Chapter 5 5

Richard's POV

She looks like a memory wrapped in silk.

Arabella, no, Bella Portillo, stands across from me in a champagne gown that clings to her curves like it was poured on. Tiny diamonds glint like constellations around her collarbone, but none of that distracts me more than her eyes.

They're the same stormy blue I used to know, only harder. Sharper. Guarded.

She smiles.

It's polite. Distant. Pretend.

Like she doesn't remember me. Like I didn't once watch her fall asleep beside me, her lashes trembling from nightmares I could never reach.

But it's her.

The fury behind that smile confirms it. The way she dragged the little girl away like I was poison on the floor.

God. Arabella's here. In my building. My gala.

After four goddamn years of silence, searching, waiting, for what?

For her to walk in as if she never vanished?

Ashley starts rambling something beside me. "Mr. Stone, the CEO of Eagle Homes was scheduled to arrive tomorrow, but she...."

I lift a hand. "Bring her in. Now."

Ashley hesitates. "Sir, should I.."

"Now."

Arabella, or Bella, whatever game she's playing, turns toward us with that same artificial smile, her fingers laced tightly with the little girl's.

And it hits me again, like a sucker punch.

That girl.

That girl is hers.

No, worse.

That girl might be mine.

Daisy.

She bumped into me earlier like a tiny hurricane, accused me of ruining her dress, and then charmed the hell out of me with stories about her mother, her superhero, her best friend, her everything.

Her mother. Arabella.

My ex-wife.

The woman I divorced for another woman who betrayed me before the ink even dried.

I feel sick.

I feel... hopeful.

I follow them into the meeting room like a man walking into his own execution. The second I shut the door, the air shifts.

She doesn't flinch. Doesn't stammer. Doesn't even break eye contact.

Instead, she sits cool, composed, collected and introduces herself like a stranger.

"Hi. I'm Bella Portillo. It's so nice to finally meet you."

She stretches out her hand.

Her lips curve. Her gaze doesn't.

The room tilts.

Bella Portillo? Is that what she goes by now? Not Arabella Cooper, the woman I married, the woman who vanished, the woman I spent over a year trying to track across three continents?

I don't take her hand.

I can't.

It's like touching a match when you already smell smoke.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, tilting her head just slightly, voice laced with concern, and it's so fake I almost laugh.

She's good.

Too good.

I glance at Daisy. She's fiddling with a glittery bow on her tiny shoe, humming to herself like she's not the unexpected bomb in the room.

"How old is she?" I ask before I can stop myself.

Bella's smile twitches. "She just turned four."

My stomach twists.

Four.

Four years.

Exactly the time since Arabella walked out of my life. Since I asked for a divorce and she disappeared before sunrise, leaving nothing but her ring and the memory of the only night we truly made love.

I lean back. Swallow hard. "And her father?"

Bella tenses.

Slight. Barely noticeable.

But I notice.

Daisy pipes up, oblivious. "My daddy lives in the sky."

My chest tightens.

Bella shoots her a sharp look. "Daisy, we talked about that."

"But that's what you said," Daisy shrugs, unfazed. "You said he was too far away to visit."

Bella's knuckles whiten around the armrest.

I watch her.

Closely.

She's unraveling. Bit by bit. Smile slipping. Breathing shallower.

"Daisy," I say, gently, "how about you sit on that comfy chair over there? There's a chocolate bar in the drawer."

Daisy gasps like she's won a lottery. "Really?!"

"Top left."

She sprints to it.

Bella glares at me. "You didn't have to do that."

"I needed her distracted."

"You could've asked me."

"I don't trust you."

The words land between us like a slap.

Good.

Let her feel something.

Her jaw tightens. "We're here for business, Mr. Stone. Let's not get personal."

"Oh, we're well past that."

She stands. "If this is going to be an interrogation...."

"Sit."

My voice is calm.

Dangerously calm.

She doesn't listen, of course.

Arabella never could obey a command she didn't agree with.

"You left," I say, rising slowly. "You disappeared. No calls. No letters. You could've sent a damn smoke signal."

"You asked for the divorce."

"You didn't have to vanish."

She laughs, a bitter, breathy thing. "You expected me to stay for tea after you handed me my exit?"

I step closer. "You didn't even tell me about her."

"She's not your business."

"She's my daughter*!"

Her eyes flash. "You don't get to claim her just because you did the math."

"You kept her from me."

"You threw me away."

"I thought you wanted out!"

"I wanted you to fight for me!"

Silence slams into the room like a wave.

We're both panting now. Staring. Bleeding invisible wounds.

In the corner, Daisy hums and munches her chocolate, unaware that she's the storm we're drowning in.

Bella turns away first.

"I had nothing," she whispers. "No money. No family. And I was pregnant. Alone."

I blink.

My throat constricts. "You could've told me."

"I couldn't even look at you," she says, voice tight. "After Eve... after everything... I didn't want your pity. Or your guilt. I needed dignity. I needed space."

"And now what?" I ask. "Why New York? Why show up now?"

"I didn't know you were involved with Earthbound."

"You didn't check?"

"I didn't want to."

The honesty stings.

"So who's Bella Portillo?" I ask, arms crossed. "Some fake name? Your new husband's surname?"

She meets my eyes.

Cold. Defiant.

"No husband. Never remarried."

My heart skips.

And slams.

She lifts her chin. "The name's my own. I rebuilt myself from ashes. I became her, the woman your rejection created."

"I never meant to break you."

"But you did."

Silence.

And then Daisy breaks it with a loud, "Mommy, he's nice. Can we come here again tomorrow?"

Bella turns to her daughter, softening. "We'll see, sweetie."

She picks her up and cradles her like a shield.

"I have another meeting," she says, voice composed again. "Let's not pretend we're the same people we used to be."

"We're not," I say quietly. "But that doesn't mean I'm done."

"Done with what?"

"With you."

Her eyes widen.

Just slightly.

She turns to go.

Her hand is on the doorknob when I ask, "Are you sure she's not mine?"

Her body goes still.

Dead still.

Daisy leans into her. "Mommy?"

Bella doesn't turn.

But her voice, when it comes, is soft. Almost broken.

"Goodnight, Mr. Stone."

And they're gone.