Chapter 257
Chapter 257
Stella's POV
But there were other ghosts that refused to be banished—three of them, to be exact. Ryder, Christian, and Logan had all stayed in Seattle after Victor's death, orbiting around me like planets around a dying star, each of them trying to figure out who I really was beneath all the lies and masks. And I didn't know how to answer that question, because I wasn't sure I knew myself.
Ryder was the first to confront me. He showed up at the Mellon Estate one evening, his amber eyes haunted, his jaw tight with barely controlled emotion. Lewis, the butler, tried to turn him away, but I heard the commotion and came downstairs, still wearing the business suit I'd worn to a meeting with the company's board of directors.
"Let him in," I said.
Ryder followed me to the library, a cavernous room lined with books that Victor had probably never read, and we stood facing each other like boxers in a ring, waiting to see who would throw the first punch.
"You lied to me," he said finally, his voice raw. "About everything. Your name, your past, your reasons for being in Seattle. You used me to get close to Victor, to gather information, to execute your revenge. And I let you, because I was stupid enough to think you might actually care about me."
"I did care about you," I said quietly. "I still do."
"But not enough to be honest with me. Not enough to let me in." He took a step closer, and I could see the pain etched into every line of his face. "I loved you, Stella. Or whoever the hell you really are. I loved you, and you broke my heart."
"I know." The words felt inadequate, but they were all I had. "I'm sorry, Ryder. I'm sorry I hurt you. But I can't undo what I've done. I can't go back and be the girl you fell in love with, because I don't know if that girl ever existed."
"Then who are you?" he demanded. "Right now, standing in front of me—who are you?"
I looked at him, this man who'd given me everything and asked for nothing in return, and I told him the truth. "I'm a killer. I'm a liar. I'm someone who's spent her whole life surviving by any means necessary. But I'm also someone who's trying to be better, to use the power I've gained to do something good. I don't know if that's enough. I don't know if I'll ever be able to wash the blood off my hands. But I'm trying."
Ryder stared at me for a long moment, his eyes searching my face like he was trying to memorize every detail. Then he closed the distance between us and kissed me—hard, desperate, full of all the things he couldn't say. And I kissed him back, pouring everything I felt into that moment, all the regret and longing and broken pieces of my heart.
When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathing hard, he rested his forehead against mine and whispered, "I can't let you go. I've tried, Stella. God knows I've tried. But I can't."
"Then don't," I said.
---
Christian came next, appearing at my office at Mellon Aerospace & Defense on a Tuesday afternoon, looking every inch the powerful CEO in his tailored three-piece suit and cold blue eyes. He dismissed my assistant with a single glance, closed the door behind him, and stood in front of my desk with his arms crossed, radiating controlled fury.
"You played me," he said, his voice like ice. "You wormed your way into my life, into my grandfather's trust, all so you could get close to Victor. And I let you, because I thought you were different. I thought you were real."
"I was real," I said, standing to face him. "Everything I felt for you—that was real, Christian. The rest was just... survival."
"Survival." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You call manipulating people, lying to them, using them—you call that survival?"
"Yes." I met his gaze without flinching. "Because that's what I had to do to stay alive, to get justice for my family. I'm not proud of it. But I'd do it again if I had to."
He was silent for a long moment, his jaw working, his hands clenched at his sides. Then he crossed the room in three long strides and gripped my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "You're a goddamn disaster, Isabella Mellon," he said, his voice rough. "You're dangerous and unpredictable and you've turned my entire world upside down. But I can't stop thinking about you. I can't stop wanting you."
"Then stop trying," I whispered.
He kissed me like he was trying to prove a point, like he was claiming me as his, and I let him because some part of me wanted to belong to someone, to be more than just a weapon or a ghost. When we finally broke apart, he pressed his forehead to mine and said, "I don't share, Isabella. You need to understand that. If you're mine, you're mine alone."
"I can't promise you that," I said honestly. "I can't promise any of you that."
---
Logan was the last, and in some ways, the hardest. He came to the estate on a rainy evening, his prosthetic leg hidden beneath tailored slacks, his eyes full of something I couldn't quite name. He found me in the conservatory, surrounded by my grandmother's old journals that I'd recovered from storage, trying to piece together the woman she'd been before Victor destroyed her.
"I heard you were back," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "Heard you're the new queen of the Mellon empire. Congratulations."
"Don't," I said quietly. "Don't mock me, Logan. Not you."