Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bella
Firebrook Valley
The door clicked shut behind the lawyer, and the sound landed like a verdict.
For a moment, no one spoke. The small office felt even tighter now.
A single desk lamp cast a warm pool of light across the scratched wood, but the corners stayed dim, shadows clinging.
Outside, the wind rattled the windowpane, carrying the distant, rhythmic scrape of a snowplow blade against the asphalt.
My father stood across the room, his expression carved into something controlled and civilized, which was always the most dangerous version of him.
Beside him, Cody looked as if he’d stepped into a courtroom he hadn’t chosen.
His jaw was tight and his eyes were sharp with the kind of anger that didn’t flare; it simmered.
Two men who were accustomed to being in charge. Two men who were absolutely not used to being trapped.
I could feel my pulse everywhere—at my throat, at my wrists, and behind my eyes—as if my body were trying to scream the truth before my mind could formulate the lie. The wool of my sweater felt suddenly too warm against my skin, the fabric shifting with every shallow breath.
Then Drew moved. Not hesitantly or cautiously.
He moved like a man who already knew where he belonged.
He crossed the space between us and stopped beside me with a quiet certainty that stole the air from the room.
His shoulder brushed mine—not an accident, but a claim.
His presence was solid, steady, and almost maddeningly calm.
The faint scent of his coat—pine, clean wool, and something subtly expensive—cut through the stale office air and settled over me like a memory I hadn’t asked for.
And then he reached down and laced his fingers through mine.
It wasn’t gentle, the way a stranger might do it. It wasn’t careful, the way a man might do it if he were afraid of how the gesture would be received. It was simple. Possessive. Protective. He held my hand like he’d done it a thousand times before.
The silence in the room deepened, becoming heavy and pressurized. My breath caught as the heat of his hand seeped into mine. My body responded with a treacherous, internal flutter that had nothing to do with the plan. This was pretense, I reminded myself. This was strategy. This was a performance.
But my skin didn’t understand the difference. My skin only knew him.
Drew turned his head toward me, his gaze sliding down my face as if he were checking my resolve. Could he feel the tremor in my palm? His expression gave nothing away.
“Would you like to tell them,” he asked, his voice low, “or should I?”
For one second, I got lost—not in his words, but in his eyes. Drew wasn’t demanding control. He wasn’t stepping in to rescue me like I was some delicate thing. He was offering a choice.
It was confusing. I’d spent my entire life surrounded by men who either tried to take the wheel from me or forced me to drive even when I was exhausted. Drew was doing neither. He was simply there asking me what I wanted.
My father’s voice cut through the silence. “Tell us what?” The words were controlled, but they carried a lethal bite beneath the polish.
I forced myself to breathe and straightened my spine.
I squeezed Drew’s hand once and he nodded.
If I wanted him to speak, he would. If I wanted to lead, he would let me.
It was how I’d always imagined a true partner would be.
We would do this together. I turned back to my father.
“Drew and I have something to tell you,” I said.
Drew didn’t look away from me. “Nobody expected this,” he said, his voice so controlled it felt like a vow. “Not even us.”
My heart stumbled. His gentle touch moved over my palm—one slow, rhythmic stroke. The motion sent a faint shiver up my arm like static before a storm.
“And now that it’s happened,” he continued, still looking at me as if I were the only person in the room, “we’re hoping you’ll understand why it changes everything.”
I swallowed hard. This was the plan. This was a performance. But something about the way he was looking at me made the words land with a different weight. It felt like truth waiting under a lie.
I lifted my chin. “It’s time to put whatever problems you have aside. Because Drew and I are together.”
My father’s eyes narrowed, and Cody’s expression hardened. But Drew’s gaze didn’t waver. He looked at me as if I’d said something incredibly brave.
“I know you both care about our happiness,” I continued, and the words came easier than they should have. “More than you care about a feud that has been dragging on for thirty years.”
Drew’s mouth curved just slightly, as if he approved of the maneuver. “We understand how difficult this is for you,” he said, his voice deep and steady, “but what we have is important and undeniable.”
My breath caught again. What we have. He said it as if it already existed—as if it had a shape and a weight.
“And we’re asking you,” he added, still looking only at me, “to respect that.”
For a moment, we weren’t in a law office. We weren’t in Firebrook Valley. We were somewhere else, somewhere intimate and terrifying, where a man looked at a woman as if he’d chosen her, and she couldn’t tell where the strategy ended and the reality began.
I turned to my father. “Dad,” I said, my voice softening despite the armor I wore, “I’m asking you not to prosecute Cody Burke.”
My father’s jaw tightened. “Bella—”
“Because I love his son,” I said.
The words hit the room like a lit match.
I felt them land in my own chest—hot, shocking, and far too bright.
Drew went still beside me, and when I looked up at him, there was a fire in his eyes I hadn’t expected.
It wasn’t surprise or amusement; it was something deeper.
It was possessive and hungry and almost reverent.
It lit something inside me, a yearning I tried to deny.
I couldn’t let this confuse me. Not now.
But my body didn’t care about my rules. It wanted him.
“You always tell me you want me to be happy,” I continued, forcing my focus back to my father. “You tell me you want what’s best for me. Well,” I said, my voice steadying, “Drew makes me happy.”
Drew’s hand tightened around mine. The pressure was brief but sure, a silent acknowledgment that landed somewhere deep in my ribs.
“And I’m asking you to respect that,” I finished.
Drew turned his head toward his father. “Dad,” he said, his voice holding a quiet weight, “you know I would do anything for you.”
Cody’s expression faltered for the smallest moment.
“And I have to believe the opposite is true,” Drew continued. “Because I love this woman.”
The air shifted. My stomach dropped. My heart did something that wasn’t fear—it was recognition. This felt too real.
“And because of that,” Drew said, “I have to believe you would never do anything to put this at risk.” His gaze flicked to mine for a heartbeat, and the intensity made my skin prickle. “This is my choice.”
Cody stared at him as if he’d never heard his son speak with such conviction. Drew didn’t blink.
“This only works,” Drew added, “if you put aside whatever this is between our families. Go back to Boston. If you’re going to keep a place here, come in the summer. Find a way to be happy here that doesn’t involve destroying everything in your path.”
Cody’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t interrupt. Drew wasn’t asking; he was drawing a line.
“And if you can’t,” Drew said, his voice dropping, “then Bella and I will choose our happiness over this place.” And you. He didn’t say it, but his tone implied it.
I turned back to my father. “Dad,” I said, quieter now, because the truth of it made my throat tighten. “Go back to New York.”
His eyes narrowed sharply. “Bella.”
“You don’t need this place,” I said. “It’s not healthy for you.”
He looked as if he wanted to argue or lash out, but the exhaustion in his eyes gave him away.
“We’ve had wonderful summers here,” I said softly, and I meant it. “But I’m choosing Drew over this place, and over whatever it is that’s kept our families apart.”
Silence. A long, heavy silence followed. My father looked from me to Drew, disbelief tightening his mouth. Cody looked from Drew to me, his expression grim and calculating.
“This is . . .” my father began, then stopped.
Cody let out a slow exhale. “Not true,” he muttered.
My father’s eyes sharpened. “They expect us to accept that they’re together?”
Drew’s thumb stroked my palm again—slow and steady. My breath stuttered.
“How,” my father demanded, his voice tight, “have we heard nothing? Not a word? Not even a rumor?”
Because it wasn’t real. Because it was a plan. Because it was—
My thoughts tangled. Drew shifted beside me. He turned his head toward me, his gaze steady, and I realized what he was about to do a heartbeat before it happened. It was supposed to be a performance. A small, controlled, convincing kiss. Something we could do and then step away from.
Drew’s hand lifted from mine. He cupped my face.
The gesture was so tender my lungs forgot how to work. His palm was warm against my cheek, his fingers steady at my jaw. His eyes locked on mine—not asking, not warning, just present.
And then his mouth met mine.
It was soft at first, the kind of kiss a man would give a woman he treasured.
It was a kiss that said you’re safe and I’ve got you.
My body responded instantly; heat bloomed, my fingers curled, and my pulse roared.
It should have been easy to keep it controlled.
It should have been easy to remember where we were.
But Drew’s mouth moved against mine with a quiet confidence that unraveled me. His thumb brushed my cheek. His other hand tightened at my waist. The kiss deepened—slow, deliberate, and impossibly intimate.
Too intimate. Too real.
My knees went weak. I couldn’t breathe or think; I could only feel him.
I felt the strength, the warmth, and the restrained hunger.
The faint taste of coffee lingered on his lips, grounding and dizzying all at once.
I heard a sound—someone clearing their throat, maybe—but it was a million miles away.
All I knew was Drew. He kissed me like he meant it.
Like he’d been waiting. Like he wanted to make sure I believed it too.
My hand fisted in his shirt before I could stop it. His breath hitched, and that tiny crack in his armor made heat rush through me so fast I panicked. This was supposed to be a strategy. This was supposed to be safe. But my body didn’t feel safe; it felt chosen.
And that was far more dangerous.
I pulled back first, because if I didn’t, I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to stop. We broke apart slowly, both of us breathless. Drew’s forehead hovered close to mine, his eyes darker now and his mouth parted as if he were fighting for control too.
I stared at him, stunned. I hadn’t expected that. I hadn’t expected him. For a heartbeat, we stayed locked in each other’s orbit, forgetting the room, the reason, and everything but the charged attraction between us.
Then my father spoke, his voice rough. “Holy fuck—” he started, then stopped.
“I don’t like it either,” Cody muttered. “This is insane.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” my father demanded.
Cody made a disgusted sound. “What was it you were saying about Burkes not being good enough for Hollistons?”
My father straightened to his full height, his chests puffing. “Don’t think you won, Burke. My daughter will—”
“Not see you for a long time if you choose your feud with each other over my happiness,” I said with more force than I’d intended.
And my father froze.
We shared a long look that erased whatever doubt he had that I meant what I’d said.
Arm around my waist, Drew said, “I feel the same way, Dad. This foolishness needs to end.”
Both of our fathers looked at a loss for what to say.
Drew and I stood united, unwavering in the face of their disapproval.
And the threat of pulling away? I meant it.
Not because Drew and I were actually together, but because my father didn’t know that.
And if he chose hurting his rival over respecting my choice?
Well, then maybe we were in an unhealthy place that I was better off taking a step back from.
My father and Cody exchanged a look then shook their heads and walked out of the office, nearly bumping shoulders in their race to be the first out. It was childish. Disappointing.
But also . . . promising. Neither was the type to retreat, so, if I chose to be optimistic, this might mean they were doing so because they knew they were in the wrong.
I blinked, disoriented then looked at Drew. His chest rose and fell once, a slow intake of air. Then his mouth curved into a look of broody amusement, as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or kiss me again.
“They believed us,” I whispered, because my voice didn’t trust itself.
Drew glanced toward the door, then back to me. “Yes,” he said calmly. “We were pretty convincing.”
Heat crawled up my neck. I forced myself to straighten, to gather my composure and rebuild the wall. “It needed to be,” I said quickly.
Drew’s eyes stayed on mine. “Sure,” he murmured, and the way he said it made me feel like he didn’t believe me for a second.
I swallowed hard. The door handle turned, and the lawyer reappeared. He stepped inside with his folder, his expression composed, but his eyes held unmistakable amusement. He glanced at us once, then twice.
Then, dry as dust, he said, “Miss Holliston, your father intends to drop the charges against Mr. Burke.” His lips twitched. “Whatever you said to them shook them up, but it worked. You did good.”