17. Chapter 17
17
Bella
“ T he line of credit requires a minimum payment of—”
Thud.
The sharp impact of my forehead against the open kitchen cabinet drowns out Sarah’s voice. I clamp my mouth shut, swallowing the pained ouch before it escapes. Because, sure, let’s add minor head trauma to my financial crisis.
“I understand that,” I say, rubbing my forehead with one hand and shoving a plate aside with the other. “But Elite hasn’t processed the Rodriguez or Henderson closings yet. That’s nearly ten grand in commissions they’re sitting on.”
“Ms. Marquez, I’m afraid we can’t proceed until the outstanding balance is cleared. Twelve thousand, four hundred and eighty-six dollars, to be exact.”
I press the phone harder against my ear, like I can squeeze the stupidity out of this conversation. “That can’t be right. I sent over five grand last month.”
The lawyer’s assistant, a woman with the pleasant but robotic tone of someone who’s rehearsed this conversation a hundred times today, doesn’t hesitate. “That was for previous expenses. This is the remaining balance for filing fees, document processing, and continued litigation. We can’t move forward until it’s resolved.”
I press my fingers into my temples. “I don’t have twelve grand just lying around, Sarah.”
“I understand, Ms. Marquez, but without the payment, we’ll have to suspend—”
“Suspend what exactly?” My laugh comes out harder than intended. “The lawsuit that’s already dragging? The one where my aunt and uncle are trying to force-sell the only home my siblings have ever known?” The wooden spoon in my hand trembles as I stir the carbonara, watching the cream sauce splatter against the sides of the pot with my aggressive circles. “Tell Cindy, your boss—I’ll…. I’ll have half the payment by Thursday.”
“Ms. Marquez—”
“Thursday, Sarah. That’s the best I can do.”
There’s a pause. A pause I hate. A pause that means she’s thinking about how to phrase the next part so I don’t explode.
“Ms. Marquez,” Sarah starts again, slower this time, like I’m some overworked single mom in a courtroom drama, “I strongly suggest resolving this before the countersuit hearing. If you can’t, we may need to discuss alternative strategies.”
Alternative strategies. Like giving up. Like letting Mike and Peggy win.
I tighten my grip on the phone. “I’ll figure it out.”
Another pause. Then, “Would you like me to send over a detailed invoice?”
God, I hate her. “Sure, Sarah. Why not? Let’s make my inbox a little more depressing.”
I hang up before she can say anything else.
The email comes through before I’ve even put my phone down. Lexicon Law Partners: Outstanding Balance Notification. The subject line alone makes my stomach turn. I don’t open it. I already know what it says: Pay us now or kiss your childhood home goodbye.
I shift toward the sink, grabbing a dish towel to wipe my hands, when movement outside catches my attention. My kitchen window faces the street, and through the smudged glass, I see it.
A dark SUV.
Rolling past my house. Slow enough that it shouldn’t feel like anything—just another car on a residential street.
But my stomach tightens.
It’s the same make, the same size as the one I saw parked outside of Zen Garden Yoga & Juice Bar earlier this morning. The one with the two men in black suits standing outside.
My grip on the towel tightens, my pulse picking up. It’s probably nothing. Probably someone just driving through. But something about the speed, the way it moves—not fast, not slow, just deliberate—makes the back of my neck prickle.
I step closer to the window, just enough to see past the glare of the afternoon sun. The SUV doesn’t stop. Doesn’t hesitate. But as it reaches the corner, I swear I see a shift in the shadow behind the driver’s side window.
Someone inside.
Watching.
And then it turns, disappearing from view.
I exhale sharply.
It’s nothing .
It has to be.
Just a coincidence.
And yet, my hands don’t quite stop shaking as I turn back toward the stove.
Behind me, the kitchen feels too quiet. The air thick. Like someone’s watching.
I turn again, and my heart nearly jumps out of my chest.
Julian stands just inside the doorway, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders tense. His gaze flicks between me and the phone on the counter. I can see the wheels turning in his head, piecing things together.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, forcing my voice to sound normal.
“Long enough.”
I groan, dragging a hand over my face. “Julian.”
Crossing his arms. “How bad is it?”
“It’s—” I start, but he’s already raising an eyebrow like he knows I’m about to lie. I close my mouth. Open it again. “It’s under control.”
“Right.” He leans against the counter, eyes still on me. “You just yelled at your lawyer like she personally stole your kidneys. That seems totally under control.”
I roll my eyes and set my wooden spoon down a little too hard on the counter. “She’s an assistant , Julian. There’s a difference.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
I turn back to the stove, pick up the spoon again, and swirl the pasta sauce as I reach for the spaghetti. “Look, I know what I’m doing. You don’t need to worry about it.”
Julian steps closer, his voice quieter now. “But I do.”
I grip the wooden spoon tighter. No. I am not doing this. Not letting him carry the weight of things he shouldn’t have to.
“I just need my commission check, that’s all,” I say, forcing a lightness into my tone that I don’t feel. I grab the tongs and toss the pasta into the sauce. “They’re just… late. Again.”
Julian’s gaze sharpens. “How late?”
I hesitate. Then I stir the sauce a little too aggressively instead of answering.
“Here. Taste this,” I say, shoving a spoon toward him.
He doesn’t take it. “How late, Bella?”
I sigh, bracing my hands against the edge of the counter. “Two months.”
Julian lets out a low breath, running a hand through his hair. “And you’re still working there?”
“What choice do I have?” I lift my chin, meeting his stare head-on. “I have a house to fight for. Living expenses. You and Lila. I can’t exactly walk out.”
Julian’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he picks up a piece of Parmesan from the counter and pops it into his mouth, chewing slowly.
I pick up the wooden spoon yet again, gripping it just to do something . Just to keep my hands from shaking.
“Go set the table,” I tell him. “Lunch is almost done.”
Julian doesn’t move. Just watches me for a second longer, then mutters, “Yeah. That’s what you always say.”
For the first time all day, I feel like I might actually break. Before I can respond to him, the back door swings open, and Lila storms in like an incoming tornado.
“This is an outrage,” she announces, dropping her bag with enough force to rattle the floor. “I have been abducted against my will.”
Julian doesn’t even look at her. “You’re welcome.”
Lila whirls on me. “Do you know what he did?”
“Judging by the dramatics, I’m guessing it’s something that saved your life,” I say, twirling the spaghetti in the pan.
“He hauled me out of Maya’s house like some caveman and threw me into the car! In front of everyone! ”
Julian finally looks at her. “It’s not my fault you thought sneaking out was a solid plan.”
Lila lets out a strangled noise of frustration. “I had a plan! Maya’s brother was going to drive me home.”
Julian raises an eyebrow. “The guy who vapes inside and tried to start a fight with the cashier at 7-Eleven last week?”
Lila glares at him like he’s personally ruined her life. “I hate you.”
“Sure,” Julian says, taking another bite of cheese. “But I’d hate me too if I were 14 and dumb.”
Lila turns to me, her face all righteous betrayal. “Bella, tell him he’s a controlling freak with a God complex.”
I sigh, handing her a fork. “He’s a controlling freak with a God complex. Now go wash your hands. Food’s almost ready.”
Lila groans but stomps off.
I turn to Julian, softer now. “Thank you.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “She’s 14. It’s not a party. It’s a trap. ”
I press a hand to my forehead. “I’m failing at this.”
Julian leans against the counter, watching me. “You’re not.”
I let out a breath, looking at him. “Yeah?”
He gives me a half-smirk. “Yeah. Now sit down. You look like you need carbs more than anyone.”
I let out a small laugh and shake my head, but I listen.
Because for now, this is all we can do—get through another meal, another day.
And hope that the men outside the café, the ones who watched me too long… were just my imagination.