley. Training with Liam.
I flex my hands, looking at my knuckles. They're a little red from hitting the practice pads, but it's a good kind of sore. Like the ache in my muscles. A reminder that I'm stronger than I thought.
Maybe that's what scares Braxley so much. Not that I might leave him, but that I might realize I can.
The thought should probably frighten me. Instead, it feels like waking up from a long sleep. Like pieces of myself I'd forgotten are slowly coming back to life.
I step out of the shower and wrap myself in one of the ridiculously plush towels, catching a glimpse of myself in the steam-covered mirror. I look... different. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes bright. I look alive.
I look like me.
When was the last time I could say that?
A knock at the bathroom door makes me jump. "Bella?" Braxley's voice, sickly sweet. "Are you almost done in there? I need to film my evening skincare routine, and the lighting is best in this bathroom."
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. Yesterday, I would have rushed to get out of his way, apologizing for taking so long.
Today, I straighten my spine and call back, "I'll be out when I'm done."
There's a moment of startled silence from the other side of the door. Then, "But Bella?—"
"When I'm done, Braxley."
Another pause, longer this time. Finally, I hear him storm off, muttering under his breath about ungrateful omegas and ruined content schedules.
I smile at my reflection in the mirror, and this time, it reaches my eyes.
Yeah. Definitely stronger than I thought.