When they reached the house, Lucas killed the engine and stepped out first. The rain had softened to a mist, cool in the night air. He opened Bella's door and helped her out, then gently unbuckled Rachel, lifting her into her mother's waiting arms. She stirred but didn't wake, cheek pressed to Bella's shoulder.
"I'll carry the bags," Lucas said quietly. He gathered them with one hand, his other hand resting for a fleeting second against the small of Bella's back as they walked toward the house.
Inside, the warm light of the living room wrapped around them. Bella lowered Rachel carefully onto the couch, draping a throw blanket over her while Lucas set the bags down by the coffee table. For a moment, the scene felt startlingly domestic—like a family coming home from an ordinary evening.
Bella smoothed Rachel's hair, her movements tender. When she glanced up, Lucas was watching her, expression softened in a way he rarely allowed. Something flickered in his gaze, something she almost asked about—until he looked away, breaking the moment.
"I will go back now," he said at last, his voice low.
Bella hesitated, wanting to press, but the weight of his tone told her not to. Instead, she nodded slowly. "Alright. Just… don't stay out too late."
He stepped closer, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered just long enough to make her heart flutter.
"Take care of yourself," he murmured.
Her eyes softened. "You too."
With that, he turned, his tall frame carrying both steadiness and shadows as he left the house once more.
From the window, Bella watched as Lucas walked back to the car. His figure was tall, steady, yet shadowed by something heavier than she could see.
Lucas slid into the driver's seat, his expression darkening the moment he was alone. He picked up the phone he had silenced earlier, pressing it to his ear.
Mark's voice came through, tense and clipped. "We've got a problem. I'll explain when you get here."
Lucas's gaze flicked once toward the house, where the light in the window glowed warmly — Bella moving about, Rachel safe inside.
His hand tightened around the wheel. No matter what shadows waited for him tonight, he would keep that light untouched.
With that silent vow, he drove away, leaving warmth behind for the storm that awaited.
The house felt quieter once he was gone, though Rachel's presence always filled it with a kind of light Lucas could never dim. After tucking her daughter into bed for a short nap, Bella went to her room, her thoughts lingering on the car ride. His words echoed in her head—you're more beautiful now. No one had ever said that to her before, not in such a way that made her heart skip.
She touched her belly again, wondering if he had meant it or if it had just been his way of making her feel comfortable. Either way, warmth spread through her chest. Lucas could be infuriating, arrogant, and secretive, but he had this way of seeing her—not as fragile, but as if she was worth protecting, worth admiring.
The clock ticked softly in the background as Bella began preparing a simple dinner. Rachel wandered down eventually, rubbing her eyes, and eagerly offered to help.
"Dada will eat with us?" Rachel asked while she carefully placed the cutlery on the table.
"I don't know, sweetheart," Bella answered, trying to smile. "He had some work. But maybe he'll be back in time."
Rachel nodded solemnly, then added in a whisper, "We should keep some food for him. He'll be hungry when he comes back. He works too much."
Bella's heart clenched at that. She smoothed down her daughter's hair, swallowing the sudden ache of affection. Lucas worked too much, yes. She didn't know what exactly kept him so busy, but she knew it weighed on him.
As they sat down together, Bella watched Rachel chatter about her school day, about friends, about how she wanted to buy a new storybook the next time they visited the bookstore. It was such an ordinary evening, so soft and comforting, that Bella almost forgot the tension she had seen in Lucas's eyes when he left.
But far across town, Lucas was stepping into an entirely different kind of evening. The warehouse was dim, the air heavy with oil and iron, the ground littered with shadows that moved like secrets. Mark was already waiting for him, leaning against a steel beam, cigarette smoke curling around his restless hands.
"You're late," Mark said, though his tone wasn't accusatory. His eyes were troubled, unfocused.
"I had somewhere important to be," Lucas replied evenly, shrugging off his jacket as he moved deeper inside. A few of his men were waiting in the corner, grim-faced, silent.
Mark dropped his cigarette and ground it under his heel. "We've got a problem. The scapegoat we caught? He tried to slip out. Almost succeeded."
Lucas's jaw tightened. He had expected as much. "And?"
"He's dead now. My men handled it. But that's not the issue. Before he died, he spilled something."
Lucas raised a brow, waiting.
"He said the Russian has eyes everywhere. Even here." Mark's words were sharp, laced with unease. "He said… they know about her. Many of them know about her."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Lucas didn't move, didn't breathe, though his pulse slammed against his ribs. Her. He knew exactly who Mark meant. Bella.
He schooled his expression quickly, not letting the storm show on his face. "Anyone else hear this?"
Mark shook his head. "Just me. I shut him up before he could say more."
Lucas nodded once, decisive. "Good. Keep it that way. No one else needs to know." His voice was steel, each word clipped. "Increase the men watching her. Quietly. If anyone so much as breathes near her wrong, I want to know first."
Mark studied him carefully, as if weighing his next words. "She's getting under your skin, isn't she?"
Lucas's gaze turned cold. "This isn't about me. It's about keeping what's mine safe."
But even as he said it, he felt the lie in his chest. It was about him. He could no longer separate the two—protecting her meant protecting his own fragile, newly forming sense of peace.