Chapter Twenty
Bella
New York
No one enjoys a hangover.
I was grateful for time with my friends.
It had brought a sense of calm I desperately needed, leaving me feeling stronger and more determined not to be quite so reactive.
I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d done to deserve friends like Sloane and Jax, but I was smart enough not to question a miracle when it landed in my lap.
My friends didn’t just agree with me; they called me out.
Good friends don’t just make you feel better—they show you how to be better.
Which was how I felt, once my headache eased.
By mid-morning, I was back in my office, buried in the work I’d postponed.
I fielded phone calls, worked through a mountain of emails, and made the kind of rapid-fire decisions that made me feel like myself again.
I was the version of Bella Holliston who could handle anything as long as I kept moving.
Then came the email from the board liaison’s office. They were confirming my father’s attendance for a call in two hours—a call he had insisted on scheduling himself. Except he hadn’t confirmed it with me. He hadn’t prepped for it. And now, he wasn’t answering his phone.
I stared at the screen for a beat, the low hum of my computer sounding like a warning.
I had to cover for him and get the work done before I left the office.
People couldn’t know he was destabilized, just as they could never know about his past lapses in judgment.
The investors needed to have absolute faith in his ability to lead.
I needed to make sure nothing slipped. Not one crack. Not one hint of the truth.
While I was fixing the mess, my mind snapped back to Vermont.
Something small triggered it: the bite of cold air when I stepped near the window, the bitter taste of coffee, the sudden quiet of the hallway.
I remembered the bliss of simplicity there, the feeling of being with Drew and not having to hold up the sky.
The contrast hit me like a physical blow. This wasn’t simple. This was fluorescent lights, perpetual damage control, and pretending I wasn’t exhausted. I missed how easy it had felt to laugh. I missed being able to breathe.
I didn’t let myself dwell on it for long; I simply didn’t have the time.
In the quiet gaps between tasks, my thoughts drifted back to Drew.
I looked at the messages I’d sent him the day before and groaned.
The more time that passed, the harder it became to know what to say.
Sorry I was an ass? Sorry I have the maturity of a garden rock? Thank you for not pushing me?
Or were you not pushing me because you simply didn’t care?
I almost texted him. I didn’t. I told myself I would do it later, when I wasn’t actively holding together an empire and the man who built it. I checked in with Brady via text instead.
Bella: You back at school?
Brady: Yeah, all good. The storm was nuts, but we got out fine. Thanks for sending those vehicles. You always watch the weather like a hawk.
Bella: Just looking out.
Brady: Thank you for always watching out for me. Seriously. Skiing was epic, though. Nora’s friends are hilarious. We should all go sometime.
He was completely oblivious to the fact that I’d been there. It was almost funny; if he knew the extent of my “watching out,” he might not be so grateful. I kept that to myself.
Bella: Glad you had fun. Stay safe. Love you.
Brady: Love you too.
I tried my father again. Still MIA.
The frustration began to boil. I had the ridiculous thought that I should put a tracking tag on him, or sign us up for one of those family plans where I could monitor his every move.
I hadn’t expected to reach the “parenting the parent” stage of our relationship quite so soon.
When did I become the adult in the room?
He wasn’t answering, and that was never a good sign. I asked my secretary to find out where he was—discreetly. We were used to working together to keep the facade from crumbling.
A light knock at the door came a few minutes later. Elena stepped in, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp. She held a tablet in one hand like it was both a shield and a weapon.
“Bella,” she said, her voice low and steady. “About your father . . .”
I leaned back in my chair, the familiar tightness returning to my chest. “You found him?”
She nodded once, stepping closer but remaining standing. Sitting implied a luxury of time we didn’t have. “He’s in Firebrook Valley,” Elena said. “The estate confirmed it this morning. He arrived late last night with no advance notice.”
Firebrook Valley. In January. My stomach dropped.
Elena’s mouth pulled tight at the corners—a flicker of sympathy she tried to mask. “He’s rescheduled three meetings today without looping in the team. I covered two and told them it was a last-minute strategy pivot. Should I clear his schedule?”
The weight of our unspoken routine hung between us.
This wasn’t the first time she’d fed me intel while I decided how to patch the holes before the world saw them.
It was efficient and necessary, but it always left a sour taste.
We were co-conspirators in a play no one else knew was being performed.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice smooth despite the knot in my throat. “Hold off on pushing anything back yet. I’ll handle it.”
She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her fingers tightening on the tablet. “If you need me to coordinate anything else . . .”
“I know.” I forced a small, professional smile. “You’ve got my back, as always.” Looks like I’ll be giving her another raise . . .
She nodded, turning to leave, but paused at the door. “Take care of yourself too.”
The words were soft, almost maternal, and they stung more than they should have. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut with a finality that echoed in the quiet office.
I stared at my phone, willing it to light up with my father’s name. It stayed dark. Maybe he’d turned off his notifications. Maybe he was tired and looking for a place to rest. Maybe—
No. Off-season Firebrook Valley didn’t happen without a reason, and the fact that he still wasn’t answering meant the reason wasn’t good.
I didn’t waste another minute. I called Laurent.
He’d been with the Hollistons for thirty years, a man in his early seventies who was still as sturdy and sharp as a winter oak. He always said working with the horses was what kept him young. His nephew, Harper, worked with him at our estate but also pulled shifts at the Burke farm.
Laurent was the stabilizing force Gabe never was. He’d served in the military before returning to Firebrook Valley thirty years ago, and for me, he was a permanent fixture in the background of my life—patient, calm, and never judgmental. He was everything I often wished my father could be.
I stared at his name in my contacts for a second before hitting call. He picked up on the second ring, his voice gravelly but warm.
“Bella. Been expecting your call.”
“Laurent,” I said, fighting to keep my tone light. “Is my father there?”
There was a pause, the sound of wind whistling in the background. He was likely out near the stables. “He’s here,” he said. “Physically, he’s okay.”
Physically. The word hung in the air, heavy with implication.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice sharpening.
He sighed, and I could easily picture him rubbing the back of his neck with his hat tipped back. “I don’t want to get too involved in what’s going on, but . . . you need to come.”
I pressed him. “Laurent, please. Is he all right? Depressed? Angry? Give me something.”
“You’ll understand everything when you’re here.” Another pause. “I’ll have your room made up.”
The line went dead.
I sat there for a long moment, bracing myself for whatever storm my father was brewing. I took one last look at my final text exchange with Drew. I told myself I was going to answer him—just as soon as I figured out what was happening in Firebrook Valley.
Then, I would figure out what we were.
I wasn’t sure what waited for me in Firebrook Valley, but I knew the town’s legacy: it took more than it gave back.