Chapter 46 Charlie
CHARLIE
I find Isabella in the empty church, sitting in the third pew from the front where she used to sit with Marcus years ago.
The afternoon light streams through the stained glass windows, painting her dark hair in jewel tones.
She doesn’t look up when I slide into the pew beside her, she just stares at the altar with an expression that makes my chest ache.
“I know you’re here to ask me not to use these.” Her voice is flat as she pulls a manila envelope from her purse, setting it on the wooden seat between us. “The photos I took through the rectory window.”
My stomach drops, but I force myself to remain calm. “Can I see them?”
She opens the envelope, spreading the photographs across the pew.
My breath catches. There I am, visible through Adrian’s window, my body pressed between all three of them.
The angles are intimate, damning, impossible to explain away as anything innocent.
Isabella’s hands shake as she arranges them.
“I could destroy you with these,” she says quietly. “Send them to the diocese. To the media. Make sure everyone knows what you’ve been doing.”
I look at her profile, at the pain written across her beautiful face, and something in me shifts.
“You could. And maybe I deserve it.” I take a breath.
“I tried to steal from this church, Isabella. Five thousand dollars from the collection plate because my grandmother was dying and I was desperate. Father Cross found me with the money in my hands, and instead of calling the police, he showed me mercy I didn’t deserve. ”
She turns to look at me, her dark eyes widening slightly.
“I was broken,” I continue, my voice steadier now. “Completely broken. And these three men looked at me like I was worth keeping anyway.” My throat tightens. “They saw all my failures, all my mess, and they chose me. Not because I’m special or sophisticated. Just because I’m me.”
Isabella’s hands tighten on the photographs. “You don’t understand what you took from me.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” I meet her eyes. “But I’m asking you anyway. Will destroying us heal your pain? Will watching Marcus lose everything make you feel better?”
She stares at the photos, her jaw working.
“I wasted fifteen years waiting for him. Building a fantasy in my head about what we could be. I convinced myself that if I just waited long enough, if I became perfect enough, he’d choose me.
” Her voice cracks. “But he never did. And now he’s chosen you instead. ”
“He didn’t choose me instead of you,” I say quietly. “He chose himself. The man he wants to be instead of the man he was running from.” I watch her face, see the tears gathering in her eyes. “You deserved better than someone who was using you to escape his own failures.”
Isabella’s hands shake harder as she picks up one of the photos. It shows me in Adrian’s arms, my face tilted up toward his, the intimacy between us undeniable.
“How does it work?” she whispers. “Loving three men at once?”
The question surprises me. “It’s complicated.
Messy. Sometimes I’m terrified I’m not enough for any of them, let alone all three.
” I think about Adrian’s gray eyes tracking my every movement, Marcus’s protective fury, and Elijah’s angel face promising sin.
“But love doesn’t divide when it’s shared.
It multiplies. They don’t love me less because they share me.
They love me more because they understand what it means to choose this, to choose us, despite everything. ”
Isabella stares at the photo for a long moment.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she tears it in half.
The sound is obscenely loud in the quiet church.
She picks up another photo and tears it too.
Then another. Her face crumbles as she destroys the evidence piece by piece, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she says, her voice breaking completely. “I can’t believe I’m letting you win.”
“This isn’t about winning.” I reach for her hand, and she doesn’t pull away. “This is about all of us finding peace.”
She tears the last photo, the pieces falling like snow onto the pew between us, then deletes the images from her phone. “I hope you understand how lucky you are. How rare this is.” Her dark eyes hold mine. “Don’t waste it.”
Then she’s gone, her heels clicking against the stone floor as she walks away, leaving me surrounded by the shredded remains of what could have destroyed us.
I find them in Adrian’s quarters later, the three of them gathered around his desk, reviewing something. They look up when I enter, and the concern in their faces makes my chest tight.
“Isabella had photos,” I say without preamble. “Of all of us. Through your window.” I watch their faces pale. “She destroyed them. Every single one.”
The relief that floods through the room is palpable. Adrian’s hands unclench from the fists they’d formed. Marcus’s shoulders drop from their defensive position. Elijah’s fingers still.
“Why?” Adrian’s voice is rough.
“Because I asked her if destroying us would heal her pain.” I move closer, drawn by the gravity of their presence. “And she realized it wouldn’t.”
That night, we gather in Adrian’s bed, the four of us tangled together in ways that feel both familiar and new.
The men’s hands are everywhere, claiming, possessing, worshipping.
Adrian’s mouth finds mine while Marcus’s fingers trace patterns on my hip.
Elijah’s breath is warm against my neck as he whispers praise in French and English.
“Regardless of biology,” Adrian says, his gray eyes holding mine with fierce intensity, “we’re all this baby’s father.”
Marcus’s hand covers mine on my stomach. “All of us.”
Elijah presses a kiss to my temple. “Always.”
What follows is tender and desperate, a celebration of survival and commitment.
They claim me completely, the sexual tension that’s been building for weeks finally released in profound love and desperate need.
I lose myself in the sensation of being wanted so completely by each of them, of belonging somewhere, of finally being kept.
The next morning, I find an envelope slipped under my apartment door.
My name is written in Diane’s familiar handwriting, the postmark from two states away.
My hands shake as I open it, pulling out a single sheet of paper.
The message makes my blood run cold.
I know about the baby. And I know it’s worth a lot more than five thousand dollars.