Chapter 24 #2
“Long enough.”
“Not long enough to be… permanent.”
Bea’s head turned sharply. “That’s not—”
“It’s not what?” he asked mildly, not looking at her. “A fact?”
“It’s not relevant,” she groaned, less polished around the edges.
“It’s always relevant,” he replied.
Bea exhaled slowly, her fingers curling slightly against the edge of the table before she forced them flat again.
“He’s here for the his contract,” she explained, rebuilding control in real time. “We have a strategy in place. It’s working.”
“Strategy,” Rafael repeated, considering it. “Interesting word.”
“It’s accurate,” she replied.
“And what happens when the strategy ends?” he asked.
Her jaw tightened. “We adjust.”
I leaned back slightly in my chair, the movement slow, deliberate, my gaze fixed on her the entire time. “And what am I in that?” I asked.
Her eyes flicked to mine—sharp, immediate.
“Alois—”
“No,” I bit, cutting her off without raising my voice. “Answer the question.”
Bea held my gaze for a second—just a second—before something in it hardened.
“You’re a client,” she hissed.
My hand curled slightly against the table, the movement small, controlled, my thumb pressing once against the side of my finger like I needed the contact to anchor it.
“You’re going to keep saying that,” I said.
Her chin lifted a fraction. “Because it’s true.”
“In front of him.”
Her expression didn’t change. “There is no in front of him. This is what it is.”
My jaw tightened, the muscle ticking once as I leaned forward slightly, closing the space between us by inches.
“Then you should say the rest of it too.”
“Alois—” her voice dropped, warning now.
But I was already past that. “Say all of it,” I continued.
“This isn’t the place—”
“No,” I cut in again. “It’s exactly the place.”
Rafael’s glass touched the table softly. “Beatriz,” he said.
She didn’t look to her father.
Her eyes stayed on mine.
“This is not happening here,” she declared, each word placed carefully.
Too late.
“Don’t you think he’s going to figure it out anyway?” I scoffed.
Her brow furrowed, confusion cutting through the control for the first time. “What—”
“Or are you planning to keep this version going indefinitely?” I continued.
“Alois, stop.”
“No. Because you don’t get to decide that alone.”
Her expression shifted again—this time not confusion. Frustration. Anger. “Decide what?” she snapped.
And there it was.
The break.
I held her there.
Looked at her.
And said the one thing I shouldn’t have.
The one thing that had been sitting under everything since I walked out of that room.
“Especially when the baby gets here.”
Nothing moved. Not immediately.
The noise of the restaurant kept going around us—plates, voices, the low hum of everything continuing exactly as it had before—but at the table—nothing.
Rafael went still first. His attention sharpening into something precise, controlled, dangerous in a way that didn’t need volume to be effective.
Bea didn’t react right away. Her eyes stayed on mine, unblinking, like the words hadn’t landed yet, like her brain hadn’t caught up to what I’d just said.
Then—they did.
“No.” Barely a sound. A breath more than a word.
My stomach dropped.
“Wha—” her voice caught, the control gone completely now. “What did you just say?”
The room snapped back into focus all at once.
Too sharp.
Too clear.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Because I already knew.
She didn’t know.
She hadn’t seen it.
She hadn’t—how?
Rafael leaned forward slowly, his gaze moving between us with deliberate precision.
“Explain,” he snapped.
Bea’s head turned toward him, her eyes wide now, her composure gone in a way I hadn’t seen before.
“I didn’t—” she started, shaking her head. “I didn’t know. I didn’t—” Her hand came up to her stomach without thinking.
Bea looked between us, her breathing uneven, her hands braced against the table like she needed it to stay upright.
“This is not—” she started, her voice breaking. “This is not how this was supposed to happen.”
No.
It wasn’t.
But that didn’t change anything.
Her head snapped back toward me, something flashing through her expression now—fear, anger, disbelief, all colliding at once.
“How?” she shot back.
“I saw it. In the drawer.”
Bea pushed back from the table abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping sharply against the floor, heads turning from nearby tables at the sound.
“I need air,” she chocked.
She didn’t wait for a response.
The door swung shut behind her, the cold from outside cutting briefly into the warmth of the restaurant before sealing again.
Silence dropped back into the space she left behind.
For a while, he and I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t look away.
Two men. Same problem. Very different feelings about it
Rafael’s voice came first. “Whatever you think this is,” he snapped, “you are not making decisions about my daughter’s life in the middle of a restaurant.”
I leaned forward slightly, my hands resting flat against the table, my gaze locked on his.
“I’m not making decisions for her,” I said. “I’m not walking away from it either.”
Something flickered across his expression then—too brief to name, but not nothing.
I held his gaze for one more second. Then pushed back from the table.
The cold at the back of my neck.
The sky had dropped lower, heavy and gray, the air thick with the kind of quiet that came before more snow. Cars pushed slow along the street, tires grinding through packed ice, exhaust curling up into the cold like it couldn’t decide where to settle.
She stood ten feet from the door. Back to me. Arms wrapped tight across her body, shoulders pulled in like she was holding herself together by force alone.
I let the door shut behind me without rushing her, the sound dull against the cold air as I closed the distance slowly, my boots crunching against the thin layer of snow that had already started to settle again.
“Bea.”
She didn’t turn.
Her head dipped slightly instead, like hearing her name cost her something. “Don’t,” she warned, her voice rougher than I’d ever heard it. “Just—don’t.”
I stopped a few feet behind her.
“I didn’t know you hadn’t seen it,” I whispered.
Her shoulders tensed. Then dropped. A breath pulled in too sharp, too fast, before she let it out slowly through her nose. “I didn’t look. My dad showed up before I could.”
I closed my eyes for half a second, the cold biting into my face, pulling everything into sharper focus whether I wanted it or not.
“I figured that out late,” I admitted.
When she finally turner, her eyes were bright in a way that had nothing to do with the cold, her expression fractured, open in a way she never allowed. “You don’t get to decide how this happens,” she snapped. “You don’t get to decide when I tell people. You don’t get to decide anything about this.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” she cut in, stepping toward me now, the distance between us closing in sharp, uneven movements. “You stood there and you decided you knew what was happening and you just—called the play. Without all the information. Without doing your research.”
It is.
The thought hit hard.
Immediate.
And I didn’t say it.
Didn’t let it come out.
Because this wasn’t about being right.
This was about what I’d just broken.
My jaw tightened again, the tension settling deep instead of rising.
“You’re right,” I said.
Her breath hitched. Her gaze dropped for a second—just a second—before snapping back up to mine. Everything in her face shifted into fear.
I felt it.
Understood it.
Didn’t step back from it.
“We’ll get through this,” I sighed, tucking her small frame into my side.
She shook her head against me. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You don’t—”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The wind picked up, sharp and cold, tugging at her hair, at her coat, at the edges of everything we were standing in.
“I just—” her voice broke slightly, the control slipping again. “I needed a second. I needed to think. I needed—”
“I know.”
Her hands came up then, pressing briefly against her face before dropping again, frustration bleeding through the movement. “This changes everything,” she whined.
“Yes.”
“No—” she shook her head again, sharper now. “You don’t understand—this doesn’t just affect me. My job. The team. Your career—everything we’ve been managing—this blows all of it up.”
I held her there.
Let her say it.
Let her lay it out the way she needed to.
Then—“We’ll handle that too.”
Her eyes snapped back to mine, something almost incredulous flashing through them. “You can’t just say that.”
“I’m not just saying it.”
“You are.”
“No,” I said, my voice steady, unmoved. “I’m deciding it.”
Her breathing slowed, not steady, but less fractured than it had been seconds ago.
Her gaze dropped again, this time lingering, her hand drifting back toward her stomach without fully touching it.
Then she looked back up at me. “Do you promise?”
“Yes.”