Before I can respond, his lips are on mine, the kiss deep and searing. I melt into him, my worries dissolving under the onslaught of sensation. For now, it's just us—no Saint family drama, no buried secrets, no looming threats. "We got a bit sidetracked from the diaries," I mumble against his lips.
His answering grin is pure sin. "I don't mind that kind of distraction." His fingers trail down my spine, making me shiver. "In fact, I highly encourage it."
"Behave." But I'm smiling as I say it, feeling oddly shy despite everything we did. "I should make coffee if we're going to actually get any reading done."
"Probably wise." He stretches, all tattooed muscle and golden skin. "Though I can think of better ways to wake up."
I slip from the bed, pulling on his dress shirt. It falls to mid-thigh, and the way his eyes darken at the sight makes heat pool low in my belly.
In the kitchen, I'm measuring coffee grounds when I hear him pad in behind me. I turn and nearly drop the scoop—he's wearing nothing but boxers, and the full glory of his tattoos is on display in the morning light.
"Jesus," I blurt before I can stop myself. "You're like a walking muse."
His grin is wicked as he strikes an exaggerated pose, one arm behind his head. "Immortalize me in charcoal and sin."
The laughter bubbles up before I can stop it. "You're ridiculous."
"And you love it." He moves closer, caging me against the counter.
My laughter subsides as my phone buzzes on the counter. Elliot's name flashes on the screen. I answer it right away.
"Hey, Elliot, what's—"
"Bella." His voice is tight, controlled in a way I'm not used to from him. "Can you come to the gallery? I need to talk to you about something."
"Sure. When?"
A heavy pause fills the line. "As soon as possible."
Something in his tone makes my stomach clench. I'm already moving, searching for my clothes. "I'll be there in twenty."
Ares straightens, concern darkening his features. "Everything okay?"
"I don't know." My hands tremble slightly as I pull on my jeans. "Elliot wants to speak with me."
"Want me to come with you?" He reaches for his shirt, but I shake my head.
"No, he wants to speak to me alone." The lie tastes bitter, but I can't deal with this—with us—right now. "I'll call you later?"
Ares studies my face for a moment, concern etched in the line between his brows. Finally, he nods.
"Okay. I understand." He pulls his shirt on and buttons up. "I'll head home and check in with Ethan."
His voice is calm but I can tell he's worried. Part of me wants to ask him to come after all, but I resist the urge. Whatever Elliot needs to tell me, I need to face it on my own. I can't rush things between us anyway. We're already navigating such complicated waters, each moment together another layer of complexity. The past drags behind us like a weighted veil, invisible but impossible to ignore. No need to blur boundaries that I've barely reestablished. Taking him to see Elliot would feel like skipping ten steps ahead when I'm still trying to find my footing on the first.
The gallery feels different when I arrive. My stomach drops as I watch workers in white gloves carefully remove my paintings from the main exhibition space, and relocating them to a narrow hallway near the restrooms. They handle my most vulnerable piece—my selfportrait with the fractured crown jewels—like it's suddenly radioactive.
"What's happening?" My voice echoes too loudly in the hushed space.
Elliot emerges from his office, his normally impeccable appearance showing signs of strain—tie loosened, hair slightly disheveled. When our eyes meet, his shoulders slump further.
"Bella." He gestures me into his office, closing the door with a soft click that feels oddly final.
"Why are they moving my work?" The words scrape my throat raw. "That hallway gets a fraction of the foot traffic. No one will see them there."
Elliot doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he moves behind his desk with deliberate slowness, each step measured as if walking through quicksand. The silence stretches between us, heavy with things unsaid.
"Elliot?" My voice wavers. "What's going on?"
