The car hummed quietly as Lucas leaned back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, mind far from the rows of numbers and reports Mark had sent over. The city outside the tinted windows passed in a blur, but his thoughts were fixed on a single moment — the way Bella had looked holding that pendant.
There had been reverence in her voice. Soft grief. But more than anything, pride — not for herself, but for a woman she could barely remember. A woman whose dreams were now stitched into every sketch, every loop of silver she brought to life.
He turned the memory over in his mind like a gem, each facet revealing something new — her talent, her resilience, her refusal to be handed anything without earning it.
"I just don't want to be handed something. I want to earn it."
That hit deeper than she probably knew. Lucas had built empires, but he couldn't remember the last time someone had said that to him without an agenda. It stirred something foreign in his chest. Not attraction — that had come and gone in a heartbeat. This was slower. Heavier. A need not just to protect her, but to see her succeed — not because of him, but in spite of the world.
When the car slid into the underground garage, he was still thinking about her words.
In his office, the skyline framed by glass looked dull in comparison. He pulled out his phone and found the name he needed.
Alessio di Fiore.
Founder of Auréline. A man who rejected press but curated heirlooms for royalty.
LUCAS: Got someone I want you to meet. Brilliant designer. Young, raw, but worth your time. I'll send her sketches tonight.
The reply came swiftly:
ALESSIO: If she's someone you're personally recommending, she already has my interest. Looking forward.
Lucas allowed himself a smirk. That part was easy.
Now came the harder one — telling Bella without bruising her pride. She wasn't a woman who wanted doors opened for her. She wanted to find her own keys.
Later in the Evening, the front door clicked softly as Lucas stepped inside. The smell of warm herbs and something slightly burnt greeted him.
Bella's voice floated in from the kitchen.
"Rachel, that's not how you hold the spoon—oh my god, what even is this now?"
"Mash!" Rachel said proudly, lifting a lumpy scoop of what was once potatoes.
Lucas chuckled, stepping into the chaos.
Bella stood barefoot in an oversized T-shirt and leggings, her cheeks flushed with heat and possibly frustration. A streak of flour sat on her temple. Rachel was perched on a stool, arms deep in what looked like a culinary war crime.
"Is dinner supposed to be... that color?" Lucas asked dryly.
Bella turned, startled. "You're back early."
"Clearly not early enough to stop this massacre."
"Dada!" Rachel huffed. "I'm the chef today."
Lucas held up his hands. "Then I'm impressed, Chef Rachel."
Bella rolled her eyes but wiped her hands, visibly trying not to laugh. "You smell like boardrooms and overpriced cologne."
He reached into the bag he carried. "Then this might help."
He handed her a small box — no brand, no logo, just a ribbon.
Bella frowned slightly and opened it. Inside: a pair of custom-made blush slippers with delicate butterflies embroidered across the strap. Comfortable, elegant — and undeniably her.
"Lucas…" she blinked, touched.
"I noticed you kept rubbing your heels this morning. Thought these might help."
Rachel peeked into the bag next. "Did you get me something?"
Lucas crouched beside her and handed her a second, flatter box. "Only if you promise not to put mashed potatoes in them."
Rachel gasped. "Socks! With tiny ice cream cones!"
"And a matching nightshirt," Lucas added. "You're officially the most stylish five-year-old in this city."
Rachel threw her arms around him. "You're my favorite, Dada."
He ruffled her hair gently. The word always caught him off guard. Bella watched, leaning against the kitchen counter. Her heart softened.
An Hour Later, Rachel had been bathed and tucked in — new socks already smudged with chocolate from a bedtime treat.
Bella, now wrapped in a throw, her new slippers snug on her feet, curled on the couch. Lucas re-entered the room with a glass of warm milk and handed it to her.
Bella raised a brow. "You really believe in this warm milk before bed thing, don't you?"
Lucas leaned on the edge of the sofa, arms crossed. "It helps," he said simply. "And you looked tired."
She rolled her eyes but downed the milk in one go. When she exhaled, she hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath.
"Happy now—?" she began, but the words caught in her throat.
Lucas leaned closer, his hand rising slowly.
His thumb brushed softly across her upper lip.
"You had a little something…" he murmured, wiping away the faint milk moustache. His voice dropped just a notch lower. "…right here."
Bella blinked, startled by the intimacy. Her breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat. The room felt warmer than before.
She quickly looked away. "Oh."
His thumb lingered a moment longer, then retreated. "Relax, bella. It's just milk. Its not like I kiss you."
Her mouth parted. "I wasn't—! I didn't think—!"
He grinned. "Didn't say you did. But you look awfully shy for someone who just annihilated a glass of milk like it insulted your family."
She grabbed a pillow and lightly smacked him with it. "You're the worst."
He caught the pillow easily. "You say that, but you still drank it."
She groaned and curled back into the couch. "Can we pretend this didn't happen?"
"No," he said, settling beside her, voice low. "I'm adding it to my list of favorite Bella moments."
"There's a list?"
"There is now."
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp. Bella walked in first, yawning as she stretched her arms overhead. Lucas followed, removing his watch and setting it on the nightstand.
Bella sat on the bed with a sigh. "Remind me to thank your back for that slippers later."
Lucas chuckled, pulling off his shirt. "You can thank me with breakfast. Preferably without criticizing my pancakes."
She rolled her eyes, crawling under the blanket. Lucas slipped in beside her. The mattress dipped, and suddenly their bodies were just a little too close.
Bella turned her back, muttering, "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," he echoed.
A beat of silence.
Then — a stretch, a soft shift.
Her hand reached behind her to fix the blanket… and brushed against something warm and undeniably not a blanket.
Her body froze.
Lucas sucked in a breath.
She whispered, horrified, "I didn't mean— I wasn't— I was just reaching for the—"
"I know," he said gently. There was a smile in his voice. "It's alright."
A pause. Then she mumbled into the dark, "Can we pretend I touched a book or something?"
"No," he replied. "Because books don't twitch."
Bella let out a strangled laugh-groan and buried her face in the pillow. Lucas shifted closer, brushing his arm around her waist. "Hey… come here."
She turned slowly, cautiously.
"I'm just going to hold you," he said, voice lower now. "Nothing more. I just… like it. Sleeping beside you."
She didn't move for a second. Then she did. And his arms folded around her like they'd always known how.
Her cheek rested against his chest. His warmth was everywhere — anchoring, comforting. His hand brushed through her hair in soft, slow strokes.
"This is… new," she murmured.
"Yeah," he said. "But not bad."
She smiled into the fabric of his shirt. The silence wasn't cold anymore. It breathed. It listened.
And maybe, just maybe, it promised more.