Lost without you

The heavy oak doors of the courtroom swung shut behind Bella, and the sound echoed her throbbing head.

She blinked in the afternoon glare and lifted a hand to shield her eyes.

Immediately, a crowd formed around her: reporters thrusting microphones into her face, grateful families pressing their hands over theirs, pushy lawyers trying to network.

She plastered on a smile- tight, rehearsed- and shook hand after hand after hand.

"Bella, any comments about the verdict?" asked reporter, pushing forward to hear her opinion.

"Justice was served," Bella said flatly. "That's all that matters."

More flashes, more questions.

All she wanted was out.

Her heels clicked against the marble steps as she pushed forward, muscles aching.

She was tired.

God, she was bone tired.

Winning today's case - a brutal, months-long battle against a syndicate who thought money could buy silence - should've felt victorious.

But instead, it just felt heavy.

Every win lately seemed to carve a little more out of her.

She was halfway across the plaza, dodging cameras, when her phone buzzed against her palm.

Her heart gave a tiny jump of relief at the name on the screen:

> Julian.

Her mouth actually smiled without force this time.

She thumbed the green button and pressed the phone to her ear, weaving through the bodies.

> "Tell me you're bringing pizza," she breathed.

Julian's laugh crackled down the line, warm and easy.

> "Is that how you greet your favorite roommate?"

> "Julian," she groaned dramatically, "I just spent six hours convincing twelve humans that monsters wear expensive suits. I deserve pizza. And wine. Preferably delivered to me in a bathtub."

> "You're in luck," he said. "Chef Julian has prepared a feast worthy of your courtroom greatness. Lasagna's in the oven. Salad is...well, technically just leaves. And garlic bread that might actually kill you."

Bella snorted, weaving into a quieter side street.

> "You had me at death by garlic bread."

> "I figured."

He paused, then his voice softened.

"You okay though? I caught some of the live feed. You looked like you were ready to throw that slimy defense lawyer through a window."

Bella exhaled slowly, letting the question settle.

> "Yeah. I mean...no. I don't know."

She slowed her walk, bumping her shoulder against a lamppost without realizing it.

> "It just-" she faltered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "It never feels like a win. You know? The kid's still scarred. The monsters will find another loophole. I-"

Her voice caught. She stopped walking.

Julian's voice was gentle.

> "Hey. Hey, Bell. You did everything you could. You gave her a fighting chance. You didn't let them erase her."

She swallowed hard.

> "I know," she said. "It's just...I wish the world didn't need me to fight like this in the first place."

There was a beat of silence between them. Comfortable. Familiar.

Julian spoke again, lighter this time.

> "Well, the world's an asshole. Lucky for it, it has you."

That made her laugh - a real one, bursting out of her chest unexpectedly.

> "You're such a sap," she teased.

> "I'm your sap," Julian said proudly.

"Now get your superwoman ass home before the lasagna burns and we have to mourn my cooking skills too."

> "On my way," she promised, feeling some of the exhaustion peel off her shoulders like old skin.

She tucked the phone into her purse, crossed the street, and finally-finally-felt the fresh, sharp air hit her face.

Home.

Julian.

Dinner that may or may not kill her.

For tonight, that would have to be enough. The streets had thinned now, the courthouse fading behind her.

The city buzzed around her: cars, people talking, and faint music seeping out of some cafe.

Normal life, marching on.

Bella reached her car and tossed her briefcase into the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel.

A fleeting glimpse in the rearview mirror showed dark smudges sitting beneath her keen brown eyes, the lipstick long since worn away, and her hair half-collapsed into a twist.

Battle scars, she thought wryly.

The kinds you earned going to war for the defenseless and coming back half a person.

The drive home was short, winding through well-known roads dotted with barrened trees and closed shops.

By the time she reached their gated community- chic, upscale townhouses that screamed "young professional success"- the day's stress had settled in her bones.

She pulled into the driveway and stretched her arms overhead before she went back to gather her things;

The yellow light, visibly warming the sky as it started to darken, could only come through the windows above.

She could already picture Julian inside the house - likely humming off-key and burning the garlic bread he had promised so proudly.

Bella smiled to herself.

Home.

Normalcy.

Bella shoved the front door open with her hip, juggling her bag and keys.

The first thing that hit her was the smell - rich tomato sauce, buttery garlic, something faintly burning.

The second thing was the sight - Julian standing at the kitchen counter, wearing an apron that said "Kiss the Cook or Else", wielding a wooden spoon like a sword as he dramatically fought an invisible enemy.

Bella leaned against the doorway, one eyebrow arched.

"Do I even want to know who's winning that battle?" she called out.

Julian whirled, spoon raised in triumph.

"Victory is mine! The lasagna tried to rebel, but it has been subdued."

"You're so weird," Bella said, laughing, dropping her bag by the couch.

He grinned, unbothered, and struck a pose, apron flaring like a cape.

"Weird and culinarily gifted, thank you very much."

Bella's stomach growled audibly, punctuating the claim.

Julian smirked.

"See? Even your digestive system knows I'm a genius."

She rolled her eyes and moved toward the kitchen, noticing something scribbled across the dinner table.

Colorful little sheets of paper - ripped from an old sketchpad - were scattered around the plates.

Bella picked one up.

It was a doodle of her, stick-figure style, wearing a giant red cape and holding a gavel twice her size. Above her, in big bold letters:

"Super Lawyer Saves the Day!!"

Another drawing showed her drop-kicking a briefcase labeled "Corruption" into a cartoonish sun.

Bella pressed a hand to her mouth to smother her laugh.

"What is all this?" she asked, pretending to sound stern.

Julian, setting the garlic bread down (only slightly singed), beamed at her.

"It's the official 'Bella Wins Again' party decorations. Accept your greatness."

She shook her head, plopping into one of the chairs.

"You're ridiculous."

"You're welcome," he said, grabbing two mismatched mugs from the shelf.

"Now, time for the toasting ceremony."

Bella snorted as he filled them with the cheap grocery store wine they kept for exactly these moments.

He handed her a mug - hers said "World's Okayest Lawyer" in faded print.

"To Bella," Julian declared, raising his own mug, which had a giant chip on the rim.

"May she continue to terrify the guilty, inspire the helpless, and intimidate every poor bastard who tries to flirt with her."

Bella burst out laughing, clinking mugs with him.

"Cheers, idiot."

They sipped - the wine was as terrible as she remembered - and set the mugs down with twin grimaces.

"God, why do we keep drinking that stuff?" she said, wiping her mouth.

"Tradition," Julian said solemnly. "Suffering bonds us."

Bella laughed again, warmth creeping into her tired limbs.

She removed her shoes and walked barefoot to the microwave, probing behind it with a familiar hand.

Julian leaned over the counter, eyebrows raised.

"Aha. The secret shame."

"Not shame, but survival," Bella protested, producing a hidden stash of stress snacks: chocolate bars, gummy worms, and a crumbled bag of sour cream chips.

Julian eyed the loot like a man considering robbery.

"You know, most people hide emergency money. You hide diabetes."

"Priorities," Bella said, chomping down on a chocolate bar without an ounce of remorse.

He chuckled, turning to plate the lasagna with dramatic flourishes.

For a while, they ate in friendly silence, the bad wine flowed, and the doodles fluttered under their elbows.

The city lights twinkled beyond the windows, but it was warm and safe inside.

Then, predictably, Julian ruined it.

"You know," he said lightly, "if you spent half as much time dating as you do saving the world, you might actually have someone to toast with who isn't me."

Bella rolled her eyes with such an intensity that she almost fell off the chair.

"Oh, here we go."

"I'm just saying," Julian said, holding up his hands in innocence he absolutely did not possess, "you're what, twenty-eight? Prime dating age. Gorgeous, scary-smart, heroic - and yet, tragically single."

Bella pointed a fork at him threateningly.

"Maybe men are intimidated. Maybe they can't handle all this," she said, gesturing broadly to herself.

"Or maybe," Julian said, ignoring the fork, "they're afraid you'll sue them if they screw up."

Bella nearly choked on her wine, coughing and laughing at the same time.

"Oh my God. That happened one time!"

"One time too many," Julian said, looking way too pleased with himself.

"I still remember poor Alex's face when you served him papers for reimbursement."

"He deserved it," Bella said defensively, cheeks flushing.

"I spent two grand on a vacation he bailed on! And that jerk tried to ghost me!"

Julian leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, grinning like the devil.

"And thus began the legend of Bella: Avenger of Wallets."

Bella threw a balled-up napkin at him. He dodged, laughing.

"You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"

"Nope," Julian said cheerfully.

"Not until you find some poor fool brave enough to date you - and dumb enough to think he can win an argument."

Bella shook her head, smiling despite herself.

"You're an ass."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately," she muttered, picking up another chocolate bar.

They slid into easier conversation after that - talking about the new art exhibit Julian was planning, gossiping about their neighbor's ugly garden gnome collection, arguing over which crime documentary was the best to rewatch for the thousandth time.

The night stretched out, slow and comfortable.

For a little while, the world outside - the cruelty, the courtroom battles, the whispered threats she sometimes felt lingering on the back of her neck - it all stayed where it belonged: far, far away.

Later that night, after they'd half-heartedly washed the dishes, Bella and Julian slumped onto the couch. They both had mugs of bad wine and full stomachs.

The TV showed a blurry true-crime documentary about a jewel heist, but they weren't really watching.

Bella had one foot up on the coffee table. Her socks didn't match – one was plain black, the other had cartoon pizzas. Julian, sprawled at the other end of the couch, poked her shin every few seconds to annoy her.

"Stop it," Bella mumbled, still watching the screen.

"Make me," Julian said, tapping her again.

"I'm too tired to fight you," she said, sinking into the cushions. "You're lucky I'm tired."

He snorted. "You're always tired when I start winning."

Bella turned her head to glare at him. "Winning? Is that what you call passive-aggressive toe poking?"

Julian grinned and dramatically sprawled farther across the couch, now nearly nudging her ribs.

Bella groaned, shoving at his foot half-heartedly.

"You're a menace."

"A charming, lovable menace," he corrected.

"Debatable."

Julian gasped, clutching his chest dramatically.

"You wound me, counselor. Truly. Right here."

He pointed to his heart.

"There's a lawsuit pending. Emotional distress."

Bella snorted, finally smiling.

They fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the kind that only existed between people who didn't need to fill every second with noise.

Outside, the city buzzed faintly, but in their little living room - cluttered with doodles, crumpled napkins, and a half-eaten bag of chips - it felt like the rest of the world had pressed pause.

Julian broke the quiet first, voice softer now.

"You really killed it today, you know."

Bella stared at the TV, pretending not to hear the sudden sincerity in his tone.

"Just doing my job."

"Nah," Julian said, nudging her foot again, gentler this time.

"You gave that kid her life back."

Bella swallowed hard, blinking rapidly at the screen. She hated when he got all earnest on her - it cracked open the carefully stitched armor she wore.

"You're the only one who notices," she said quietly.

"Out there, it's... just noise. Cameras. Headlines. People clapping like it's some game."

"I notice," Julian said.

"I always notice."

Bella blinked, looking over at him.

He wasn't smiling. Not teasing. Just watching her like he could see all the things she tried so hard to hide.

She threw a pillow at his face.

"God, you're so cheesy," she muttered, cheeks burning.

Julian caught the pillow easily, the moment broken, the usual mischief twinkling back into his eyes.

"Yeah, but you love me."

"Tragically."

He grinned and reached for the remote.

"Alright, sap. Let's pick something less depressing before you start quoting law books at me."

"I don't quote law books."

"You do. Last week you cited a case during an argument about pizza toppings."

Bella grinned, kicking his leg lightly.

"That was relevant."

"You threatened to sue me for choosing pineapple."

"Because it's an abomination and I have standards."

Julian laughed, shaking his head, and flipped through the streaming options until he landed on something ridiculous: an old sci-fi movie with bad effects and worse acting.

They settled in again, this time with Bella stealing half his blanket and Julian muttering insults that he didn't mean.

Outside, the world kept spinning.

But for now, in this stupid apartment with cheap wine and dumb drawings and dumb arguments, it was enough.

---

Bella woke to the pounding of a war drum inside her skull.

At least, that's what it felt like.

Groaning, she pressed a hand to her forehead, her skin hot and clammy.

Everything ached - her shoulders, her legs, even her damn toes.

Dragging herself upright felt like climbing a mountain.

> "Ugh," she croaked to no one in particular, swinging her legs over the bed.

The floor was cold against her feet, but she shuffled across the room like a zombie anyway, making a beeline for the bathroom. She didn't even bother glancing at the mirror as she brushed her teeth - she could feel the wreck she looked like without needing confirmation.

The smell of something amazing hit her halfway down the stairs.

Bacon? Coffee? Pancakes? Maybe Julian had finally decided he was tired of living off cereal and sarcasm.

When she stumbled into the kitchen, she found him at the table, carefully placing a plate down like he was unveiling a Michelin-starred meal.

Julian glanced up, spotted her, and grinned.

> "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he said, way too chipper for how awful she felt.

Bella plopped into a chair with a groan, slumping forward until her cheek hit the cool wood of the table.

> "I feel like I got run over by a truck," she mumbled into the surface.

Julian laughed, coming around with a steaming mug of coffee and setting it in front of her like an offering.

> "Better coffee than condolences," he teased.

"Eat first, die later."

Bella lifted her head enough to glare at him but grabbed the coffee gratefully.

The table was already set - scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, toast stacked high - all way too perfect for someone who claimed he "wasn't a morning person."

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds were clinking forks and the low hum of the radio playing in the background.

Then Julian snapped his fingers. "ohh before I forget, some mails came in this morning"

Bella blinked blearily at him over her coffee.

> "Yeah?"

> "Three letters. One's yours."

He jerked his thumb toward the small stack sitting on the counter.

Bella frowned but didn't move yet. She took another bite of her toast first - priorities.

When she finally shuffled over and grabbed them, she thumbed through the envelopes absently: one bill, one ad, and one heavier envelope with her name neatly printed on the front. No return address.

Weird.

She tossed them onto the table next to her plate.

> "I'll deal with them later," she muttered..

She still had a full day ahead - meetings, casework, endless coffee runs in between.

Thinking about it made her groan again. She shoved the last bit of bacon into her mouth, downed the rest of her coffee like a shot, and stood up.

> "Gotta run," she said, already heading toward the stairs two at a time.

"Meeting at ten."

Julian called after her.

> "Don't forget your laptop this time, Einstein!"

Bella flipped him off over her shoulder without slowing down.

Twenty minutes later, she reappeared - dressed sharply in dark jeans, a navy blazer, and clean heels, her hair tamed into a sleek bun.

She tossed her laptop into her battered leather tote bag, shoved the unopened letter inside too without thinking much about it, and grabbed her keys from the hook by the door.

Julian leaned against the doorway, sipping his second or third? coffee.

> "Don't sue anybody today," he called.

> "No promises," she tossed back, flashing a tired grin.

She blew him a mock kiss, he pretended to faint, and she slipped out the door into the crisp morning air, the letter tucked away in her bag - forgotten.

For now.

Bella entered her sleek black Audi as the city buzzed around her. The sunlight reflected off tall skyscrapers, and the sound of honking filled the air. New York was loud, impatient, and full of life.

She was used to this chaotic energy. Some mornings, she just wanted to stay in bed for five more minutes. Bella tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and looked at the traffic ahead. It was gridlocked, just her luck.

She sighed and leaned her head back against the seat. This job paid well, but it felt like it took a toll on her too. Her fingers were tired from another sleepless night and another tough case that worried her more than she would admit.

Yet, there was comfort in the hard work. Winning was not just what she did; it was her protection.

When the light turned green, she carefully drove downtown. She passed big billboards and corner cafés where college kids enjoyed pricey lattes. Her phone buzzed beside her, probably a silly meme from Julian, but she ignored it. She had a busy day ahead and no time for distractions.

By the time Bella reached the underground parking of her firm, the pounding in her head had lessened to a dull throb. The building towered above her.

It was a shining example of steel and glass, representing strength. Hart & Caldwell was one of the most respected firms on the East Coast. Getting in had once felt impossible, but now her name opened doors for her that others could only dream of.

She grabbed her things and headed inside, shoving the still-unopened letter deeper into it, and strode into the marble-floored lobby.

People recognized her here - the security guard tipped his hat, a pair of interns practically bowed as she passed. Bella offered a small nod in return but didn't slow her steps. She wasn't here to make friends.

The elevator ride to the fifteenth floor was blissfully empty.

Good, she thought. I need exactly fifteen more seconds of pretending the world doesn't exist.

The familiar soft chime announced her arrival, and the doors slid open into the heart of the legal beast.

Bella's office was waiting at the far end of the hall - a spacious, sunlit corner room that overlooked the thrum of the city. Everything about it, from the gleaming mahogany desk to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, whispered of success.

A framed magazine cover on the wall caught the light: "Bella: The Lawyer Who Never Loses."

She grimaced at it. Titles were easy. Winning? Winning cost.

Her secretary, Monica, a brisk, efficient woman in her early thirties, looked up from her tablet as Bella approached.

"Morning, Bella," Monica greeted, falling into step beside her like a well-oiled machine. "You have a client meeting at nine - the Ferris case. Then a deposition at noon, and a lunch with the firm partners at two."

Bella nodded, tossing her bag onto the leather couch in the corner.

"And the Miller updates?" she asked, shrugging off her coat and smoothing her tailored dress.

"On your desk. Everything's on track."

Bella sank into her chair with a soft sigh. The leather hugged her like an old friend.

"Good. Tell Marcus to prep the files for the Ferris meeting - I want no surprises."

Monica nodded, typing quickly. "Already done."

Bella let herself breathe for just a second, staring at the neat rows of case files on her desk.

Another day. Another mountain to climb.

She steepled her fingers beneath her chin, feeling the familiar fire build in her chest.

Let's win some battles today.

---

Bella had barely settled into the rhythm of her day when Monica poked her head in again.

"They're here," Monica said simply.

Bella gave a crisp nod, smoothing her hair back as she rose.

The Ferris family - a messy corporate dispute involving two brothers and an inheritance bigger than most lottery wins. Petty, ugly fights wrapped up in suits and handshakes. She hated these types of cases...but they paid the bills.

Focus, Bella.

The meeting room smelled faintly of coffee and fresh paper when she stepped inside. The two Ferris brothers sat stiffly on opposite sides of the long polished table, their respective lawyers already glowering at each other.

Bella offered a practiced, professional smile as she slid into her seat.

Two hours later, after breaking up what nearly became a shouting match (and mentally adding family therapist to her unofficial job description), Bella emerged victorious - at least, for today. She had kept the negotiations civil, for now, and secured more time for deeper discussions.

She sank back into her office chair, rolling her shoulders to release the tension.

"Monica, coffee, please," she called weakly, and Monica immediately appeared with a steaming cup, like the angel she was.

"Rough one?" Monica teased gently, setting it down.

"You have no idea," Bella muttered, nursing the mug between her palms. The warm ceramic felt grounding. Safe.

As Monica slipped out again, Bella finally let herself exhale. She leaned back and closed her eyes briefly, her mind already shifting gears - depositions, lunch with partners, more endless meetings.

Just keep moving forward, Bella.

Her fingers brushed against something stiff inside her bag. Frowning, she pulled it out.

The letter.

For a moment, she simply stared at it, her mind too fogged with exhaustion to care.

But something about it - the lack of a return address, the old-fashioned handwriting - made her chest tighten. A tiny prickle of unease skated down her spine.

It's probably nothing, she told herself. Maybe a thank-you note. Maybe another desperate plea for free representation.

Still, she slid a finger under the flap and ripped it open carefully.

The letter inside was short.

Ms. Bella,

We have been observing your work. Your talents, your victories, your persistence.

A time is coming when people like you will have a choice: join greatness, or be swallowed by it.

We offer the former. An invitation will come soon.

- L

Bella stared at the page, the words swimming before her eyes.

"What the hell..." she breathed.

This wasn't a job offer. It wasn't a fan letter.

It read more like... a threat. Or a warning. Or both.

Her heart began to pound a little faster. She flipped the envelope over again, checked the postmark. Nothing. No stamp, no return address.

Someone had hand-delivered this.

A sharp knock at the door made her jump.

It was Monica again, her expression unreadable.

"Bella, the partners are ready for you," she said.

Bella folded the letter calmly, sliding it back into her bag like it was nothing more than a grocery list.

She rose to her feet, smoothing her skirt with hands that didn't feel entirely steady.

Later, she promised herself.

She'd figure this out later.

For now, there were battles to fight. Clients to defend.

She was Bella Hart - undefeated, unbothered, unstoppable.

At least... that's what she kept telling herself.