Chapter 26: A Bullet for a scoundrel

The next morning, Levi stormed into the Blake residence, his breath short, his face red with urgency. He shoved open the heavy oak door without knocking, his boots thudding against the polished floor as he barreled through the house.

"Arabella!" he bellowed, his voice ricocheting off the walls.

From the kitchen, a startled yelp followed by the clatter of a metal bowl. Arabella appeared in the doorway, flour dusting the front of her dress, her hands sticky with dough. She had been helping her mother bake a cake, a simple, tranquil morning, now shattered by Levi's unhinged arrival.

"What—what is wrong with you?" she demanded, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.

Levi stopped short, chest heaving. "Ah, girl," he exhaled, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "You didn't take the pill."

Arabella stiffened. A sharp inhale. A slow blink. Then, suddenly, as if someone had yanked the cord on her memory, she recalled it all—the chaos of that night, arguing with her pets before bed, forgetting the pill entirely. Then Rafael had come. And at the park... oh, the park. Bold with the wine he had given her, she had lost herself in him, let him press her against the cool grass, let the night swallow them whole. She had been reckless, and then—

The damn thing had ripped.

Her heart lurched.

Ethan Blake, standing nearby, had been watching his daughter carefully, his lips trembling, the tremor betraying the fear crawling up his spine. "Arabella," he rasped, dread pooling in his stomach. "Tell me it isn't true."

She pressed her lips together, avoiding his gaze, before shaking her head. "I—I hadn't used the pill yet. And... he ripped it."

A long silence.

Then, in a voice hoarse with fury, her father asked, "Where is he?"

Levi swallowed hard. "Your father called me this morning," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "He asked for Velvet Vogue's address."

Arabella frowned. "So?"

Levi's hands curled into fists. "He's going to kill your husband."

Arabella scoffed. "He's not my husband. Daddy won't kill him. Probably just beat the crap out of him."

"No, girl. He took a rifle."

She felt the blood drain from her face. "What? How do you know?"

Levi looked at her gravely. "Because he asked me where the nearest store was that sold bullets."

Arabella paled. "Oh, hell. You're right."

They bolted out of the house, Levi leading the way. The drive to Velvet Vogue was a blur of panic. When they arrived, the scene was nothing short of chaos—employees huddled behind desks, others fleeing out the front doors, whispering in hushed terror about a madman with a rifle.

Inside, the building had become a war zone. The third floor, Rafael's domain, was in utter disarray—overturned chairs, scattered papers, the stench of fear thick in the air.

At the center of it all, Ethan Blake stood, rifle poised, his finger resting on the trigger.

Before him, three people stood stock-still, hands raised—Rafael, of course, dark-haired and disheveled but still infuriatingly composed; beside him, a petite, apple-cheeked girl with trembling knees; and to the other side, a woman with a face twisted in terror.

"Who the hell are you?" Ethan barked, his barrel swinging toward the first girl.

"M-my name is Vivian," she stammered, hands lifting even higher.

"Keep them up! And you—what are you to him?"

"H-he's my boyfriend."

Ethan turned the rifle to the other woman. "And you?"

"I—I'm Blair," she wailed. "His fiancée!"

"Shut up!" Ethan barked, and Blair clamped her mouth shut, choking on a sob.

Rafael had been inching backward, trying to ease out of the line of fire, but the cold kiss of metal against his spine halted him. He swallowed, turning slowly, hands lifting. "Mr. Blake," he said smoothly, "let's talk about this like adults, shall we?"

Ethan's grip tightened. "You sick bastard. You have a girlfriend and a fiancée! Isn't that enough for you? Men like you make me sick. I should blow your damn head off."

The doors burst open.

"Daddy! Don't!" Arabella's voice cut through the tension like a whip.

Rafael exhaled in relief. "Baby, thank God. I knew you'd come through for me."

"Shut up!" she snapped. "I don't want him going to prison for killing a man like you."

Ethan hesitated, his daughter's words ringing in his ears. Finally, his grip loosened, the rifle lowering. Arabella rushed forward, throwing herself into his arms. His daughter was right—luckily for that bastard, Ethan had left the bullets at the store in his rush. If he had remembered them, well... Rafael wouldn't be standing now.

"You're lucky she stopped me," Ethan muttered. "From this day forward, you are not to come near my daughter again."

"But we had a deal," Rafael protested.

Ethan leveled him with a deadly glare. "You want the bullet or the deal?"

Rafael paled. "The deal is off."

"I thought so."

Arabella exhaled, relieved. She hugged her father tightly, grateful he was walking away. But Rafael—his expression darkened, his worst nightmare unfolding before his eyes.

"Wait!" he blurted. "Mr. Blake, I—I want to take responsibility."

Both women in the corner shrieked in protest. Ethan turned on them with a glare, raising the rifle. They went silent.

"You want to take responsibility," Ethan repeated, "as in?"

"Marry your daughter."

"No!" Arabella protested, rounding on him. "I don't want to marry him!"

"I agree with Arabella," Levi piped up. "He might be the first banana Arabella ever had, but that is no reason to tie her into a marriage. This isn't a hundred years ago—girls can be on top now!"

Ethan nodded. "The he/she is right. I don't trust my daughter's future with a man like you. Come, baby. We're going home."

Rafael ran a desperate hand through his hair. He was losing her. "Wait, wait! What if she's pregnant?"

Ethan stilled. "Pregnant?"

Arabella stiffened. Levi stepped forward. "We did eight tests last week. She's not."

"When was this?" Rafael asked.

"Saturday," Levi said, then paled. "Oh, no."

Rafael smirked. "And where were we Sunday at 1 a.m.? In the park. Making love. Repeatedly. Until, well—let's just say, the condom ripped."

Arabella turned beet red. The room went silent.

Ethan reached for his rifle.

Rafael swallowed hard.

This wasn't over.

Rafael tilted his head, watching her with that insufferable smirk of his. "No, you're right. Rip it."

Arabella felt the blood drain from her face. "I... I didn't wear the condom. You did."

He shrugged, lazily stretching his arms behind his head, perfectly at ease. "Baby, it's like this. The longer you took to join me in heaven, the harder I had to thrust. And in the process? It ripped. Because you took too damn long, and we went at it more than once. That thin thing only had so much give."

Gasps echoed around the room.

Ethan, her father, groaned in the background, hands buried in his hair, visibly unraveling. Levi, ever the scandal-hungry spectator, chewed on his thumbnail, wide-eyed, as if the universe had just gifted him front-row seats to the messiest telenovela ever written.

Arabella swallowed hard, her pulse hammering. "W-what are you talking about? I can't remember..." She lied, her voice barely above a whisper, gaze darting away before she could meet Rafael's knowing eyes.

Oh, that bastard. That smug, insufferable bastard.

Why did he have to say it in front of her father?

"Must be the wine then," Rafael mused, smiling like the devil himself.

Arabella stiffened. "It wasn't the wine! Your—your banana wasn't average, Rafael!" The words flew out before she could stop them. "It makes sense the condom broke! If you bought the wrong size, of course, it would snap! And when it did, I told you to stop, but you just kept—"

Rafael cut her off smoothly. "But baby... we still had a long way to go."

Levi let out a high-pitched wheeze, fanning himself. "Ahh, damn, girl. You two need to stop. My head is spinning—"

Ethan staggered, pressing a hand to his chest as if clutching his very soul. "My princess..." he rasped before promptly fainting, his body collapsing to the floor with a heavy thud.

Blair and Vivian leaped up, brandishing whatever they could grab—one wielding a decorative octopus plush, the other a nearby book—and began swinging wildly at Rafael.

"You two-timing bastard!" Blair shrieked, her assault missing him by inches.

"Choose again!" Vivian hollered, hurling the book at his head.

Rafael dodged effortlessly, arms raised in defense, laughter dancing in his dark eyes. "Ladies, calm down—"

"Calm down?" Blair grabbed the octopus by a tentacle and flung it at his face.

Security burst into the room just then, armed and alert. "What's going on here?!"

The chaos froze.

Levi yelped as he was shoved to the floor by one of the officers. Rafael, hands in the air, let out a sigh. Arabella, still kneeling beside her unconscious father, could only watch in mounting horror as the room descended into absolute anarchy.

At the end of it all, after much screaming, cursing, and confusion, everything was explained away as one big misunderstanding.

Later that afternoon, Blake Estate, Master Bedroom

Ethan stirred awake with a groan, head pounding. His first sight was Rachel, sitting beside the bed, arms crossed.

"How long was I out?" he croaked.

"A couple of hours. You hungry?"

"No..." He pushed himself up slowly, and Rachel, ever the caretaker, stacked another pillow behind his back without a word.

Ethan exhaled sharply. "This isn't like 25 years ago..."

Rachel sighed, "No, it isn't. And you need to take care of yourself better."

His expression darkened. "I wish it was 25 years ago. Back when my Bella fit in the palm of my hand..."

Rachel's gaze softened just as he covered his face with one hand, a heavy breath escaping him.

"Now, now," she said, tone firm but kind. "Stop crying. You look ugly."

He lifted his head sharply, eyes red-rimmed and wet. "Rachel, our baby—she might be pregnant with that bastard's child."

Rachel sighed. "Levi told me everything."

Ethan threw his hands up in frustration. "Did the he/she tell you what that bastard said in front of me?!"

"Trust me. Levi said more than enough."

Ethan let out a pitiful whine. "My Bella!"

"I can still picture your ugly crying face," Rachel said dryly. "Stop wailing. Let's discuss this like parents."

"What is there to discuss?! My baby isn't marrying that punk!"

"Let them get married," she said simply, adjusting the blanket around his legs.

"Hey! What side are you on?!" he spluttered. "Just because that punk got her pregnant doesn't mean—"

"Ethan. There was sugar in the blender."

Silence.

Ethan squinted at her. "And?"

"And she might love him."

"Baby! He probably drugged our daughter for all we know! I can't let my baby marry a perverted maniac!"

Rachel raised a brow. "Excuse me? I am happily married to one."

Ethan straightened, indignation flashing in his gaze. "I wasn't half as bad as this punk! He took our daughter to a park!"

Rachel deadpanned. "And? I saw the photos on Levi's phone. His banana is not average american-sized."

Ethan let out a strangled noise. "That's why he ripped the condom..." he whispered.

Rachel inhaled sharply. "...Oh my. That explains why our baby was on birth control."

Meanwhile, Arabella's Room

Levi perched at the edge of her bed, arms folded. "Girl. You need to think about an early solution."

Arabella shot him a horrified look. "That's too cruel!"

Levi sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. But what about plan B?"

"What plan B?"

He grinned. "The backup lamb."

Arabella groaned. "Oh, dear Lord."

"Didn't you say you wanted to get back with Louis?"

Arabella hesitated. "Maybe..."

"Then he's the backup lamb! If he's back and ready for commitment, it's perfect. If it works out, you marry him and boom! Baby problem? Solved."

Arabella exhaled slowly. "You're not wrong."

Arabella made the impulsive decision to invite Louis over for dinner, to introduce him to her parents. As the evening drew near, the anticipation hung heavy in the air at Blake's residence. Louis arrived with a bouquet of vibrant flowers and a box of fine chocolates, a gesture that melted Arabella's heart as she greeted him at the door.

Her father, Ethan, stood tall and imposing, his brows furrowed in suspicion as he eyed the young man who dared to court his daughter. If not for Rachel's subtle intervention—a swift kick under the table—Ethan might have displayed his displeasure in a more forceful manner. The revelation of Rafael's involvement with Arabella had heightened Ethan's distrust of all suitors.

Throughout dinner, Ethan scrutinized Louis with piercing questions that made the young man fumble nervously for words and reach awkwardly for the nearest serving dish.

"So, you're in college with my daughter," Ethan began gruffly, stabbing at his steak with deliberate force.

"Yes, sir. That's where I fell in love with her," Louis replied, attempting to maintain composure under Ethan's relentless gaze.

"Dad!" Arabella interjected, her voice tinged with embarrassment as she sat protectively close to Louis, while her parents faced them from across the table.

"What do you do for a living?" Ethan continued, undeterred.

Just then, Mia entered with news of a visitor for Arabella, causing a momentary distraction. The tension in the room peaked when Rafael strode in gracefully, a single rose in hand, greeting everyone at the table. Ethan's reaction was immediate—he choked on his food, Rachel hurriedly patting his back as he recovered with a gulp of water.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ethan barked, his displeasure palpable.

"May I join you?" Rafael asked calmly, pulling up a chair next to Rachel and across from Arabella. He extended a polite greeting to Arabella's mother, noting with admiration where Arabella inherited her beauty.

Ethan was on the brink of a furious outburst, but Rachel's pointed glare and another discreet kick to his leg persuaded him to restrain himself in the presence of Louis.

As Mia brought Rafael a plate of greens and steak, Arabella watched him with a mixture of irritation and intrigue, cursing his timing silently.

Louis cleared his throat, attempting to answer Ethan's earlier questions amidst the tension. "I'm an architect, currently working on a bridge project in New York."

"And what's this Velvet Vogue?" Ethan prodded looking at Rafael, his skepticism evident in each stab of his fork.

"It's a modeling magazine," Rafael replied smoothly.

"Sounds like a fancy Playboy," Ethan muttered, earning a sharp reprimand from Rachel.

Louis tried to steer the conversation away from Ethan's disapproval.

"When would you think is a good time for you to marry my daughter?"

"Really, sir? Just give me a date!" Louis exclaimed eagerly, his face lit up with hope.

Arabella's eyes widened in surprise as Rafael interjected passionately, "No! Arabella, you can't marry this man!"

"Don't tell me what to do! I'm not your wife!" Arabella shot back, her frustration clear.

"Baby, you can't marry this loser!" Rafael persisted, his voice pleading.

"But I can, and I will!" Arabella retorted defiantly.

"What about me? What about us?" Rafael continued, his desperation evident.

Arabella's resolve remained unshaken. "You'll get over it. You still have your fiancée to worry about."

Rafael persisted, pleading for reconsideration, but Arabella stood firm in her decision. Ethan, surprisingly, erupted with unexpected enthusiasm.

"Yes!" he shouted suddenly, jumping out of his chair in a spontaneous celebration as if scoring a touchdown.

The world seemed to tilt off its axis as Rafael sat there, his breath coming slow, measured—his only form of control. Across the room, Arabella's laughter rang out, warm and untroubled, the sound of a woman in love. And not with him.

Louis sat beside her, his hand resting on the table, inches from hers, while Ethan—damn him—was celebrating his daughter's choice by moonwalking across the floor like some overgrown, gleeful child.

Rafael swallowed against the bitter taste in his mouth. So, this was it? The end of the chase? The final curtain drawn on what he thought was unbreakable between them? Perhaps it was time to let go, to forget the scent of strawberries on her skin, to stop torturing himself with memories of how she once looked at him—with fire, with longing, with something dangerously close to love.

He pushed back his chair and rose, the scrape of wood against tile swallowed by the easy conversation flowing around the table. His movements were slow, deliberate. He didn't belong here. He knew that now.

Arabella saw him leave—she would never admit it, but she did. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the defeated slope of his shoulders, the way he hesitated at the doorway as if he might turn back for one last glance. But he didn't. He knew better.

So did she.

She returned her attention to Louis, forcing a brighter smile, a more engaged nod. It was settled—next month, when Louis finished his project in New York, he would bring his parents to meet hers. A perfectly logical, responsible future. The kind of future she should want.

Later that night, after dinner, Louis left with promises to visit often. Ethan was pleased with the boy's enthusiasm, though deep down, if he were being honest, he would have preferred no son-in-law at all. Arabella excused herself to bed, leaving her parents alone in the living room, the fire casting soft shadows over their conversation.

"Louis isn't so bad," Ethan admitted, stretching his legs as he nursed the last of his whiskey. "At least he loves our daughter and has a proper job. Better than that punk! Nasty Things magazine—ha!"

"It's a modeling magazine," Rachel corrected gently. "And he's the CEO."

"Same thing," Ethan muttered. "Bunch of half-naked men and women plastered on glossy covers."

rachel leaned forward, studying her husband's face in the flickering light. "Did you notice your daughter's expression when he left?"

Ethan frowned, confused. "Of course. She was smiling. Laughing. Talking about marriage with Louis."

A slow, knowing smile curved Rachel's lips. "A mother knows," she murmured. "I think our baby girl is falling in love with the CEO."

Ethan scoffed. "Impossible. If she loved him, why bring Louis home? Why not just agree to marry Rafael?"

Rachel tilted her head, thoughtful. "If I had to guess? She's afraid. Unsure of her future with him. She's looking for stability. A replacement, maybe—a father figure for her child, if she's having one."

Ethan's face darkened. "Insecure?" he muttered. "Well, she's not the only one. I don't trust him with her future either. That man is a womanizer. A player. For God's sake, he had a girlfriend and a fiancée at the same time!"

Rachel raised a brow, amusement flickering in her gaze. "You used to be like him, remember?"

Ethan stiffened. "That was different."

"How?"

"I changed," he said firmly. "For love. I became a better man." His voice softened just a fraction. "More of a man than Rafael could ever be."

Rachel said nothing. Just sat there, watching him. Thinking.

And in the silence, Ethan wondered—if Rafael ever did change, if he ever truly became worthy of their daughter—would Arabella still be waiting for him?

Or would she already be gone?