A laugh bubbles up through my tears as we return to the kitchen and our abandoned cookies. "God, it kind of was, wasn't it?"
"Says a lot about the man he's become." Emma's voice turns serious. "Standing up to his family, facing the media..."
"That's what scares me most." I trace a pattern in the spilled flour. "For that man? I have no defenses."
It was easier when I could hate him. When I could tell myself he was just like his parents—cold, calculating, willing to sacrifice anyone who got in their way. The anger felt righteous, felt safe. Because anger meant walls, and walls meant protection.
But this Ares? The man who just stood in the gallery and faced down not just Jessica, but his entire family's carefully crafted narrative? He's knocked down every wall I've built with a few minutes of brutal honesty on national television.
"Fuck." The word comes out as a whisper, more prayer than curse.
Fifteen years ago, he stood silent while his parents destroyed my life. That silence had cut deeper than any accusation. I'd built my new life on the foundation of that betrayal, brick by bitter brick.
But he's not that scared seventeen-year-old boy anymore, is he? Just like I'm not that naive girl who thought love could conquer everything.
We've both grown up. Both changed. And maybe that's what terrifies me most—the possibility that we've changed into people who could, actually...
No. I can't finish that thought. Can't let myself hope. Because hope is dangerous. Hope leaves you vulnerable. And I've worked too damn hard to be vulnerable again.
But watching him defend me, seeing that familiar fire in his eyes as he stood in the gallery... God, it felt like coming home and stepping off a cliff all at once.
"You're thinking too hard." Emma's voice breaks through my spiral. She slides a spoonful of cookie dough my way. "Eat this instead."
I take the spoon, but the sweetness feels wrong against the bitter tangle of my thoughts. "What am I supposed to do now, Em?"
"Maybe," she says carefully, "you stop trying to do anything. Stop fighting so hard against what you're feeling."
"That's terrifying." The admission slips out before I can stop it.
"Good things usually are." She bumps my hip with hers. "And Bella? That man just declared war on his entire family for you. On live TV." A small smile tugs at her lips. "Maybe it's time to let someone else fight for you for a change."
The words hit like a punch to the gut, because she's right. I've been fighting alone for so long, I've forgotten what it feels like to have someone in my corner. Besides my dear friends, I'm not used to having someone defend me—especially not publicly, not at the risk of their own reputation and family ties. The novelty of it is as terrifying as it is exhilarating: to have someone say "I choose you" instead of running away.
We return to our abandoned cookie dough, the familiar motions of measuring and mixing settling my nerves. The kitchen fills with the sweet scent of vanilla and chocolate as the first batch goes into the oven.
My phone rings. Ares.
"Answer it." Emma nudges me. "He deserves that much."
I sigh, picking up. His deep voice sends shivers down my spine. "Did you see it?"
"Yes."
"Can we talk?"
I hesitate, but then— "Please, Red."
"Okay." The word barely leaves my lips when a knock echoes through my loft.
Emma heads to the door, and there he stands, phone still pressed to his ear, looking rumpled and gorgeous and determined.
"Sharp and smooth," Emma murmurs as she lets him in. "I like it."
His eyes never leave mine as he walks in, intense and unwavering. My heart pounds against my ribs.
"I should go." Emma checks the oven timer. "Eight minutes for golden brown, don't forget." She kisses my cheek, whispering, "Get it, girl."
The door closes behind her, and suddenly the air feels electric. All I see is this man who just defended me to the world, who's looking at me with those deep brown eyes like I'm everything.
