Chapter 2 - Richard #2
The phone rings again immediately, different number, same caller ID trick. I decline it again and turn the phone face-down on my desk.
Whatever Victoria wants, it can wait. Forever, preferably.
I pull up my email instead, scanning through the dozens of messages that have accumulated over the course of the day.
Board meetings, acquisition proposals, investment opportunities.
The empire I built continues to run smoothly even with me hiding in the mountains, which either speaks to the quality of my executive team or suggests I'm not as indispensable as I like to think.
I can't focus on any of it. The words blur together, meaningless, because somewhere above me Belle is stepping out of the shower, wrapping herself in one of the plush towels I had imported from Italy, running her hands through her wet hair.
Stop, I tell myself. Stop thinking about her like that.
But my mind won't cooperate. It conjures images of water droplets sliding down her curves, of her soft skin flushed pink from the heat, of what she'd look like wearing nothing but steam and that shy smile she used to give me before Nathan's control became total.
I'm going to hell. I'm absolutely going to hell, and I probably deserve it.
My computer pings, the security feed again.
I look up and see Belle has emerged from the bedroom, now visible in the sitting area.
She's wearing one of the outfits from the closet: soft gray leggings and an oversized cream sweater that hangs off one shoulder.
Her dark hair is wet, combed back from her face, and she's not wearing any makeup.
She's looking around the room like she can't quite believe she's here, touching the furniture gently. Like everything might disappear if she's not careful.
The intercom buzzes again. The housekeeper, asking if she should take the dinner up now. I tell her yes and watch on the feed as Belle startles at the knock on her door a few minutes later.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Annie enters with a tray, says something I can't hear, and Belle smiles. Actually smiles, warm and genuine, and thanks her. They exchange a few more words, then Mrs. Annie leaves, and Belle is alone again.
She sits down at the small table by the window and lifts the silver dome covering her plate. Roasted chicken, vegetables, fresh bread. Simple, nutritious, exactly what someone in her state needs.
She takes a bite, chews slowly, and I see her shoulders relax slightly. When was the last time she ate? This morning? Yesterday?
I should look away. Give her privacy, let her eat in peace without my surveillance.
I watch for another thirty seconds before forcing myself to close the feed.
This is wrong. All of it. The watching, the wanting, the way my entire body hums with awareness of her presence in my house. I should be thinking about next steps—legal protection, restraining orders, getting her set up somewhere safe that isn't here.
Instead, I'm obsessing over the way that sweater slips off her shoulder, the curve of her neck, the memory of her perfume from when she stood close enough to touch.
My phone buzzes again. Text message from a number I don't recognize: *I know you have her. Send her back and I'll forget this ever happened.*
Nathan.
My hands curl into fists on the desk. I should ignore it, not engage, and maintain complete silence.
I type back: *Lose this number.*
His response is immediate: *She's confused. Scared. Doesn't know what she's doing. She belongs with me, and you're making this worse.*
*She ran from you for a reason. Accept it and move on.*
*This is between me and my fiancée. You have no right to interfere.*
*She stopped being your fiancée when she walked away from the altar. She's under my protection now. If you come anywhere near her, there will be consequences.*
The typing indicator appears and disappears several times. Finally: *She's mine, old man. You can't keep her from me forever.*
I stare at those words—*she's mine*—and feel rage so cold and pure it's almost calming. This is who my son is. Not confused, not heartbroken, not worried about Belle's wellbeing. Just angry that his possession escaped.
I block the number and make a mental note to have my IT team trace it, get a record of the communication. Evidence, for whatever comes next.
Because something will come next. Nathan isn't the type to give up easily, especially not when his ego is involved. He'll come looking for her eventually, and when he does—
When he does, he'll have to go through me.
The thought should concern me. I'm forty-five years old, too old for physical confrontation, too civilized for violence. I have security for this kind of thing, lawyers to handle threats, money to solve problems without getting my hands dirty.
But if Nathan shows up here, if he tries to take Belle, if he so much as looks at her wrong, I'll handle it myself.
I'll show him exactly where he gets his ruthlessness from.
Another buzz from the intercom. Marcus this time, letting me know he's implemented the security upgrades. Three guards on rotation at each checkpoint, new cameras installed, perimeter sensors activated. My fortress just became even more impenetrable.
Good.
I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, trying to find some semblance of calm. Trying to logic my way through this impossible situation.
Belle is upstairs, safe, fed, protected. That's what matters. Whatever I feel about it is irrelevant. She needed help, I provided it, end of story.
Except it's not the end. It's barely the beginning.
She'll need to stay here for at least a few days while we sort out the legal complications, get her access to her own money, find her somewhere permanent to live. A week, maybe two at most.
I can maintain professional distance for two weeks. I've endured longer, harder things in my life.
I can watch her from across rooms and not think about closing the distance. Can listen to her voice and not imagine it whispering my name. Can see her smile and not wonder what it would feel like directed at me with intent instead of gratitude.
I can be what she needs—a protector, a benefactor, a safe harbor, and nothing more.
I have to be.
Because the alternative, acknowledging these feelings, acting on them, admitting that I've been halfway in love with my son's fiancée for two years, would destroy us both.
She deserves better than a bitter, isolated man old enough to be her father. Deserves someone young and whole and uncomplicated, someone who can give her the normal life Nathan stole from her.
I'll help her build that life. From a distance. And then I'll let her go.
My office suddenly feels suffocating. Too small, too quiet, too full of thoughts I can't afford to have. I stand abruptly and walk to the windows, looking out at the forest that's now completely dark, my reflection staring back at me.
I look like a man at war with himself.
I look like a man who's already lost.
Upstairs, Belle is safe. That's what matters. That's all that can matter.
I'll keep telling myself that until I believe it.
Even if it takes the rest of my life.