32. BELLA
32
BELLA
T he air pressed against my chest like an iron weight when I walked away from Eli’s yacht. My cheeks burned with humiliation and anger, clawing at my throat and it made it hard to breathe. Each step felt like wading through quicksand, the crisp sea air thick and suffocating me, clinging to me like a shroud.
The marina, usually a place of luxury and calm, seemed stifling now. The rhythmic sound of water slapping against the docks only made me feel uneasy, like the universe itself was mocking me. A faint breeze carried the salty tang of the sea, but it did nothing to cool the heat of my anger and humiliation. My heels clicked against the wooden planks, a sharp reminder of every misstep I’d taken in the last twenty-four hours.
Eli had been livid when he realized I wasn’t just some aimless tourist charmed by his silver tongue but Chris Blackwood’s employee—and more.
The moment his expression shifted, a flash of recognition followed by seething anger, my stomach twisted into a knot. I could see the wheels turning in his head, his thoughts getting darker. For a split second, I felt exposed, like he’d stripped away every layer of my intentions and laid them bare. It was terrifying, his fury pressing down on me as I struggled to maintain my composure. The way his smug smile had turned into a sneer as he pieced it all together made my stomach churn.
“You played me,” he’d spat, his voice icy and low, his hand gripping my arm tight enough that I wondered if it would leave a mark.
His jaw was tight, a muscle ticking as his lips curled into a sneer. His eyes bore into mine, sharp and unforgiving, and his grip on my arm felt like steel, unyielding and bruising. There was no charm left in him now, only cold, calculated anger that sent a chill racing up my spine. “Get off my yacht, Bella. I don’t have time for liars.”
I’d wrenched my arm away, my chin lifting defiantly. “Good. Because I don’t have time for manipulative assholes.”
It had felt good to say, but it didn’t dull the ache in my gut.
I didn’t care about Eli anymore. He wasn’t the one I needed to confront. It was Chris. And after everything, I needed answers—I needed to know why he was doing this, why he was so determined to tear us apart when it didn’t have to be this way.
I knew he was angry about Eli, but I could explain that to him.
By the time I reached the yacht, the familiar tension settled into my chest like an old enemy.
The polished railing gleamed under the marina’s bright lights, mocking me with its perfection. The faint creak of the yacht against its moorings punctuated the heavy silence, echoing the tension coiled inside me. I climbed aboard, forcing myself to stay calm when I walked to Chris’s office.
This could all be explained away. It was just a misunderstanding.
The door was open, and Chris sat inside, his head in his hands, elbows propped on his desk. His jacket was tossed haphazardly on the chair behind him, and the tie he usually wore was loosened, hanging limp around his neck. He looked up as I stepped in, his eyes narrowing.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice was cold, sharp enough to cut through me.
“You gave me a day, so I’m not out of bounds, Chris,” I said calmly. “But we need to talk.” I stood my ground even though his glare made my stomach twist. How had I gone from lover to enemy so quickly?
Chris let out a bitter laugh, leaning back in his chair. His lips curled in a sneer and his fingers drummed once on the armrest before gripping it tightly. His posture screamed defiance, but there was a tightness around his eyes that betrayed his emotions—he was a man teetering on the edge of his own insecurities.
He was just human.
Weren’t we all?
But he hid it so damn well—Chris could be cold as ice and come across pretty damn heartless if he wanted to. I’d felt the warmth radiating from him, as well as the shivering cold he could exude.
We’d come such a long way. We knew each other so well.
Didn’t we?
His gaze flicked over me like he was disgusted with what he saw, like he was sizing up something he couldn’t be bothered to deal with. “Of course we do.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “What excuse are you going to give me this time, Bella? Let’s hear it.”
My fists clenched at my sides. “I was trying to help you.” Damn it, it sounded so weak.
“By cozying up to Eli?” His voice rose, his eyes flashing with anger and pain. “Spare me the bullshit.”
I stepped closer, refusing to back down. “I was trying to figure out what he was planning. For you. To protect you.”
Chris pushed back his chair, standing abruptly, the scrape of wood against the floor harsh and jarring.
Outside, a seagull cried out, its sharp call piercing the muffled noise of the marina, grounding me momentarily before the room’s suffocating tension pulled me back in.
His movements were sharp, almost frantic, as if standing gave him the control he felt slipping through his fingers. The room suddenly felt smaller, his presence dominating the space, turning it claustrophobic.
The muffled hum of activity outside the yacht seemed far away compared to the oppressive quiet inside, the unbearable weight of his anger in the confined space. “You expect me to believe that? You’ve been sneaking around, lying, and now you’re suddenly my knight in shining armor?”
“It’s the truth,” I snapped. “Why would I lie about this?”
“Because you’re scared,” he said, his tone colder now, more measured. “You’re scared I’ll see you for who you really are. Someone who doesn’t give a shit about anyone but herself.”
That one hit harder than I expected. My breath caught, and for a moment, I scrambled to find the words. When I finally did, they came out in a rush. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare twist this on me. I care about you, Chris. I’ve always cared about you. Why can’t you see that?”
“Care?” He barked out a laugh, the sound sharp and hollow.
His eyes filled with bitterness and the air around us turned cold. There was no humor in it, just a raw edge of something jagged that cut through the air and made my skin crawl. It was a laugh that spoke of wounds too deep to heal, scars he wouldn’t let me see.
“Yeah, you really showed that when you were playing spy games with Moretti. You’ve got a hell of a way of showing you care, Bella.”
I felt my resolve cracking, but I couldn’t let him see it. Not when he was so composed.
“You’re the one who’s pushed me away at every turn,” I said, my voice trembling. “Do you even realize what that does to someone? All those years ago, I thought it was because you were scared, that you needed time. But now? Now, I think you just like keeping people at arm’s length because that’s easier than letting them in. And every time I get close, you slam the door shut. You don’t get to stand there and act like this is all on me.”
Chris shook his head, his jaw tight. Tension radiated through every inch of his body. His fists clenched at his sides, and his voice came out rough. “This isn’t about me.”
“Yes, it is,” I shot back. “You’re so scared of being hurt that you’d rather destroy everything than take a chance. Do you even hear yourself? You think you’re protecting yourself, but all you’re doing is rewriting the same damn story, over and over. Like when you left me the first time. Like when you walked out that morning without a word. And now you’re dragging me down with you. I’m done letting you.”
He took a step closer, his face inches from mine. “Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe we should never have tried again.”
The words were like a slap, and I recoiled, my chest tightening.
“What about the baby?”
My question hung in the air, a grenade waiting to explode, its fuse already lit and sparking dangerously close.
I thought about the last time I had to do something terrifying and life-changing on my own—how I swore I’d never let myself feel that lonely again. The weight of it was unbearable, each second that passed feeling like a countdown to total destruction. The tension stretched thin between us, ready to detonate and obliterate whatever fragile connection we had left. And still, I clung to the hope that this time he wouldn’t run.
Chris froze, his expression unreadable, his face paling as his breath hitched. His shoulders tensed, and for a moment, it seemed like even the rise and fall of his chest stopped entirely.
I could see the flicker of something raw in his eyes—fear, maybe—but it was gone almost as quickly as it came. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
His eyes darted to mine, wide and uncertain, before flicking away like he couldn’t bear to look at me. He was caught in a storm of his own making, paralyzed by the weight of his thoughts.
And then, like a shield snapping into place, his features hardened again. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice low and strained, like he was forcing the words out.
“How do I even know it’s mine?”
I recoiled, the words driving home like a knife to my chest and I let out a strangled cry. For just a moment, his expression faltered. His lips pressed together, and his eyes darted away as if ashamed of the words that had just left his mouth. I caught the briefest flicker of regret before he forced his face back into a mask of cold detachment.
My heart shattered. The words sliced through me, leaving me hollow.
I stared at him, the man I thought I knew.
“If that’s what you think of me, then maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe this is who you really are.”
His face twisted.
“Pack your shit and get off my yacht,” he said, his voice cold and final. “I don’t want to see you again.”
I stared at him, the tears finally spilling over. Without another word, I turned and stormed out, running from my own emotions as if I would ever be able to get away.
It didn’t take long to pack. I never brought much to these jobs anyway.
It was done within the hour, and I left the yacht for the last time, forcing myself not to look back.
When I walked along the deck, the bright lights of the marina blurred through the tears clouding my vision.
My breaths came in shallow gasps, the salty tang of the air sharp in my throat. All the walls I’d built, all the strength I thought I had, crumbled into nothing. I wanted to scream, to yell at the universe for putting me in this impossible situation. I felt like a dam breaking, the tears coming faster as sobs wracked my body.
Every ounce of me ached—not just because of what Chris had said, but because of the hope I’d allowed myself to feel, for the future I’d thought was possible.
I had been such a fool.
The world seemed impossibly cruel, indifferent to my heartbreak. My pain was just a ripple on the vast, unfeeling sea surrounding me.
The strength I’d been clinging to was fading fast, replaced by a hollow ache that seemed to consume every part of me.
It really was over this time. There was no such thing as second chances, was there?
There was no such thing as hope.