"I was never allowed to love anyone," he said again, his voice dropping and a hint of remorse seeping into his words. Not even you. Belle sat quietly, taking in Alistair's admission's gravity. Every statement echoed through her, distorting her view of the guy she had known, the man she had loved. His face contorted with sorrow and rage as she observed him intently. Raw and exposed, devoid of the control he clung to so fiercely, this was a side of him I had not seen before. "My father... he never gave me a choice," Alistair said, his voice strained as if the words were fighting to break free. Fighting the overpowering wave of feeling threatening to engulf him, his hands became white-knuckled fists. He ordered every aspect of my existence. The business, the marriage, the individuals I could rely on... all of it was his design. His might. Belle's heart sank. She had always understood that Alistair carried a weight, that the empire he built came at a great cost, but hearing him talk of
"No, Father," Alistair's voice was sharp with a frigidness that made Belle shiver. I will not act foolishly. But after the kid is delivered, we will make her gone. No one will ever know she lived. Belle's breath caught and her heart raced in her chest. She didn't dare to shift. She was unable to. His father's voice, harsh and unrelenting, said, "Alistair, the empire comes first." Any vulnerabilities cannot be allowed to appear. Though it is regrettable, the agreement with her is required; once it fulfils its goal, we may get rid of it. You will once more have power over everything. Belle's throat constricted as the room spun with understanding of the words. Regulate. For Alistair, that had always been all. His father had always viewed her as a tool, a means to an end, a pawn in their game. She was now on the verge of being thrown away once the infant came. Belle felt a rush of queasiness from Alistair's frigid, icy voice. I get it. Just do it. I will not allow emotion to cloud my
"You're here," he whispered quietly, moving forward to greet her. Low and heavy with their shared secret, Bernard spoke. Rugged with a sharp jawline and dark eyes that always seemed to be judging the world around him, he was a man in his forties. He had always been faithful to her, but now more than ever, his deeds would show whether that loyalty stretched deeper than simple obligation. Belle said, her voice strained with stress, "I had no choice." Though the dread of being found still ate at her insides, she had been getting ready for this day for weeks. I am prepared. You claimed you could assist me. Bernard nodded, his eyes darting anxiously to the passage's dark shadows. Everything is set up. You must believe me. That is the only approach. Belle was unsure. Bernard had been there when no one else had, therefore she wanted to trust him. But after hearing what she had from Rosalie, the fear of treachery was like a darkness hanging over every choice she made. Could she now genuine
"It's time," he replied gently, his voice steady. Come in. Belle gazed out the window, her face reflected in the glass, but her mind was far else. Was this the correct option? The query made her heart hurt. She had abandoned everything, the house she always dreamed of, her relationship to Alistair, the life she had lived. The idea alone seemed like a betrayal, but she realised she couldn't remain. She looked at Bernard, his face unreadable as he concentrated on the highway. "I don't know whether I can do this," she said softly, her voice almost inaudible. "I don't know whether I can ever forgive him." Though he remained silent for a long time, Bernard's hold on the wheel grew stronger. His hands were constant, his will obvious. At last, he stated in a gentle but strong voice, "You're doing what you have to do." No one can decide this for you. Alistair is not even close. His remarks hurt more than she had expected. Alistair had let her down, using her as a pawn in a power struggl
She had left. The sheets twisted about his legs as Alistair leapt out of bed. His chest constricting, he breathed quicker. Stumbling out of the bedroom and into the corridor, his head spun. He had to locate her right now. He had to understand why she was missing, what had occurred. He didn't even recall when she departed, undetected slipping from his side. The memories of their last moments together were a muddle, the drunken haze of the night before still clouding his mind. But down inside, something primitive knew. She was gone; he was to blame. Rushing down the corridor, his eyes searching every corner and every shadow, his heart raced with eagerness as if expecting her to materialise out of nowhere. But there was no one. There was no one in the house. A voice crackled over the intercom just as he got to the stairs. "Sir, we found her car. She is no longer here. He felt a sinking in his gut. The words suffocated him, hanging in the air. She had fled. She had truly run. A floo
"Bernard?" Her voice shook and she hardly identified it as her own. Emerging from the darkness into the cabin, he replaced his normal serenity with a jaw stiffness. He was aware of what she lacked. "They've found us," Bernard murmured quietly, almost as if speaking it out loud would make it more real. Showing no signs of panic, he swiftly and methodically collected their belongings. Belle's breath became shallow and her chest constricted. Are you certain? Moving his attention to the little pack in his hands, Bernard ignored her. But his voice was strong. They are approaching closer. We have to go right now. Belle's gaze on the cabin door sent a shiver down her spine. Her thoughts raced: was it Alistair's team or someone else pursuing them? She believed she had purchased enough time. But suddenly, as the sounds of motors got closer, the dread she'd been hiding for so long erupted like a dark tide, rising to consume her whole. Panic made her pulse race. Could she outpace Alistair'
Alistair's fingers pounded restlessly against the polished mahogany desk, his gaze darting between the never-ending stack of documents in front of him. He had a firm to manage, deadlines to meet, agreements to close, so he should have been concentrated; all he could think about was Belle. Months had passed since she vanished, months since he last saw her, and the stillness between them had grown intolerable. His gaze wandered to a desk photo of Belle, laughing, glowing. Her laughter's recollection plagued him, eating at him from the inside out. Not now, he realised he couldn't let her leave. Not after all that. Buzzing on his desk, the phone pulled him from his musings. He grabbed it, the harsh click of the receiver reverberating in the normally quiet workplace. "Yes?" he shouted, his voice tense with almost suppressed fury. He desired responses. He wanted them. "Sir," the voice on the other end seemed calm, professional. "We have Belle news." His pulse raced. "Where's she?" His v
Belle leaned over her desk in her modest legal office, with the only light coming from a flickering overhead bulb. The room was simple, no indications of luxury, no shining marble floors, just the sort of place you'd expect a single mother to labour away from the high-society life she formerly knew. Her eyes drifted to a picture of her son, Theodore, chuckling at some lost time from their past. Looking at the picture, a slight smile pulled at her lips. Whispering, "How did we get here?" she felt it heavy on her chest. Old paper and ink's scent permeated the air; the city's buzz outside was barely heard. Belle's fingers stopped moving on the documents before her. Alistair, her ex-husband, haunted her. His shadow remained significant even after all these years. Her priority now, though, was Theodore. All she did was for him. The sound of little feet racing along the corridor outside interrupted her thoughts. Just in time to watch Theodore rush into the room, eyes wide with excitement
Belle paced around the room, her hands quivering as she looked at the light screen in front of her. Alistair stood next to her, his attitude calm, calculating. Now in his command centre, surrounded by a web of high-tech devices, they felt far from the safety Belle had once known. The stakes were higher than ever before. Belle responded, her voice calm but laced with genuine anger, "I don't trust you, Alistair." "But I'll do anything to bring him back", Though her gaze stayed glued to the television, she sensed the burden of her words drop between them. Alistair remained unflinching. As the data came in, indicating their son's last known whereabouts, his eyes stayed glued to the screen. Belle, we're in this together, he replied gently. More than anything, Theodore's life counts. Though his voice was chilly, there was unmistakable tenacity in it. Though she wanted to despise him in that time, she could not refute the veracity of his statements. He was correct; they had to cooperate.
Theodore sat on the soft grass of the mansion's lawn, his small hands gripping a ball as he casually tossed it in the air. Golden light from the sun covered the vast estate, and birds chirping made for a perfect setting. But something seemed wrong. A peculiar chill hung in the air, causing him to look anxiously over his shoulder. The front gate opened with a creak; the noise rather acute in the quiet. Stepping through the gate, two men in dark suits created an imposing, deliberate presence. Though it was Theodore's naive interest that drew their notice first, they moved in perfect unison, their eyes searching the area. He grimaced, a quick anxiety filling his chest. Standing up, he let the ball fall and his tiny hands shook a little. One of the guys saw him right away; their gazes met for a brief minute before the man smiled tightly and uncomfortably. The man murmured, his voice icy yet gently sweet with an eerie serenity, "Come with us, Theo." Theodore stepped back, his heart rac
Belle's breath stopped in her throat as she and Gabrielle raced to conceal the documents in Alistair's study. With every second stretching like an eternity and the sound of footsteps growing louder, closer, her heart raced in her chest. Gabrielle looked towards the door and froze, her hand resting above the drawer. In the stillness, the familiar creak of the study door reverberated. Overwhelming in presence, Alistair entered and his keen eyes swept the room. His eyes danced between them, pausing for a minute too long. You two are doing what in here? Belle's spine tingled at his low, menacing voice. Belle automatically sat up, her heart racing. Avoiding his gaze, her thoughts raced to create a justification that would not arouse doubt. She knew how observant Alistair was; he noticed every detail and saw everything. Gabrielle responded hurriedly, her tone strained as she moved in front of Belle, obstructing Alistair's view of the desk, "We were just, just talking." There is nothing
The mansion was too quiet for Belle's comfort of mind. Her mind a maelstrom of uncertainty and dread, she had been in Alistair's study for what seemed like hours. The richness of the home only appeared to increase her mounting anxiety. The files she had discovered burdened her greatly; the secrets they exposed about Alistair's father, Alexander, and the shady transactions endangering everything seemed to crash down. Belle's fingers trembled slightly as she touched the borders of the papers she'd left behind, her anxiety returning. A gentle knock on the door broke her thoughts. Is Belle there? Startled, she turned as Gabrielle entered. Her eyes were large, full of a strange combination of shame and anxiety. Though tonight it seemed as though the walls were closing in, the air between them had always been electric. Gabrielle Belle enquired, attempting to control her breathing. What is happening? What brings you here? Gabrielle hesitated, her eyes darting anxiously to the door as th
The phone buzzed loudly in the quiet office. Alistair's attention was only on the papers in front of him; he did not look up. Impatient with the gradual advancement of his plans, he fingers drummed the desk. The phone's abrupt vibration, however, broke his thoughts. He snatched it up to find an unknown number flashing across the screen. "Alistair Kensington," he replied, his voice professional, used to the gravity of every word he uttered. Familiar but urgent, the voice on the other end. Rook here. We have to speak. Right now. Rook A former acquaintance of Alistair's who was aware of the most sinister aspects of his father's activities as well as the most sinister aspects of his own life. He felt a pang of anxiety. "Alistair, he's back," Rook said, his voice clearly weighted. The old foe of your father. The one who vanished years ago. He has come back. And he's targeting your empire. A frigid shiver went down Alistair's back. "Who?" I can't yet name you, but you must prepare. Al
Theodore's eyes adapted to the dim light; he saw files that appeared to draw him closer, boxes coated in cobwebs, and shelves brimming with old volumes. Walking toward the far corner of the room, he found a wooden cabinet half-hidden beneath piles of papers. Theodore cautiously unlocked the cabinet as his fingers glided across its surface. Though their contents were far from usual, inside were dozens of file folders, each carefully labeled. Pulling one off the shelf, its label worn but readable: Kensington Family History, his heart raced. Though the final folder at the bottom drew his attention, the files were packed with information, birth records, bank paperwork, old photographs. His fingers quivering with expectation, he opened it carefully. There, in a tattered paper, was his father's birth record. The tidy writing covered the fundamentals: date, place, surname. Theodore hesitated, though, at the way the paper crinkled and felt more weighty than the rest. He looked down at the
"Your mother loves you very much, Theodore," Lucy replied, her voice soft. But she doesn't always know what's best for you. She's... you know, emotional. Occasionally, her choices are focused on emotions rather than what is best for your future. Theodore looked up from his play to see his grandmother. Though he didn't quite get them, he felt their words sink into his chest. His mother had always been nice and protective; how could anything she did be incorrect? Lucy's tone became more personal as she leaned forward a bit. Haven't you heard your father talk about all the great things he can give you? The journeys, the knowledge, the life he has guaranteed you. Still, your mother prevents you from experiencing any of it. Theodore, why? Doesn't that make you question whether she actually knows what is best? Theodore stared at the goodies before him, his head spinning with uncertainty. He had never considered his mother in such a manner. Lucy’s comments put something fresh, something a
Belle stood in front of the mirror, her reflection looking back at her with a mix of surprise and determination. Alistair's courtroom fight had finished in his favor, and she felt as though the walls were closing in on her. The man meant to safeguard her and their children was suddenly the one actually endangering their family disintegration. Every day spent with him served as a reminder that he controlled everything: her, Theodore, and all else. But not any more. She had decided. Belle walked across the room, ignoring the papers strewn over the desk. Running through the processes in her head, her heart raced and her thoughts raced. She could not remain here. Not in this home, not with him. The idea of Theodore maturing under Alistair's control made one cringe. The orders, the control, the cruel comments she could already hear. Her gaze remained fixed on the little suitcase by the bed. She had packed it before, just in case, but now it was more than just a precaution. It was all th
"Should I open it?" he whispered to himself, nearly as if seeking permission. Staring back at him from the tablet's screen, his reflection showed eyes wide with the burden of his own choices. He tapped the first file without allowing himself another opportunity to reconsider. A screen for passwords showed up. Theodore looked over his shoulder and leaned back in his chair to make sure no one was around. He had to be cautious as he had no idea what sort of havoc he was about to cause. Typing in a few possibilities, names, dates, the keys on the screen felt alien under his touch. Then, on a hunch, he attempted his mother's birthday. The file opened and the screen flickered. Cold, clinical, a thorough study of the Kensington family's financial activities, a list of assets and holdings, the paper's contents were One aspect, however, drew his notice: his own birth. The day. The frigid, distant tongue. "Theodore Kensington," the paper started, "born under dubious conditions. Unfortunate