"They're calling you the 'mystery woman.'" Alisha's voice tightens with anger. "Speculating whether you're the reason he broke his engagement to Jessica Westwood."
Ares's business card burns in my pocket like a brand. I pull it out, staring at the number that could either save me or destroy everything I've built.
"What are you going to do?" Emma asks.
The question hangs as memories flood back. Grandma’s tears as we packed our belongings. The whispers that followed us. Doors slamming in our faces when she tried to find work, the Saint family's influence reaching further than we'd imagined.
"I need to get ahead of this." My voice sounds distant, even to my own ears. "Before they can—before his parents—"
"Call him," Amanda suggests. "Set the record straight before—"
"No." I stand abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. "If he can show up at my door demanding answers, so can I."
"Bella—" Emma starts, but I'm already grabbing my bag.
"The Four Seasons," I say, remembering him saying that as he gave me his business card. "That's where he's staying."
"At least let one of us come with you," Alisha protests.
But I'm already moving, anger and fear propelling me forward. Fifteen years ago, I let them control the narrative. Let them paint me as the villain in their perfectly curated world.
Not this time.
Summer air hits my face as I step outside, but I barely feel it. All I can think about is Ares's words: "This isn't me walking away."
Well, I'm not walking away either. I'm running straight at the problem, consequences be damned.
Because some truths refuse to stay buried. Some wounds never heal properly until they're reopened and cleaned out.
The Four Seasons looms ahead, its gleaming windows reflecting morning sun. Somewhere in there, Ares Saint is probably planning his next move, thinking he can control this situation like his family controls everything else.
He's about to learn how wrong he is.
Because the scared sixteen-year-old girl who let the Saints destroy her life? She died a long time ago.
And the woman who replaced her? She's done running.
I take a deep breath, Evelyn's voice echoing in my mind: 'You are stronger than you know, Isabella. Never let them see you afraid.' Her words have carried me through so many battles.
This one will be no different.
7
Ares
I sit on the edge of my hotel bed, watching Boston's skyline blur through floor-to-ceiling windows. The first warning sign hits like a whisper—a slight pressure behind my right eye, familiar as an old enemy. My jaw clenches, knowing what's coming.
Within minutes, the pressure transforms into pain, each heartbeat driving it deeper, like a hot needle stabbing straight through my skull. My fingers press into my temple, desperate for relief, but it's too late. The city lights splinter at the edges of my vision, fractals of light that shouldn't be there dancing like warning flares.
Shit. Not now.
I need my medication before the full assault begins. Before nausea coils in my gut and the world morphs into a torture chamber of light and noise.
My phone buzzes against the nightstand, illuminating the dim room. Another text—probably Jessica or Mother with their endless demands. I turn it face-down, silent, and push to my feet. The room tilts slightly as I take an unsteady step toward the bathroom, my sanctuary of darkness and pills.
The hotel phone's shrill ring stops me cold.
"Mr. Saint?" the front desk manager says. "There's a Miss Jenkins here to see you. She's quite..." A muffled voice carries through. "...insistent."
