Smoke still curled from the estate gates, carrying the sharp tang of burned rubber and gunpowder. Bella's pulse thrummed not from danger, but from the tension coiled between her and the two men who had become extensions of her will and her chaos.
Crystal leaned against a shattered wall, eyes dark, jaw tight, and every muscle screaming with unspent energy. "You think you can lead us into hell and not feel it?" His voice was low, dangerous, nearly a growl. "You're fire, Bella. And fire… destroys everything it touches."
"I'm aware," she said, stepping closer, letting her fingers brush against his. Just a brush but enough to make him stiffen. "And I don't care what I destroy. Not my choices. Not my storm."
Christian appeared beside her, silent until then, like a shadow that had always been there. His hand pressed briefly to the small of her back, grounding, controlling, the storm-dark heat of him pressing into her spine. "And what if your fire burns us?" His voice was calm, deliberate, but the tension in his tone betrayed a desire that matched Crystal's.
Bella's chest tightened. Two storms, two forces, two claims. She could feel them pulling her in opposite directions, and yet… she wasn't afraid. She had never been more alive.
Crystal's hand slid up hers, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "You don't get to be untouchable. Not around me."
Christian's hand tightened on her back, nearly brushing hers but not quite deliberate, teasing, challenging. "Not around me either."
Bella let a slow exhale escape, letting the heat coil and pulse between them. She didn't need to choose not yet. But the pull was dangerous, magnetic, and she let herself feel it.
"Then fight," she whispered, voice low, sharp, a command and a promise. "But remember—I am the storm. I decide who stands, and who falls."
For a moment, the battlefield seemed to pause. The smoke, the fire, the chaos faded into a halo around them. She saw them, both of them their desire, their need, their protective instincts, and their feral hunger and she felt it all, mirrored back.
Anthony's laughter echoed from the shadows of his cell, soft and approving. "The storm has chosen its rhythm," he murmured. "And the storm will not be tamed."
Bella smirked. "Good," she said, letting her gaze sweep over the ruins. "Because the next move is mine."
And with that, she stepped forward, flanked by the two men who would burn for her, who would die for her, and who would compete for her fire. The war was far from over but for the first time, Bella knew she didn't need to survive it. She would command it.