Sophie’s POV
I need answers. And if Adrian won't give them, I know someone who might.
The problem is Bellamy.
He's everywhere—a silent, watchful presence I can't shake no matter how hard I try. Every time I reach for my phone, he seems to materialize in the doorway. Every attempt to find privacy is thwarted by his constant, suffocating proximity.
I try anyway.
I sneak my phone into the bathroom, claiming I need a long shower. Twenty minutes later, I emerge with pruned fingers and damp hair—and Bellamy is waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall like he's been there the entire time.
"Enjoy your shower?" His voice is flat, knowing.
"It was very relaxing."
"I'm sure."
I take my laptop to the balcony next, hoping the cold air will discourage him from following. Before I can even sit down, he positions himself by the glass doors, close enough to see the screen if he wanted to.
Not obviously watching, but present. Always present.
"Don't you have anything better to do?" I snap.
"Not particularly."
"Read a book. Watch television. Stare at a wall. Anything that doesn't involve breathing down my neck."
"I'll take it under advisement."
He doesn't move. I last fifteen minutes in the cold before retreating inside, no closer to privacy than when I started.
Finally, I've had enough.
I find him in the living room, standing by the window like a sentinel, and I plant myself directly in his path.
"I need space. Just an hour. One hour where you're not watching my every move, tracking my every breath, appearing around every corner like some kind of ghost."
The words come out harder than I intend. "I'm not a flight risk, Bellamy. I'm pregnant and exhausted and your constant hovering is driving me insane."
Bellamy doesn't budge. His expression remains impassive, unmoved by my frustration.
"My job isn't to make you comfortable." His voice carries no apology. "It's to keep you safe. Those aren't always the same thing."
"Safe from what?" I step closer, challenging him. "From whom? What exactly is Adrian so afraid of that he needs you watching me every second of every day?"
"Ask Adrian."
"I did. He shut me out. Just like you're shutting me out now." Another step. We're too close now, close enough that I can see the flecks of darker color in his eyes. "What is he hiding, Bellamy? What happened last night? Who is Marchetti?"
Bellamy meets my gaze. Holds it.
Something shifts in the air between us—electricity, tension, an awareness that makes my breath catch in my throat. The space between us feels charged, dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with physical threat.
I notice things I've tried to ignore. The sharp line of his jaw, shadowed with stubble. The intensity in his eyes, the way they seem to see past every defense I've built. The way his presence fills the room, commanding attention even when he's trying to fade into the background.
Neither of us moves.
The moment stretches, taut as a wire. I should step back. Should break whatever spell is weaving itself around us. But I don't. Can't. My feet are rooted to the floor, my eyes locked on his.
Then Bellamy speaks, voice low, almost involuntary—like the words escape against his will.
"You're indeed just like her..."
My heart stutters.
The world narrows to this moment, to those five words hanging between us like smoke. I see something crack open in his expression—pain, memory, a wound that never healed.
"Like who?"
The question breaks whatever spell held him.
Bellamy's expression shutters instantly, walls slamming back into place with almost audible force. He steps back, putting distance between us, and the charged air dissipates like it was never there.
"I need to check the perimeter."
"Bellamy…"
"Stay inside."
He's already moving, already disappearing down the hallway with long strides that carry him away from me, from the question, from whatever truth almost escaped his carefully constructed defenses.
I stand frozen in the living room, pulse racing.
From the confrontation. From his words. From something I refuse to name, something that flickered between us in that charged moment before he retreated.
An awareness, a recognition. The unsettling sense that he sees me—really sees me—in a way that has nothing to do with his job.
Who do I remind him of? The questions spiral, but I force myself to focus. To remember why I started this confrontation in the first place.
Then I realize: he left.
For the first time in weeks, I'm alone. No watchful eyes, no hovering presence, no silent judgment tracking my every move.
I grab my phone before I can second-guess myself. Scroll through contacts until I find the number I saved weeks ago, after our conversation at the courthouse. My thumb hovers over the call button.
This is a terrible idea. Lolita is dangerous—not physically, perhaps, but in every other way that matters. She plays games I don't understand, moves pieces on boards I can't see. Making a deal with her feels like making a deal with the devil.
But she knows Adrian. Knows his past, his secrets, the darkness he keeps locked away from me. And right now, she's the only door that might open.
I press call. Three rings. Then that familiar voice, smoky and amused.
"Well, well. The little lamb calls the wolf. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I need to see you." The words come out steadier than I feel. "Just the two of us. Tomorrow."
A pause. I can almost hear her smile through the phone.
"How intriguing. And does Adrian know about this clandestine meeting?"
"Adrian doesn't know anything about this. And I'd like to keep it that way."
"Secrets from your keeper. How delicious." A soft laugh. "Very well, little lamb. Tomorrow. I'll text you the location." Another pause, weighted with something I can't read. "I do hope you know what you're getting into."
"I don't. That's the problem."
"No," Lolita says softly. "That's the opportunity."
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone, heart hammering against my ribs. Down the hallway, I hear Bellamy's footsteps returning. The perimeter check—if that's what it really was—is over.
I school my expression into something neutral. Tuck the phone into my pocket.
When he appears in the doorway, I'm sitting on the couch with a book I have no intention of reading.
"Perimeter secure?" I ask, not looking up.
"Secure enough."
He resumes his position by the window. Silent. Watchful. As if the moment between us never happened.
But I haven't forgotten. And neither, I suspect, has he.