The night didn't end when Chris fell asleep; it crawled into Bella's chest and refused to leave.
She lay there, wide-eyed, watching the ceiling blur into vague shadows. Sleep hovered over her like a lie she couldn't believe. Williams. The name tore through the silence, unlocking memories she had buried years ago.
Was it another Williams?
Or the Williams she knew?
Williams Henry—the man who ruined her first year on campus… the man who turned her best friend into a ghost.
Her stomach tightened. The memory still lived under her skin like a bruise that never healed. She remembered dinner. The laughter. The search for Rae. Then the girls' restroom, and the sight that broke her.
Williams had Rae pressed against the wall. Rae's lipstick smeared. His hands were where they had no right to be. His voice was low. Her laugh was breathless.
Bella had stood there, frozen, watching the life she knew collapse in front of her.
And now, years later, his name was back—whispered through Chris's ringing phone in the dark.
Her chest felt stabbed all over again.
She turned on her side, staring at the man sleeping beside her. Chris looked peaceful, as if he hadn't detonated a memory she'd spent years trying to bury.
Bella's heart refused to slow. Every inhale stung. Every exhale trembled. Her mind kept spinning: Why was Williams calling Chris? What could they talk about?
She remembered telling Chris everything back then—the betrayal, the humiliation, and the heartbreak. She remembered how he held her and swore he'd cut all ties with Williams. How he promised to protect her from anything that reminded her of that night.
Now here they were.
Another late-night call.
Another secret wrapped in Williams's name.
The sun bled through the curtains, but Bella didn't sleep. Her eyes were swollen, her chest tight. She'd replayed hundreds of explanations—all lies she didn't want to believe.
Chris stirred, stretching. "Morning," he murmured.
Bella didn't respond. She was already upright, hair wild, body tense.
"Who is Williams?" she asked, voice low but shaking.
Chris blinked. "What?"
"Williams," she repeated, sharper now. "A Williams called you last night. Who is he, Chris?"
He rubbed his face. "Babe, it's too early for this—"
"Too early for honesty?"
His expression shifted.
"Tell me it's not him. Tell me it's not Williams Henry."
Chris froze.
And that stillness told her everything.
"Wow," she whispered. "Of all people, Chris? Why him?"
"Bella, listen—"
"I don't want your touch," she snapped when he reached for her.
Chris sighed. "You remember the issue I mentioned last month? The data glitch? I needed help. Williams handles system recovery, so I reached out. It was nothing personal."
"You could have told me."
"I didn't think it mattered anymore."
Bella let out a hollow breath. "Didn't matter? That man wrecked my trust. That man ruined me. And he's calling you in the middle of the night?"
Chris tried to smile. "It might be urgent."
"At 1:45 a.m.?"
He exhaled. "Bella—"
"Don't." Her arms folded. "Tell me the truth. Please."
Something flickered in his eyes—guilt, exhaustion, something she couldn't place. He held her face.
"You're overthinking," he murmured. "You're the only one I want."
"Then stop hiding things from me."
He didn't answer with words.
He answered with a kiss.
Slow. Apologetic. Manipulative. Familiar.
His lips tasted like half-truths, and her body betrayed her. Anger melted into ache. His hand slid down her neck the way he knew she couldn't resist.
"You don't trust me anymore, huh?" He whispered against her lips.
"Not when you lie."
He smirked, brushing his thumb along her lip. "Maybe I should remind you why you used to."
"Chris—"
He didn't let her finish.
The heat escalated fast—too fast. Frustration turned into friction. Hurt turned into hunger. They collided. A quick, desperate release—more fight than love, more touch than words.
And when it ended, silence swarmed the room.
Chris sat up, raking his hand through his hair. "I have to pack."
Bella blinked. "Pack?"
"My flight is this evening. I told you."
"No, you didn't," she snapped. "You didn't say anything about leaving today."
"I swear I did. I'm heading back for finals and company stuff."
"Of course." Her laugh was dry. "Everything is always work or school. You disappear, then return like nothing happened."
"Don't make this harder," he muttered.
"You already did."
He stepped closer. "Babe—"
"Just go." She turned away. "Do what you always do: disappear."
"Can you call me when you're less angry?"
"I don't know," she whispered.
When he finally left, the silence suffocated her. The soft click of the door felt final, like something had torn away inside her.
Bella sank onto the bed, staring at the rumpled sheets. Her body still hummed from his touch, but her mind was burning.
Williams.
Why now?
She grabbed her phone. No messages from Chris. No calls. Nothing but silence.
Her heart climbed into her throat.
She stood in front of the mirror. The girl staring back didn't look like someone who used to always laugh.
"Get it together," she whispered.
But her thoughts refused. What if Williams is stirring something? What if he knows something about Chris? What if—
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Her stomach dropped. She answered, "Hello?"
Silence.
Then a familiar voice—deep, calm, and threaded with danger.
"Bella."
Her breath hitched. "Adrian?"
He exhaled. "You sound tired."
"Why do you always call when everything is falling apart?" she whispered.
"Maybe that's when you need me the most."
She swallowed. "What do you want, Adrian?"
He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was low.
"Sit down," he said. "It's about Chris."
The air left her lungs.
Of course it was.