: Rock Bottom

Bella POV

The offer expires at dawn, take the money and sign the NDA. This is your last chance. – CB

I stared at the message for a long moment, my vision blurring as rain streaked down the cracked screen of my phone. My thumb hovered over the response button, a thousand angry words crowding my throat.

Then I pressed delete instead.

Blocked the number.

Removed the SIM card with shaking fingers and threw it away. He had no idea what he'd created when he threw me away.

A few months earlier...

The mansion had never felt like home. How could it, when the man who owned it treated me like an unfortunate piece of furniture he'd been forced to acquire?

I'd moved in a few weeks after the "engagement" though calling it that felt generous. It had been a business transaction, pure and simple. My father's company was circling the drain, my father's decades of mismanagement finally catching up with him. When Caleb's grandmother suggested a merger sealed by marriage, my father's eyes lit up like he'd won the lottery.

"Why not Jade?" he'd asked immediately, already calculating which daughter would fetch the better price. "She's the elder, and far more."

"It will be Bella." Her voice had cut through the room, brooking no argument. Those sharp grey eyes—so like her grandson's—had fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "Or there is no deal."

I'd wanted to ask why. Why me, when Jade was everything I wasn't—beautiful, charming, the daughter my parents actually loved. But I'd learned long ago not to question the rare moments when fortune smiled in my direction, even if that smile felt more like bared teeth.

So I'd packed my meager belongings and moved into Caleb Black's pristine, soulless mansion, into a guest room three doors down from the master suite he occupied alone. He'd made the sleeping arrangements abundantly clear on day one.

"This is a business arrangement," he'd said, not even looking at me as he signed papers at his desk. "You'll have your own space. I expect you to stay out of my way."

And I had. God, I had tried so hard to be invisible, to not be a burden, to somehow earn... what? His attention? His kindness?

His love?

What a fool I'd been.

The weeks crawled by in painful silence. Caleb left before dawn and returned after midnight. When we crossed paths, he looked through me like I was nothing. I ate dinner alone every night at that enormous dining table, the clink of my fork against fine china echoing through empty rooms.

I told myself it was fine. I'd survived worse loneliness growing up in the Hart household, where my parents forgot my birthday but never missed an opportunity to remind me I was the spare, the backup, the daughter they'd never wanted.

At least here, I had caleb grandmother. Caleb's grandmother visited twice a week, her warm presence a stark contrast to her grandson's arctic chill. She taught me about the Black family history, asked about my business degree, and actually listened when I spoke. For the first time in my life, someone saw me—really saw me—and didn't find me lacking.

"He'll come around," she'd said once, patting my hand with her papery fingers. "My grandson has forgotten how to let people in. But you, sweet girl—you have a light he needs, even if he doesn't know it yet."

I'd wanted so desperately to believe her. It happened on a Thursday.

I'd been living in the mansion for weeks, weeks of silence and loneliness and one-sided conversations with empty rooms. I'd stopped hoping for anything to change. But that night, something was different.

I was in the kitchen, cooking dinner—not for both of us, I'd learned that lesson—just for myself. My earbuds were in, some indie playlist keeping me company as I chopped vegetables. I hadn't heard him come home.

"You're still awake."

I nearly dropped the knife, spinning around to find Caleb standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He'd shed his suit jacket, tie loosened, the top button of his shirt undone. But it was his expression that made my breath catch.

He wasn't looking through me.

He was looking at me.

"I'm making dinner," I said stupidly, pulling out an earbud. "I didn't think you'd be home this early, it’s only nine."

"Board meeting ended early." He moved into the kitchen with that predatory grace that always made my pulse stutter. "We closed the Meridian deal."

There was something in his voice I'd never heard before. Satisfaction. Pride. Almost... happiness?

"That's wonderful," I said, meaning it. I knew how important that deal had been—I'd overheard enough of his phone calls through the walls. "Congratulations."

He studied me for a long moment, those grey eyes tracking across my face like he was seeing me for the first time. I became acutely aware that I was wearing old jeans and one of my threadbare college sweatshirts, my hair piled in a messy bun, face free of makeup.

I must have looked like exactly what I was—a girl playing house in a mansion she didn't belong in.

"What are you making?" he asked.

I blinked. "Just... stir-fry. Nothing fancy. I can make extra if you—"

"I haven't had a home-cooked meal in years."

The vulnerability in those words cracked something open in my chest. Before I could think better of it, I smiled. "Then you're in luck. Stir-fry is actually one of the five things I can make without burning down the kitchen."

The corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was the closest I'd ever seen. "I'll open some wine," he said.

: Flash Back

Bella pov

We ate together at the kitchen island—not the formal dining room, which somehow made it feel more real. Caleb asked me about my day, actually listened to my answers. I learned he hated mushrooms, loved his grandmother fiercely, and had a dry wit that caught me off guard and made me laugh.

For one night, the ice around him thawed. For one night, I let myself believe Caleb's grandmother had been right. The wine led to more conversation. Conversation led to him moving closer on the couch where we'd ended up, reviewing old photo albums his grandmother had left—pictures of a younger Caleb, before the world had frozen him solid.

"She talks about you constantly," I said softly, studying a photo of eight-year-old Caleb grinning beside a bicycle. "She loves you so much."

"She's the only one who ever has." His voice was rough. "My father certainly didn't. My mother died trying to please him, my sister" He cut himself off, jaw clenching.

I didn't push. Instead, I did something reckless. I reached out and covered his hand with mine. He stared at our joined hands like I'd performed a magic trick. Then his fingers curled around mine, holding on like I was the only solid thing in a tilting world.

"Bella." My name sounded different in his mouth. "I haven't been... I should have"

"It's okay," I whispered, even though it wasn't. Even though weeks of loneliness had made me feel less of myself. "I understand."

"You shouldn't." His grey eyes found mine, and the intensity there stole my breath. "You shouldn't understand, you should demand more. You deserve more than this arrangement, more than a husband who treats you like"

I kissed him. I don't know what possessed me. Temporary insanity brought on by wine and loneliness and the way he was looking at me like I mattered. Like I was someone worth seeing. For one frozen heartbeat, he didn't move.

Then he was kissing me back, hard and desperate, like I was oxygen and he'd been drowning. His hands cupped my face, then slid into my hair, scattering pins. The photo album tumbled to the floor, forgotten.

"Bella," he breathed against my lips. "We shouldn't"

"I know."

But I kissed him anyway, and he responded like a man starving. His mouth moved against mine with a hunger that made my knees weak, his lips firm yet surprisingly soft. One hand cupped the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair as he deepened the kiss, tasting me like I was something precious he'd been denied too long.

When he finally broke away, we were both breathing hard. Without a word, he lifted me into his arms, carrying me up the stairs to his bedroom—not the guest room I'd been exiled to, but his space, his sanctuary. For one night, he was letting me in.

We fell onto his bed in a tangle of desperate hands and shed clothing. He kissed me again, slower this time, his mouth trailing from my lips to my jaw. When he reached my neck, I gasped. He found that sensitive spot just below my ear, sucking gently, then soothing with his tongue. My hands clutched at his shoulders as he worked his way down, kissing, nipping, making me forget every reason this was a terrible idea.

His hands were everywhere—one sliding down my back, pulling me closer, the other gripping my hip. When his palm curved over my ass, squeezing through the worn denim of my jeans, I moaned into his mouth. The sound seemed to unlock something in him. He groaned in response, his grip tightening as he pulled my hips flush against his.

"These need to go," he murmured against my throat, his fingers already working at the button of my jeans.

I became acutely aware that I was wearing old jeans and one of my threadbare college sweatshirts, my hair piled in a messy bun, face free of makeup. But when I started to protest, he silenced me with another kiss.

He peeled the sweatshirt over my head, his eyes darkening as he took me in. Then his hands were on my waist, sliding my jeans down my hips with aching slowness. Every brush of his fingers against my bare skin sent shivers through me.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, and for one reckless moment, I let myself believe him.

"I've never" I gasped as his mouth traced down my throat.

He pulled back, grey eyes searching mine with sudden focus. "You're a virgin."

It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway, heat flooding my cheeks. At twenty-three, I knew it was unusual. But between putting myself through college and being invisible in my own family, there hadn't exactly been opportunities for romance.

Something shifted in his expression, the desperation gentled into something almost... tender.

"Then we'll take this slow," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. "Tell me if you want to stop."

I didn't want to stop. I wanted this—wanted him—with a fierceness that terrified me.

He sat back on his heels, his hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. I watched, mesmerized, as he worked each one free with deliberate slowness, revealing an expanse of toned chest and defined abs. The shirt fell away, and I couldn't help but stare at the lean muscle, the breadth of his shoulders.

Then his hands went to his belt. The clink of metal seemed impossibly loud in the quiet room. He stood briefly to push his trousers down his legs, stepping out of them with unconscious grace. When his fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, my breath caught.

He paused, eyes meeting mine as if checking for permission. I managed a small nod.

The boxers slid down, and my eyes went wide. Heat flooded through me—equal parts nervousness and anticipation. He was... I hadn't known what to expect, but the reality of him was overwhelming.

"Still okay?" he asked softly, crawling back onto the bed, his body covering mine.