Chapter Six
Bella
New York City
My office in Manhattan didn’t have hidden doors or a maze of mirrors.
It had floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over a city that never stopped moving—a constant reminder that momentum was the only thing that mattered.
The building hummed with quiet efficiency.
No rituals. No velvet curtains. No silent staff pretending they didn’t have opinions.
Results and reputation were all that mattered.
I sat at my desk, my posture as straight and unyielding as it had been at The Beacon.
On the corner of my desk sat a small, silver-framed photograph—the only piece of “clutter” I allowed.
It was shot in Firebrook Valley, years ago.
My mother was in the center, looking younger and happier, with all of us crowded around her.
Back then, I hadn’t realized that my mother was the one holding the family’s foundations in check.
I’d thought the peace was natural, a byproduct of love and time together.
It wasn’t until the divorce that I realized she had been the actual fixer, the silent buffer between my father’s volatile ambition and the rest of us.
Now that she was gone, enjoying her freedom in the Berkshires, that weight had transferred entirely to me.
Not in a dramatic way. Not in a way anyone would ever acknowledge. Just silently, like inheritance always was in families like ours.
I turned the photo slightly away as I picked up the phone. I had a role to play. My fingers brushed the edge of the frame as I did, and for a second, my grip tightened on the phone.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Holliston.” The administrator’s voice was strained, caught between school policy and the reality of my last name. “As I said, your brother wasn’t cited for any specific violation that night. We have no record of him being involved in the . . . disturbance.”
“I see,” I said, my voice smooth and practiced.
“And I appreciate your discretion. I was simply making sure all was well before I spoke with my father. He’s been asking about the upcoming gala at Holliston Hall.
I believe the family’s latest endowment was specifically for the library’s restoration.
He’d be so disappointed if he thought the campus environment was becoming . . . unsettled.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. I didn’t need to threaten her. The mention of the Hall, the physical manifestation of my family’s influence, was the only lever I needed.
Power didn’t always look like force. Sometimes it looked like a polite sentence delivered at the right angle.
“Of course,” she stammered. “And . . . while I can’t speak on your brother’s involvement that night, I can tell you that the university has already barred a non-student from the premises.
A young woman who was found on property during the event and is no longer welcome. The situation has been handled.”
A non-student. Nora Burke?
Of course she was the one punished. Brady’s name couldn’t even be spoken, but hers could be stamped into a record and labeled a “situation.” My jaw tightened. The muscle jumped once—small and involuntary.
I hung up the desk phone, but my hand stayed on the receiver. My instinct was humming. If Nora’s name stayed in that university log, it was only a matter of time before someone looking for leverage against the Burkes, or someone in my own family, found it.
I picked up my personal cell phone and dialed a number I had memorized but never saved.
“It’s Bella,” I said when the call connected. “I need a ghost.”
The silence on the other end was professional. “Target?”
“A security log at the university. An incident involving a non-student on Saturday night. I want it gone. Along with any paperwork. Not only buried. Scrubbed. No names, no barred status, no record that a girl was ever there.”
“That’s a heavy ask, Ms. Holliston. Digital is easy. Paper trails are personal.”
“I’m aware. Consider the favor I did for you in Geneva settled. Completely.”
A beat of silence. “Consider it done.”
I hung up. I had traded a high-value asset for a Burke. Was it necessary? My gut told me it was.
What had happened that night? And what kind of incident would have gotten Nora permanently banned? Brady used to offer me every detail of his week. This silence wasn’t privacy. It was a wall.
And Brady didn’t build walls.
I shot him a quick text: Checking in. You okay?
The reply came three minutes later: Always, Bel. I’m buried in midterms. Chat soon? Love you.
The sweetest brush-off in the world. And from Brady, it was deeply concerning. I read it twice. Then a third time.
Love you.
I leaned back, my mind drifting briefly to Drew Burke. I thought of the way he’d walked out of The Beacon, ignoring the rules. He had a boldness that only came when you didn’t understand what the establishment was capable of. Or when you understood it perfectly and didn’t care.
He hadn’t looked afraid in The Beacon. Not once. He’d looked amused.
Amused was not an emotion my world tolerated. Corrections came swiftly and without mercy.
A light knock at the door broke my focus. My secretary, Elena, stepped in. She didn’t talk about the firestorms I put out, but I paid her extremely well because she always knew when one was sparking.
“Bella?” she said, her voice neutral. “Your father is being quite difficult to contact today. He’s moved two meetings and hasn’t checked in with his team.”
I felt the familiar tension coil in my neck. That was code. He’s doing something you won’t like. Go find the fire before it spreads. The coil tightened into something sharper. A warning pulse that had nothing to do with anxiety and everything to do with instinct.
I stared at the photo on my desk again. My mother’s smile. My father’s hand resting too possessively on her shoulder. All of us crammed together like the future wasn’t already cracking.
“Thank you, Elena,” I said, already reaching for my coat. “I’ll handle it.”
Because I always did. Because if I didn’t, no one would.
I was halfway to the door when Elena’s voice stopped me again. “Bella. Something came by courier.”
I paused. I hadn’t been expecting anything. “What is it?”
“A letter,” Elena added.
She held out a small, rigid envelope. Matte black. No logo. No return address. My name was printed neatly on the front—centered, deliberate. I took it from her.
“Who is it from?” I asked.
Elena shook her head. “He didn’t leave a name.”
Of course he didn’t.
“Thank you,” I said. “That’ll be all.”
She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded and left, pulling the door closed behind her.
I didn’t open the envelope right away. Instead, I set it on my desk and studied it, cataloging details the way I always did. The thickness of the paper. The quality of the seal. Who even sent letters anymore?
Next, would I receive notes via a pigeon?
I picked up the envelope. Inside was a single card. It was an invitation with a time and address. Signed by Drew Burke.
What the hell?
I brought up the location on my phone. It was a warehouse in West Side Manhattan.
Did he have news about Brady?
What was in that warehouse? As far as I knew, there wasn’t a New York version of the Beacon. Maybe all he wanted was privacy. That area had filled with luxury condos.
Any meeting between our families was best done in private.
I slipped the card into my coat pocket. My heart was racing, but not from fear. Anticipation? I’d tried to put Drew off balance to get the advantage. Was this his attempt to do the same?
“Fine,” I murmured to the empty office. “Show me what you’ve got, Burke.”