Alone in the quiet of her own house, Arabella felt the world's pressure bearing down on her. She was caught in a web of deception, uncertain who to trust and terrified of what could result if she didn't escape.
Red-rimmed from restless nights, her gaze was locked on the phone in her hand. Scrolling through the news, reading the headlines, and viewing the commentary, each one more damning than the last, she had done so.
The media frenzy about Grant's death and her alleged participation had spiralled out of control. They depicted her as the gold-digger who lied to the public and shared responsibility for his alleged death. Every new post, every new piece of writing increased the burden on her chest.
Though faint, the knock on the door reverberated in the quiet of the flat. Without thinking, Arabella opened it to discover Brooks on the other side; his rough attitude and large shoulders were a nice change from the turmoil she had been living with.
Dressed casually, in black pants, a grey jumper clinging to his thin frame, and his dark hair somewhat unkempt as if he'd just come in from the cold. His deep brown eyes, always quietly warm, softened to meet hers.
Holding up a bag of groceries, he added, "I thought you might need something," the crinkling of plastic bags shattering the room's tension.
Thankful for his company, Arabella smiled weakly. He had always been a consistent buddy she could count on. Brooks had no objective, no ties attached. He was different from the rest.
"Thanks," she said quietly, moving aside to allow him inside. She could not recall the last time somebody had given her anything without hoping for something back.
Setting the bags on the counter, he brushed his fingers against hers. So simple and transient, the touch shot a bolt of warmth into her chest. Not wanting him to realize how much that little act had impacted her, she swiftly withdrew her hand.
Brooks replied softly, looking around the flat, "Looks like you've been having a rough time." Unpacking the suitcases, he started putting things in their correct locations. "How about some comfort food? I understand that's what you currently require."
Arabella didn't object as he began making a bowl of pasta, something that seemed like a little bit of routine. His motions were quite effective, as if they were back in their old life before everything had changed. She observed him move.
Their fingertips met once more as he placed the platter before her. She didn't back off this time. Instead, she kept his stare, letting herself a calm time in the middle of it.
Her voice quivering a little, she said, "Thanks for this, Brooks. Without you, I don't know what I'd do."
He smiled, his face radiating genuine warmth. "You don't have to thank me. Arabella, I am here. I always will be."
The encounter had an intimacy she wasn't sure she was ready for but couldn't deny. A spark flared between them, something unspoken yet obvious.
She saw movement outside the window before she could speak. Seeing Grant standing across the street, his gaze fixed on her flat, made her stomach knot. Watching her and Brooks through the window, his face clouded.
Arabella's breath seized in her throat. Grant's stare into her made her aware of the tension in the air changing. The room felt abruptly smaller, the distance between her and Brooks shrinking.
Silent, she got up and walked towards the window. Grant's gaze met hers, and for a brief time, everything appeared to stop. His gaze was heavy; she could sense the quiet accusation in it.
Turning back to Brooks, who was already watching her carefully. His demeanor had changed, and a flash of worry crossed his face.
"Is he constantly like this?" Brooks enquired, his voice strained with some unknown emotion.
Her heart pounding, Arabella gulped. She had no response. Her voice trembling, she said, "I don't know what to make of him anymore."
The door burst open, and Grant rushed in, his presence filling the space like a thunderclap. His jaw was tight, and his gaze fixed on Brooks.
Grant hissed, his voice low yet forceful, "Leave. Right now."
Tension hung in the air as Arabella stood still. Before she could speak, she found herself yelling, "You don't own me, Grant!"
Arabella walked the flat, hands wringing together, head a frenzied whirl of ideas. The tension was suffocatingly obvious. She could not avoid it. Everywhere she looked, someone was attempting to dominate her, manipulate her, or corner her.
After her run-in with Grant, he had left in a rage. His gaze had been frigid, like a guy who believed he could own something but had lost it. Arabella stood here among the wreckage and understood it wasn't only Grant attempting to manipulate her. It was all people.
Hudson's offer was a seductive getaway from the mayhem. Scarlett had accused her of being a gold digger. As lovely as Brooks was, he had his views.
Sitting on the couch with her head in her hands, Arabella's mind raced. How much more could she battle? How much more could she maintain, pretending she had control over anything?
The phone rang, pulling her out of her reverie. Her pulse raced as she looked at the screen and saw the name Sawyer Whitaker. It wasn't quite long she had met up with him.
She responded immediately
Sawyer continued, his voice low and serious, "We need to talk. The Winslow board is meeting. The fate of your future is approaching. You should also be ready for what lies ahead."
Arabella felt her blood freeze. "What do you mean?"
Sawyer's voice fell to a whisper. "They intend to get rid of Grant and you. Forever."
Her heart ceased. This was no longer only about the business. This was death or life.
The phone beeped once more, suggesting another call before she could answer. She looked at it, a strange number.
She lifted it with trepidation.
A fuzzy film appeared on the flickering screen. The voice coming from the speakers sounded icy and threatening.
"We know your location."
Arabella's breath seized in her throat. The room seems to tilt under the weight of the words falling on her. There was actual risk. And it was closing in quicker than she ever thought.