Chapter Three Belle

BELLE

The minute I stepped out of the SUV, my lungs seemed to stop working.

The Thornwell Estate appeared exactly as I remembered it—grand, sprawling, old-money majestic—but slightly colder. The kind of place that never seemed to have known the warmth of laughter or of tears. Only refined antiques, fresh linens, and perfectly orchestrated stillness.

I hadn’t seen it in four years.

And still, I could feel the soil beneath the magnolia tree where Cassian first kissed me. The cobwebbed ends of the east hall where we'd steal snacks from the kitchen. The rear stairs where I'd spoken leavetaking into his neck before scrambling back into the maid's rooms.

I knew every inch of this house.

It no longer belonged to me in any way.

Selenna whistled quietly alongside me, her stilettos clicking against the cobblestone pavement. "So this is where rich people come together and fuck."

"Don't even begin," I muttered, adjusting my blouse for the fifth time. "Just act normal."

"I am being normal. You're the one walking like you just stepped into a haunted mansion."

It was haunted. Not by ghosts, but by memories. Midnight kisses. Kitchen squeals. His cracking voice after the lie I lied to him. The pain in his eyes when I left.

I hadn't been in the place since. Until today.

Selena leaned forward. "You okay?"

I nodded tightly clenched jaw. "Let's just get this over with."

A butler—yes, an actual butler—opened the door before we even knocked. His face was politely blank as he invited us in.

The air smelled the same. Lemon polish. Dust. That subtle metallic tang of money and secrets.

As we stepped into the foyer, I froze.

He was already waiting.

Cassian Thornwell was at the bottom of the stairs in charcoal slacks and a black button-down that hugged his body perfectly. He wasn't smiling. He didn’t even look surprised. Just cold, frighteningly composed and inscrutable.

And still heartbreakingly, unforgivably handsome.

Selena hesitated beside me, clearly sensing the shift in mood. "Uh… you didn't tell me he was a Calvin Klein murder suspect look alike."

Cassian's eyes flashed over to her, then back to me. "Miss Moreno."

The voice was lower now. Still smooth, but short like frost against glass.

"Mr. Thornwell," I replied, my throat tight.

We shook hands—his grip was firm, unyielding. No tremble. No hesitation. He was the only man who had ever broken me, and now he stood there like he didn’t even recognize my presence. 

God, it hurt.

"Shall we begin with the walkthrough?" he asked, gesturing toward the east hallway.

"Yes," I gritted.

He didn't wait for a response. He just turned and walked on ahead, waiting for us to catch up.

Naomi elbowed me. "Are we going to talk about this later?"

"No."

"We're totally talking about this later."

________________________

He didn't say much on the tour.

He showed us the rooms one by one, detailing which would be preserved, which could be modernized. His voice was professional, indifferent. Like he was talking about drywall and not the place where we’d fallen in love.

“This wing will house the press conference after the IPO,” he said, pausing in the west gallery. “I want the space to convey legacy.”

I found my voice. "Do you want it warm? Modern? Clean?"

He moved, eyes raking over mine. "I want it unforgettable."

There. That edge. That secret blade.

"Sure," I replied, scribbling down a note on my tablet that I didn't even need.

When the tour concluded, he led us back to the great study. It had the same dark wood paneling, same roaring fireplace, and stood behind the enormous desk like a judge who was about to render a verdict.

"I hope your firm will be up to the task," he said. “I don’t like disappointments.” His eyes met mine then, and I knew he was talking about me.

"We are," I said.

"I've looked at your portfolio. Good work. Simple, bold, clean lines. Some critics called it sterile."

Selena bristled. I took a step forward. "Some of the critics described it as timeless."

His lips twisted. Not a smile. A challenge. "Then I suppose we'll see who's right."

Good Lord, he was trying to fluster me.

Naomi, bless her heart, flashed a wide, strained smile. "Preliminary concepts will be accomplished in a week."

He gave a single nod. "I expect excellence. Not sentiment."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

Cassian glared at me. "This house is not a stroll down memory lane, Miss Moreno. It's a project. I want it to be treated like one."

Every word was a blow.

I said nothing. I just couldn't.

His eyes lingered on mine for a moment longer, before he faced Selena again. "The butler will show you out."

ANd he was done. Just like that.

And it was as if whatever had happened between us didn't exist anymore.

When we stepped outside, the wind hit my face and made it difficult to breathe.

Selena pulled me towards the car, but her eyes were already sharp. "Okay, no offense, but what the hell just happened?"

"Nothing."

"You two were one breath away from having a fight or making out," she said. "Belle, be honest. Is that the Cassian?" she asked.

"Yes," I whispered. "That's him."

"And he doesn't know?"

"No."

Her face softened, but not her voice. "This is a bad idea."

"I know."

"So why are we doing it?"

Because we have no choice.

Because I have a son to protect.

Because the past has claws that can tear you apart.

Because Cassian Thornwell might not be done with me.