The Portrait and The Letter

Chapter 3

Bella supposed, in her infinite wisdom, that the mere aspect of having a total stranger moonlighting outside her apartment window in the confinements of a sleazy-looking car and communicating through written messages and strange and dated phones should have worried her. Mike had a mind for these types of pranks.

But this was too elaborate.

No, she should have been frightened—the obvious first reaction she had indeed faced as she believed herself to be in some sort of danger. But the more she pondered the situation, the more Bella started to understand that these people seemed resourceful and that they had allowed her the freedom to choose. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that, if these people wished to, they could just as easily have taken her by force. It was thus a sign of good faith to let her choose.

At least, that was what she kept repeating to herself as she neared the car. Last night, when she had gone to bed, the car had still been there but then gone in the morning. When she returned home from the university and it had gotten dark, it had once more appeared.

She pulled the knitted sweater closer around her frame and gripped her smartphone tightly in her hand as she pushed back a few stray locks from the messy bun at the nape of her neck. She had already pre-dialed the emergency number 112, all she needed to do was press the green button should any sign of a struggle emerge.

Bella hovered right by the car for an instance, placing a good few feet between herself and the vehicle. The windows were tinted, not even allowing her to see any outlines of the people behind the glass.

"Of course," she muttered.

Suddenly, the door opened, sending her jumping back right into the road.

"Don't want to get run over, now do you, Ms. Dwyer?"

Bella snickered. This time, the voice wasn't disguised. It was pleasant, calm—friendly even. She squinted her eyes. "Whatever you have to say, you can do so here."

"I am afraid the only liberty I have is to take you with me, what needs to be informed to you can only be so by showing it to you."

"Ha!" she exclaimed, quickly shutting her mouth. "A little convenient for you, isn't it? I mean what kind of an idiot do you believe I am?"

"A curious one."

"Not curious enough to get into that car with you."

Within the confinements of the car, she saw the outline of a shadow. The man speaking tilted his head and closed the door. Bella stepped back, hugging herself as the car drove away. No license plate gave anything away. Only a model and its color.

"Well," she murmured to herself, finding that she was standing alone on a desolate street, the cold of the spring night getting to her as she pulled the wool cardigan closer about her. "That was nice."

She didn't ponder on why a mysterious man in a black car had sought her out, but she did understand that there were some strange machinations taking place tied to the Alsatian project. Dr. Everett had profusely declined to form any part of it after having returned from several days missing. Had a similar car sought him out? Would she go missing now as well? Bella chuckled, she doubted it for, what indeed would anyone ever want her for? There was little she could provide in terms of the project anyway. She had always been curious, a trait passed down from her father—her mother would say—and even now she couldn't help but wonder.

The next morning was gray and dreary, reminding more of a pronounced autumn than the promise of summer. May was just around the corner, yet the weather didn't feel like it. By mid-day, as Bella was going over some notes for her afternoon lecture, the heavens opened and rain unlike she had ever seen came upon Safeira with a force she had never known. She raked a hand through her chestnut locks, two pairs of polished black shoes greeting her downturned eyes in her little office. Bella trailed up with chocolate eyes, frowning as she was met with the face of a rather striking man in his early thirties. Behind her, the old windows to her office rattled with the wind as the rain splattered across them.

"May I help you, sir?" she asked. He was wearing a gray suit, rather becoming of him. Bella had no notion of men's fashion but years in Mia's company had taught her a thing or two, this looked like an expertly sewn piece, probably custom. The craftsmanship told it was an expensive cut, altered to fit his trim frame perfectly. His fair hair was slicked back. She guessed him to be a businessman or a lawyer by the confident yet approachable way he carried himself.

He extended a hand. "Is Mr. Fields here?" he smiled. His accent was decidedly American although she couldn't pinpoint from where. She noted a southern twang to it.

Bella looked at the extended hand. "Who is looking for him?"

He looked apologetic and Bella almost felt bad for asking the question. "Oh, right. I'm Jasper Jensen, Mr. Fields is expecting me."

"Well," Bella said as she crossed her arms and leaned back into her chair. "Why would you come to this faculty looking for the Dean?" She couldn't hide the suspicion in her voice any longer.

"I've never been to the University of Safeira before," Jasper said with a charming smile.

"Finding the professors' offices at the faculty of Arts is a feat, Mr. Jensen"

"You're rather suspicious of me." He was blatant, catching Bella off guard. She couldn't help but laugh nervously. "I'm from the AHEA."

"AHEA?" Why did that sound so familiar?

Jasper dropped a card in front of her. "The Angloan Higher Education Authority. Mr. Fields and I were supposed to have a meeting fifteen minutes ago, but no one came to meet me by the main hall here on campus, so I tried to find something akin to a reception, seems I ended up here instead."

Suddenly it clicked. Bella's colleagues had been speaking about an inspection for months. Every year, the universities of Angloa underwent an inspection by the Higher Education Authority, looking at the quality of higher education and research, analyzing the development, as well as being responsible for official statistics about higher education and monitoring compliance with laws and regulations among universities and university colleges. There were four specific areas that the AHEA reviewed; review of the higher education institutions' quality work; evaluation of departments and their educations; thematic evaluations and, lastly; an examination of degree permit. Usually, inspectors would be sent to each faculty and do these reviews by department within the faculty. Bella swallowed—she had already gotten off on the wrong foot with a seemingly important person. If this Mr. Jensen so willed it, he might deem her lectures as non essential for either the department or the faculty.

"O-Of course—"

Jasper chuckled. "It is good that you are on your guard, I took no offense. But I would like to speak to the Dean as soon as possible. I imagine he has been trying to reach me by phone." Jasper held up a phone with a black screen. "My battery didn't want to cooperate with me."

"I will let his assistant know you are here right away!" she said as she clumsily fished out her phone and nervously smiled at him, dialing the number to Anne—a cranky old woman a couple years away from retiring. Bella wished she would pick up the phone fast.

Jasper glanced down at the papers strewn out over Bella's desk "Busy with essays?"

The phone had dialed and the comforting sound of the phone ringing calmed Bella down. "I should learn to limit the pages."

Jasper sat down in a chair next to her desk as he waited. "What's the subject?"

"An analysis of General Cullen's portrait," she said as someone on the other end picked up. Thank God, she thought. "Anne? Hi, yes this is Isabella Dwyer, from Arts yes. I have a Mr. Jasper Jensen here who seems to have—yes, he is here right now. He says—no, his phone battery died. Yes, my office. Great, five minutes? Lovely, thank you!" She hung up and put down her phone. "Mr. Field's secretary will be here in about five minutes.

Jasper leaned back in the chair. "Sounds good to me." He glanced at the papers. "That is an interesting subject," he smiled.

"Yes, especially during these times." Bella glanced down at the papers and sighed inwardly. She wouldn't get any good work done with this man breathing down her neck. "If I may ask, Mr. Jensen, when will the inspections begin? I know that they were delayed last year and—"

"We have moved them forward, they start early next week, I cannot reveal much more than that I am afraid."

Next week… Bella sighed inwardly again. They were entering May, and the final exams would roll around the end of May and start of June. If they were lucky, the inspectors would be in and out in a matter of weeks, and not hang over their shoulders stressing them too much before the work of preparing the students really set in.

Bella leaned forward, thankful for the desk that separated them. It gave her a sense of power over him, a feeling of security. "Were you here the year before last?" she asked, suddenly realizing the bluntness of her question, it certainly caught Jasper off guard.

"Pardon?"

Bella couldn't stop herself, her mouth blabbering yet her mind fervently trying to shut herself up. "I mean, I know I didn't see you last time, I was just wondering why the AHEA sent someone new to the university instead of Mr. Burton."

Jasper drummed his fingers on his left thigh, as if contemplating something. "I am only filling in for Mr. Burton," he blinked.

She shook her head. "Ah, I see." She thinned her lips at her failure to attempt any small talk. She eyed him again. There was, however, something about him, something alluring, from the way he carried himself to the way he spoke and dressed himself—it was almost too refined for a simple civil servant. But, then again, what did Bella know about him or his circumstances?

They waited in uncomfortable silence—at least on her part, Jasper appeared not particularly awkward, he could care less. Bella was more than glad when Anne came to pick him up, once more left to her papers, contemplating the entire exchange as rather bizarre. She shook her shoulders and once more started reading the papers.

Samuel Fell was known for liking fast cars, pretty women, and boozing it up. He wasn't particularly different from many of his peers, or from those coming from a wealthy and powerful family. The difference perhaps was how severe his mother had been on him during his upbringing. That was at least the theory of the tabloids. But they loved the scandals he provided. The crown prince of Angloa, the one who would one day inherit the throne, did not show signs of bettering, and despite Nigel Athar having promised he would be there as the main advisor after the queen's passing, Leonore had not gotten calmer from it. She knew there was a decision to be made about the power of the crown, the line of succession, and the role her son would have in it in the future. Her older daughter, Victoria, was indeed more suited for the role, but Angloan law would have it that it was the firstborn male that could only inherit the crown. While reforms had been attempted in the past, by both herself and her predecessors, none had managed to get it past the rather conservative Conventus' more traditional individuals. But with the election of Abigail, Leonore knew a changing wind was sweeping over Angloa and Safeira.

But that didn't deduct from the sense of dread she felt whenever she would face her son the morning after a particularly eventful night about town. She fumed as she clenched the tabloid magazine in her hand and rushed her step. Athar and some of her staff were hot on her heels, trying to calm her down. Leonore didn't care, she kicked the doors to the prince's residence open and barged in, as she usually did.

Samuel blinked as Leonore ordered a maid to enter with her and open the curtains. He opened his bloodshot eyes and pushed the heel of his hand hard against his temple. "Mother!" he growled, his voice rough from last night's party, the alcohol, and no doubt the lines he had snorted on the dinner table of the previous Minister of Finance's son's house. As much was, in any case, evident by the front page of the tabloid, closely followed by a spread of Samuel making out with Leah Derreck, the married woman to the current Chamberlain. Someone else stirred in the bed and Leonore fumed further. She cast the magazine toward her son.

"Not that I expect any form of explanation from you, for I have more than gotten used to this, but you went too far last night! Drugs, sex, and rock and roll, you are a goddamned prince, not a bloody wannabe rockstar, Sam!"

The woman next to Sam sank further beneath the sheets once she realized who was shouting at the man she had slept with last night. Behind Leonore, Athar was trying to calm her down.

"Mother," Sam began as he eyed the front page, "this is a stupid fabrication by the media to make me look worse than I am. Junior was there as well, he can vouch for me—"

"Athar's son left before any real damage was done to his reputation," Leonore shouted back. "And worse? Worse?" Leonore shouted. "I cannot believe you, you know what we represent, where you come from, the dynasty you are shouldering, and this is how you live up to the name of Fell? By sullying it?"

Sam shrugged. "Not like you can do anything about it," he smirked, knowing it was very true. As the crown prince, he was protected by Angloan law, even from his mother. Leonore had no right to dismiss him or disinherit him, not unless she could somehow remove the title from him. There was a smug yet disgusted undertone to his remark.

"Keep testing me, Sam, and see to what lengths I am willing to go!" Leonore shouted. Just as she stormed off, the phone in her pocket rang. Athar stayed behind, looking at the floor.

"What?" the aging queen roared into the phone, walking away, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. "Another one? You can't be serious!" She sounded even more irritated than before, and it was rare for the queen to lose her temper with anyone save her son. Her voice slowly diminished the further away she got. "There is only one left, we can't have anymore—"

Athar squared his jaw, his silence weighing heavier on Sam than his mother's angered shouts had. "It's not that bad, Athar."

"You went too far this time."

"We had a good time."

"My son had the propriety to leave, Your Highness."

"Getting cheeky, are we?" Sam removed the covers as the girl in bed next to him covered herself. "Clara, could you get Ms. Amelia—"

"Amanda!" she shouted back.

"Amanda a robe and collect her things. Have a car brought out for her and take her out the back," he said in a flat voice as he settled back in the pillows.

Amanda was quickly ushered out as Athar and Sam stared at each other in silence.

"I cannot protect you forever, Your Highness," Athar sighed, sitting down at the end of the bed.

"It wasn't that bad—"

"Oscar Quinn is in trouble for the party he hosted at his place, they seized sizeable amounts of drugs… you of course will be spared, but many prosecutors would want you taken to court, Your Highness. And it might turn the Conventus against you."

"The Conventus would never turn against their future king if they know what is good for them, those old farts will do my bidding, much more than my mother's. They want a man on the throne again—"

"Not if Abigail de la Cereda has anything to say about it. This government is more liberal than any of the previous ones. If you keep on this road, both she and your mother might—"

"I'm neither worried about mother nor the PM, Athar. Let them try to change centuries of old laws, it'll be entertaining. And Victoria would never accept a role as crown princess anyway, not if I have anything to say about it. If she does, the headlines will be of how she stole the throne from her younger brother with the help of mother…not to mention the ties the press will be making between my sister and the old usurper queen that almost killed her young brother, William. That will be the real scandal and mother knows it!"

Laurie was going over the list, checking through every single item being unloaded from the trucks and then taken through the underground hallways of the museum to the curator's room—a vast space where they would unpack the items one by one and assess them. For months she had gone over the list with her contact in Strasbourg. Everything had thus far been in order and if all worked just as smoothly, they could even inform the press in the morning of the artifacts' arrival.

But there was, of course, one that she was keen on seeing more than anyone. She counted the items on the list again for herself. "Seventy-six, seventy-seven—". She looked up and went over the items in the room, her index finger trailing up the scribbled list as she walked around the vast room, boxes being placed in their designated areas.

There was one missing.

"Is there another truck coming? Or have we forgotten a piece?" she asked her colleague and one of the workers unloading the pieces.

"No ma'am, these are all items we had when loading the airplane this morning," the worker answered gruffly.

"I have seventy-nine items on the list, which I have gone over extensively with the Strasbourg office for the past few weeks. There are only seventy-eight items in this room, sir." Laurie couldn't help as her voice jumped into falsetto, attracting attention. Her colleague glanced at the list.

"Oh," Laurie's colleague whispered when she understood which item was missing.

"There has to be a mistake!" Laurie said again, pushing the glasses further up her nose. The worker looked back at her in visible confusion.

"Lady, I'll call my boss, but these were all the items we got from the French."

"Oh, good grief!" Laurie fished out her phone, her heart rate increasing as she looked for the contact. She waited for the dial tone and hoped the phone would pick up despite the lateness of the hour.

"Oui?" came a voice on the other side of the line.

"Celeste, this is Laurie," she began as calmly and composed as she could. "We have a problem with the shipment."

Celeste paused audibly on the other side, choosing her words wisely. "What is the problem?" she asked in a pronounced accent.

"There is an item missing."

"Missing?" she sounded even more confused.

"Did you, perchance, miss to put anything in the—"

"What you have on your list is what we sent."

The blood turned cold in Laurie's veins. "Well, then one item must have disappeared or been displaced along the way."

"I assure you we sent all listed items, nothing on our end was missing."

Laurie grew pale as a premonition overtook her. "This is not good."

"Merde," Celeste whispered. They both knew it was late but immediately set to contact their supervisors. Laurie didn't know how she would go about explaining this to her boss, but she knew it would be a long night.

"I get that it's a thing, Bella, but you're acting like it's the bloody end of the world!" Mia said as she took another bite of her croissant. They were sitting at an outdoor café downtown. It was a lovely spring morning, a Saturday, with the birds chirping, the buds bursting and sunlight streaming down on them from a cloudless sky. They were sitting by the old King's Garden in central Safeira, open now to the public and picturesque cafés and restaurants outlining the exquisite gardens. The fountains would be turned on next week after a long winter and currently, the gardens were being prepared for the event.

Bella took a sip of her coffee, looking at the screen on her phone again. "For me it is," she said. She wasn't the only one intently watching her smartphone. On every visible screen, platform, and phone, newsflashes of morning news shows, and papers were being speculated over. The famed Alsatian artifacts that should have arrived late last night had, but as they were being unpacked in the National History Museum by the curators, there was one notably missing—the painting of the General.

"It's a painting! I get it is big news that they found it or whatever, but national headlines for this?" Mia shook her head. "They probably just displaced it—"

"General Cullen is to Angloa what Richard the Lionheart is to England, or Charlemagne France or El Cid to Spain, he represents like them a pivotal and important part of history or a historical significance where he in fact changed the course of the outcome of our country. Without him, we would have been a British colony, and that he was not of noble blood only underlines the grandeur of his feats! He is more than a cozy movie you watch in December with your family or fawn over with a tub of ice cream after you broke up with your boyfriend of six years! That painting is the only depiction we have of him, made by a painter that actually had the chance to see him in person and commissioned by the ancestor of one of the most important and powerful families in Angloan history except for the Fells. So, I don't know Mia, national headlines might be an understatement. This should be international headlines!" Bella fumed, clenching her cup of coffee as she received some curious stares from their table neighbors.

"Alright, alright!" Mia said, attempting to calm her friend down. "Don't get worked up over it. What's bugging you anyway?"

Bella placed down the cup and put her head in her hands. Oh, many things of which she didn't wish to speak. Would Mia even understand if she explained that she had brushed off the new representative of the AHEA? Or how about trying to explain to her that a strange car had been making nightly visits to her, three nights in a row this week before mysteriously disappearing? Or the strange phone call? Bella was growing paranoid that she, somehow, had offended someone she shouldn't have and now they were staking out her place. A cold shiver passed through her, a lot of things were starting to become complicated right now and it was starting to get on her nerves. Last night she had called the police, reporting that she was being harassed outside her home. They had sent a car but couldn't really do anything except to ask her to keep a lookout. She hadn't felt safer alerting them and knew they wouldn't really look into the matter unless it took a turn for the worse.

"It's just a lot right now at work," she settled on answering, not keen on explaining more to her friend. "Finals are coming up soon as well, a lot of students are stressed, and I guess it's rubbing off."

Mia burrowed her eyes into Bella. "You sure, Bella? Because I know you, and I know when you're full of bull, like now."

"I don't want to talk about it, Mia. Not now." Bella chewed her lip. "It's stress, Mia…I'm sure you're dealing with it now as well at work and with the project."

Mia put up her hands. "Changing the subject, are we?"

"The curiosity is killing you," Bella deadpanned back.

"This isn't about a guy, right?"

"What? No! Of course not!"

"Just asking," Mia shook. "And yes, this project we've been working on since February has just been... horrible…but it is almost done, it's expected of the business after all."

"Can't I just get a little peek at the design?"

Mia arched an eyebrow. "Who's curious now?"

"Oh come on, what about who will be wearing it?"

Mia shrugged. "They haven't decided that yet…probably someone from the royal family." Mia leaned in conspiringly. "But I have heard that the theme for the Masque has been decided…you should start looking for a dress."

"Like I'd ever get to attend the Midsummer Masque," Bella chuckled.

Mia remained silent, but a look of mischievousness had started forming on her face. Bella knew not to continue the subject further. She looked down at her phone again, looking at the news anchor once more talking about the portrait.

She sighed, grabbing her wallet which she had left out on the table, and stuffing it together with her phone into her bag. "I need to get in a good workout, so I'll at least get some shut-eye tonight."

"You'll not find guys at the gym," Mia stated matter-of-factly. "Believe me, I've tried."

"I'm not looking for guys at the gym, Mia."

"Why else would you go?"

"To work out?"

"Hush darling, we either go jogging, to spinning class, or pilates. Lifting weights does not become us." Mia's lips curled into a playful smile.

Bella rolled her eyes. "I'll talk to you later, yeah?"

Mia settled back in the chair. "What you need is a good day at the spa, darling. Or to get out of Safeira for a while."

"Not until after the exams," Bella sighed. She fished out her work phone the moment she felt it buzz in her purse. She frowned when she saw that the sender was Eric, inquiring no doubt as to which lecture halls she would need for the following week. No doubt he had forgotten to book his.

Bella didn't look up as she started typing in an answer. "I'll call you!" she said back to Mia.

"Strength training is overrated!" Mia shouted back.

Bella scoffed, her eyes buried in the long email she was typing out, no way she was giving up the observatory to Eric's class.

She didn't look at the street ahead of her as she started heading for the tram. In the middle of Safeira, there was usually little traffic as the roads had been cleared for pedestrians. But, as she rounded a corner, Bella came on a back street, long and narrow, open mostly for cars. She rounded another corner and didn't see the motorcyclist in time, screaming out in frightened surprise as the driver veered left so as not to smash into her. Bella jumped right, landing on the pavement, clutching her phone and pinching her eyes shut. Her heart was running a mile a minute and she dared not look up, certain he must have hit her.

She had jumped face-first onto the hard pavement, scraping her left hand in the process, something sour rising at the back of her throat that she quickly pushed back. Bella blinked out the fear and confusion from her eyes as she stared running her hands over her body, making sure nothing was broken. Her hands shook in the process, and she chastised herself for being so careless. Why on earth had she been nose-deep in her phone when walking on an open street like that? She could have ended up in the hospital!

Bella picked herself up from the ground with a groan, her eyes scanning for the driver once she realized she wasn't the only one involved in the accident. They were alone on the back street which she supposed was a good thing. Had there been any cars in their vicinity, the accident might have been much worse. Bella flinched at the thought. She had gotten by quite unscathed while the motorcyclist lay with his bike on top of him. At least his helmet had protected his head.

Bella rushed to him. "Please, don't be dead," she murmured to herself as she got down on her knees next to him. "Sir!" she called out as she gently shook him. She looked around, there was no one in their vicinity to help her get him up. "Sir, are you alright?"

He groaned as he tried to get up. The dark visor of his black helmet was down, and she was grateful for judging from his body language she interpreted it as mild irritation toward her.

"I am so sorry!" she blurted out. "I shouldn't have had my nose in my phone, I didn't think there would be any traffic back here at this time and I didn't really—"

"Would it be possible to help me get this bike off?" the strained voice asked. He sounded remarkably polite under such dire circumstances, the previous sign of irritation seemed completely wiped away. Bella would have been fuming.

"Oh my God, of course!" she said as she placed her hands on the steering handlebar of the red Honda motorcycle, pulling with all her might as he pushed. They both grunted and grew flustered as they finally got it off him. He lay back on the ground, taking a few deep breaths as Bella approached him again, offering to help him up, but he stood up by himself with relative ease.

"I am so glad you didn't get hurt!" she exclaimed, her eyes still wide from the initial shock.

He went to pick up his bike—Bella not hesitating as she helped him, flinching as she discovered the scratched paint and dented metal.

He saw her face and brushed it off with a careless shrug. "Nothing I can't fix." How on earth was this man so calm?

"Really, I should have been looking. I tend to have my head in the clouds most times although this time I was consumed by my work which I never am, you know, and I never let these things get to me and get so carried away that I am in a traffic accident—oh, I was just in an accident, wasn't I? Shit, I am so sorry that I—"

His shoulders shook slightly, and she was certain he was chuckling behind the visor.

"You always talk this much?" There were some minor scratches to his tan leather jacket, but other than that Bella did not see any indication that he had been injured.

She didn't have time to string together the semblance of a sentence before he spoke once more.

"Next time you're in a traffic accident, I'd suggest not so readily accepting or taking on the blame, Miss. Lesser people might hold it against you." There was a charm to his voice, though muffled beneath the helmet. He spoke to her with ease after what had just happened.

"Oh, there won't be a next time," she shook her head. "I tend to learn from my mistakes," she added rather forcefully. Then she pondered the final part of his sentence. "Not a lot of money to be taken from me, I'm afraid... but if you want, I can offer to pay for the damages—"

He put up a hand as if to stop her and undid the clasp under his chin, dragging his helmet off his head and shaking his hair free. "That won't be necessary, I've got it covered." His voice was velvety, brushing against her eardrums like sweet honey now that it was not muffled behind the visor.

Something about his face was alarmingly familiar to her, as if she was supposed to know who he was. Bella looked away, realizing she had stared at him for too long. But she was certain that was why he had taken off his helmet—he was aware of his classically good looks. From the way his dark copper locks toppled over his forehead to the defined jaw and boyish grin, he possessed looks that would make any girl melt.

"Good!" she blurted out, looking relieved. Bella stretched her hand forward. "Again, I'm very sorry."

He arched an eyebrow as the smile grew on his face, taking her hand in a firm grasp. "No problem, Miss?"

"Dwyer, Isabella Dwyer, but most just call me Bella." Bella quickly chastised herself for so readily giving him her name. It was beyond stupid. Now, if he really wanted to take action against her he could.

The boyish grin grew more intense as his head once more dove into the helmet, leaving the visor open. He seated his bike, turned it on, and checked that all was working.

"Pleasure then, Bella," he blinked, flipping the visor down before roaring off on the narrow road.

Bella looked as he left, suddenly realizing he had never said his name. She supposed it was only wanting, after their strange encounter.

She remained on the back street for a good few minutes to register the bizarre exchange. She had just been run over, he had ended up with his bike on top of himself. It could have ended worse than it had and she supposed luck must have been on her side this morning. If Mia had seen the entire exchange she would have found it entertaining no doubt. Bella knew now that the only thing that could calm her down was some exercise. Thus, before lunch, she went to the gym as planned. After, she spent some time at the university with her computer. Despite it being a weekend she wouldn't abandon Eric in his mishap and she searched for a substitute for the Observatory. Considering that she was already at her office, Bella decided to get some much-needed work done. She settled into a monotone pace, grading left-over papers that she would now be able to hand in on Monday and answering queries regarding the exams and certain aspects of the materials provided. She put on some calming music in the background and dove into the texts. She didn't realize it was getting late until she got a text from Mia inquiring about her workout at the gym and if she had spotted anyone of note. Bella saw the time and frowned. The only plans she'd really had today were with Mia during the morning, the rest of her Saturday seemed to have slipped through her fingers. Bella pursed her lips together—she didn't like that she had just spent the better part of five hours at the office. She closed her laptop and settled on walking home. On the way, she took the long road, going by the High Street. Of course, while being there, Bella couldn't help but be distracted and started window shopping, going in and out of stores, looking at clothes and gadgets, interior décor, or furniture that had caught her eye but that were either too impractical or too expensive.

Thus, she came home rather late to her apartment that evening. She unlocked and hesitated at her door, noting that some things on her hall table were not as she had left them. What if someone had been in her apartment again like last? Or was she overly paranoid and had started imagining things? It hadn't bothered her immediately until she realized someone had managed to enter and leave without even as much alerting her neighbors in the apartment complex. She lived in a relatively central part of Safeira, neighbors were bound to have seen something, yet no one had even as much as raised an eyebrow at a stranger entering—or being seen—in the Dwyer residence.

She entered, her eyes scanning the hallway as she dropped her keys in the little copper bowl by the hallway table. She shrugged off her coat and cast her bag into a corner. It was past nine in the evening and while the days were progressively getting lighter, it was now dark outside.

Her senses grew alert, and she had the itching feeling that something had once more been stirred in her apartment, but Bella did not see a single thing displaced. She slowly walked into the living room, the hairs on her arms standing on end, a cold shiver working its way down her spine.

Her eyes scanned the living room as she entered. Not a thing was displaced here, however. She gave out a nervous laugh and went to sit by the kitchen bar, resting her head in her hands. She was growing paranoid from the recent events taking place in the last few weeks. And maybe, just maybe, she missed Mike's presence a little. She shouldn't have snapped like that at Mia, but spring had always reminded her of him. It was a while since they had broken up, and she was resolute to loathe him. Deep down, she had gotten over most of their relationship, but there were things she still missed. She missed coming home to the lights on and hearing him humming in the kitchen, a glass of wine waiting, or the radio on as he said "hey honey, how was work?" She missed the bliss and comfort of living with another person, and the nearness of him—she missed his touch. Bella looked at the dark and empty kitchen.

"Can't get worse than this," she sighed to herself, getting up and filling the kettle. She realized it was the fear of loneliness that weighed down on her more than anything which was also what made her paranoid and more frightened than usual.

As she let the kettle boil on the stove, she rummaged through the cabinets, looking for her favorite tea. Her throat was scratchy, and she got some honey she had purchased last summer at the farmer's market from the fridge. She quickly went to the bathroom, the water boiling fervently as she returned, pouring it into the largest cup she owned. Bella steeped some rooibos and mixed in a spoonful of honey, sitting down on her couch and opening a window to let the spring breeze in. The air outside smelt fresh—as it only could after a heavy rain. The scent of wet asphalt mixed with wet grass from the park across the street. She took a sip, letting the warm liquid soothe her throat.

Bella cupped the ceramic closer to her, gazing out as the last remnants of daylight disappeared behind the horizon, the streetlights turning on in unison. Sometimes, this moment of spring reminded her of early fall as well, when the chill suddenly blew in overnight, the last remnants of summer desperately trying to hang on but became swept away by the cold of night. Yet, like now, she welcomed that pleasant chill after sweaty summer nights.

She took another—longer—sip. Feeling rather drowsy, Bella sighed. It wasn't even nine yet, but she already longed to go to bed. But the drowsiness, however, did not dissipate. Slowly, she looked down into the cup, her heart beating faster as she put it aside. Her head grew lighter as her vision started to blur. She felt drunk—but without the sense of humor and exhilaration that would follow. Her breath was stuck in her throat as she looked about her living room, trying to remember through the fog where she had left her phone. Bella got up, the room spinning and she fell into a heap on the floor, clawing her way forward on the burgundy Afghan rug. She saw her bag through the growing haze, just inches away. Alas, little by little her body started giving way to whatever she had ingested. Bella realized the tea must have been spiked with something by someone and the sudden realization that there was someone else in the apartment with her was enough for her to find new strength, and reach for the bag which haplessly fell down in front of her. Its contents spilled out—lipstick, some books, a notebook, her laptop, some pens, a few packets of spearmint chewing gum, her Bluetooth headphones and, there, near the opening, was her smartphone.

Her hand went to grab it, but it would no longer obey. Bella's head fell against the carpet, her eyes left to see a black silhouette close in from the darkness of her hallway. She had not seen it there before. As it closed in, she tried to push away, but her body had succumbed to whatever drugs she had ingested before her mind did. Someone kneeled next to her before her eyes closed.

Through a tunnel, she detected a faraway voice, sounding almost robotic and inhumanly low speaking unintelligible words.

That voice.

"… she's down."

Her vision was blurry as her eyes opened and closed a few times. Bella was breathing heavily, focusing on her body, on how heavy it felt. However, while confused, she couldn't ignore how relaxed she felt, finding herself in a state between lucidity and sleep.

Then she shuddered. Wherever it was, it was cold.

It took a while for her to collect all her senses. She felt dizzy when she tried to sit up and remained resting on what appeared to be the most comfortable couch she had ever had the pleasure of lying on. A felted quilt had been placed over her as a blanket and Bella pulled it closer about her in a desperate attempt to block out the chill.

She was in a dark room, her eyes drifting down to see that the floor was of cement. It looked like an empty storage room or a cellar. As she kept taking in the room, she noted that the red brick walls arched up, continuing into the ceiling. It had to be an older construction, she guessed. It looked pre-war at least. But brick walls were in, it could be an imitation.

She found it strange, that a small three-seat couch in rusty red with a white quilt should stand alone in such a vast room. There was one desolate lamp next to her on the floor, the only light source—or so she had thought.

After mustering up the strength, Bella once more tried to sit up—this time she was successful. While her mind was still slightly spinning, she had a better view of the room now. Staring into the far end, she saw nothing but darkness. And, while she could make out nothing in the void, she was certain that something was staring back at her from the way her skin prickled, and a shiver ran down her spine. Bella immediately diverted her eyes. It was evident to her that she had been kidnapped. By what or who were still the most prevalent questions. She knew she needed to find a way out of this room as soon as possible.

Bella turned around and froze.

Her eyes widened. There was another light source in the room, hanging from the vaulted ceiling and casting a warm and inviting light over something she thought she would never get to see in person.

A warm feeling extended within her heart as she recognized the familiar object. Despite the weakness in her body, Bella forced herself to stand up, collecting the quilt further around herself, the thin white T-shirt and blue jeans were not enough to keep the cold out. She gulped, wondering if this was a dream. Gone was the worry of having just been taken from her home and woken up in a strange place, gone was the worry of what her kidnappers would do to her.

She only had her focus on one thing.

She had seen it many times in pictures, in reiterations, but never had they managed to capture the true essence of the man behind the myth.

On shaking legs, she walked closer until she was but a few inches away from the painting. It was dirty, with grime and yellowed varnish that would need to be removed. There were areas where she recognized overpaint and others where the original paint appeared to be flaking. Parts of the original canvas were curling away from the new canvas it had been mounted upon.

But it was indeed here, the painting of the General.

On the vast canvas that had at one time famously hung above the doors to the throne room of Aldea as if guarding its entrance, General Edward Cullen stared back with piercing and ominous eyes. He towered over Bella proudly and imposingly as he held his sword in one hand. He stood larger than life, despite the many years on the painting's back. Even now he was imposing. There was a ferocity and vivacity to him that the previous pictures she had seen could not capture. The mask, that had come to define him, could not hide the strong persona beneath it—almost as if a part of him. Indeed, Edward Cullen and the mask were as natural as the budding flowers in spring or the warm rays of the sun in summer.

Her eyes trailed down Edward's figure until ending up at his feet. There, in faded gold lettering yet still readable, were the famed words "Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them."

She mumbled something to herself. Her hand wanted to reach out, to confirm that this painting before her was in fact there. Every cell of her body wanted to believe that this was the original. And at a first glance, she could guess it to be so, but Bella knew extensive tests would have to be made of the canvas and part of the paint itself to determine that.

"Ms. Dwyer—" a warm and charming voice began behind her, making her jump in place and quickly turn around.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading and thank you so much for the reviews on the previous chapter. The adventure continues!

Cheers,

Isabelle