The Beasts Blueprint

Summary: Bella Swan is drawn into the enigmatic world of Edward Cullen, a brilliant architect with a dark past and a beastly demeanor. As Bella begins to unravel the mysteries surrounding Edward, she finds herself torn between her growing feelings for him and her duty to investigate his connections to a dangerous criminal underworld. In a high-stakes game of love, trust, and betrayal, Bella must decide whether to follow her heart or protect herself from the secrets that threaten to destroy everything. Canon couples, Rated M, lemons.

Stephanie Meyer owns the characters.


One:

A Safe Haven

My father has my boyfriend in handcuffs. It's all my fault.

"Edward Cullen, you're under arrest." My father's voice is steady as he recites Edward's rights, but all I hear is the pounding of my heart.

Edward's eyes lock onto mine, filled with intense betrayal.

I should feel victorious.

I should feel like I'm putting a crook away.

But my father isn't about to lock up a criminal.

He's about to take away the potential love of my life for the rest of his.

And he's innocent.


Ten Months Earlier

I huff as I drop the last moving box onto the floor of my new apartment. Rosalie watches me, taking a long drink of water.

"Girl, you've got a lot of crap," she huffs.

"I'd have more if I wasn't moving from my dad's place," I reply.

"About time he kicked you out," she says, offering me her water bottle.

I shake my head, declining both the water and her comment. "He didn't kick me out. He asked me to leave because his work is dangerous."

"Maybe he just wants to bring his hot girlfriends around, and you're cramping his style," she shrugs.

"He's not some young stud. He's a cop. He thinks it's safer for me to live somewhere else right now," I say, shrugging.

"I've been telling you to move out for years," she nods. "Maybe he was the one cramping your style."

Rosalie has been my best mate for years. We met in a Pilates class and clicked when she helped me break into my locker after the lock malfunctioned, saving me from a car key crisis.

My dad recently took on a new case that came with fresh dangers. He insisted I move out to stay safe, to distance myself from him.

"Look, I get why he's doing it. Your safety comes first. Besides, I could use the company. The wand and rabbit in my drawer can't be my only friends," she jokes, then adds with a grin, "Sorry you have to sleep on the fold-out."

Rosalie's one-bedroom apartment is tiny, so I'll be on the couch until we find a bigger place within our budget. For now, it's back pain and squeaky springs.

"It's fine. It was short notice," I say, waving off her concern.

It really was. Just yesterday, Dad came home rattled. He mentioned something about a threatening letter and urged me to find a new place—fast. I thought he was joking until he started googling apartments in Seattle. I texted Rosalie, and she insisted I stay with her.

Charlie loved the idea of me having company and even offered to cover the deposit on a bigger place for both of us, as a thank you to Rosalie and as a goodwill gesture for uprooting me.

You're probably wondering why I still lived with my father at 27. I'm the first to advocate for independence, but my dad's a widower—quiet, awkward, and terrible with appliances. His job is dangerous, and like any good daughter, I worry. I can't lose another parent.

I was only ten when I watched my mother's life support be switched off. She'd suffered brain damage from a horrific collision on her way to pick me up from school. She never made it.

Her name was Renée, and my fondest memory of her is singing "Crocodile Rock" by Elton John while eating ice cream on the way home from school. I haven't been able to listen to that song since.

Rosalie snaps me out of my memory with a productive clap.

"Alright, let's get you unpacked and settled in," she says. "Then, we can order takeaway!"

"I love the sound of that," I nod.

Rosalie and I sit on the edge of the couch, contemplating the mountain of boxes stacked around the small living room.

"I think I underestimated how much stuff I've accumulated over the years," I admit, shaking my head.

"You and me both," Rosalie replies, glancing at the leaning tower of DVDs threatening to topple over. "Remember when we tried to watch all of these during that winter holiday we took? We got through, like, three."

I laugh, recalling our marathon attempt. "We spent more time debating which movie to watch next than actually watching them."

"Let's just be glad you didn't bring that karaoke machine," Rosalie teases, nudging me with her elbow.

"That thing's a relic! Besides, I figured we could use it for parties—maybe host a housewarming when we're all settled in," I suggest.

Rosalie grins, "Now you're talking! We'll make this place our own, even if it's a bit cramped for now."

We both fall silent for a moment, the reality of our new situation sinking in. Despite the chaos, there's something comforting about starting fresh with my best mate by my side. Still, I can't ignore the slight ache in my chest at the thought of leaving my dad behind.

Like clockwork, I drop my keys into the dish by the door, kick off my shoes onto the welcome mat, and take in the familiar smell of home. But it's not my home anymore.

"Dad?" I call out.

"Kitchen," he replies from inside the small townhouse.

After Mum died, he moved us here, saying he couldn't raise me in a house full of memories. He thought Mum would want us to make new ones while keeping her close in our hearts.

He's sitting at the round kitchen table, sipping his coffee. He's always been able to drink coffee late in the afternoon and still pass out by 7 PM. Caffeine doesn't work the way it's supposed to in his body.

This routine is a nightly ritual that seems to calm him, especially when paired with yesterday's newspaper. Maybe he needs it more tonight, considering it'll be his first night alone in this house since my summer camps.

"You get everything moved over?" he asks.

"Just one more load of clothes," I say.

My new place isn't far—only a twenty-minute drive. I've been back and forth all day, but this will be my final trip.

"You've been quiet today," I say as I sit across from him. "Worried?"

"Bells, it's my job to worry," he replies seriously. "You're my child. You were put on this earth to turn my hair grey quicker."

He takes a deep breath.

"This is different," he admits.

"How?" I ask, trying to mask the hurt. He's uprooted my life with little explanation—no details, no names, nothing to ease my mind.

There are stress lines beside the age lines on his face.

"Rosalie's place is safe. I know you can handle yourself. At her place, you're in a busy apartment building. Here, while I'm working nights, you're too exposed," he explains.

"It's always been that way," I say, shaking my head in confusion. "What's changed? You mentioned a threat?"

"I need you out of the line of fire while I deal with this investigation," he says, looking at me seriously.

"You're usually not so cryptic. What exactly are you dealing with, Dad?" I ask.

His expression doesn't waver. He's stoic.

"You know I'll worry more if you leave me in the dark," I say, leaning forward to take his hand. "Maybe I could even help?"

"You know the rules, baby girl. The less you know, the better," he says, tapping my hand gently.

Biting back my frustration, I let out a shaky breath. Why are men so evasive?

"Fine. But if you're going to be cryptic, I can be too," I say, leaning back. "I have an event tomorrow night for work. It's a huge deal."

"Another one of those charity things?" he asks.

I nod, fighting back the tinge of guilt for lying. I'm a PR specialist. I've worked hard to get where I am, but Dad only understands the basics. He knows I work high-profile events to manage publicity for my clients. This time, I'm handling PR for a new client—Alice Cullen, a fashion designer, attending the launch of her new line. Her brother, Edward, is hosting it at one of the big fancy buildings he was the architect behind.

"Just trying to keep things moving forward," I nod.

"Be careful, okay? I hate the idea of you being around those snobs, especially with everything going on," he says, shaking his head.

"I always am," I say, watching as he turns his attention back to the newspaper.

As I finish packing up the last few items from my old room, I pause to look around. The walls are still covered with photos—snapshots of my life, from childhood to now. There's one of me and my dad at the beach, his arm slung protectively around my shoulders. Another of my parents together, smiling at the camera, from a time before everything changed.

I pull one of the pictures from the wall—a candid shot of Mum laughing, taken by Dad. I trace the edges with my finger, memories flooding back. It's been years since she passed, but the pain of losing her still lingers, just beneath the surface.

"Miss you, Mum," I whisper, slipping the photo into my bag.

When I return to the kitchen, Dad is still at the table, the newspaper untouched as he stares out the window. I hesitate in the doorway, suddenly feeling like a little girl again, seeking comfort in his presence.

"Dad," I begin, my voice softer than before. He looks up, his eyes meeting mine with that same mix of love and concern he's always had.

"Everything okay, Bells?" he asks, his tone gentle.

I nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just… I'll miss being here."

"We'll miss having you here," he replies, standing up to pull me into a hug. "But it's time for you to start your own adventure. Just promise me you'll be safe."

"I promise," I murmur into his shoulder, trying to push down the gnawing sense of foreboding that's been with me since we first talked about moving out.

As I pull away, I give him a reassuring smile, even if I don't entirely feel it. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," he says, ruffling my hair like he used to when I was a kid. "Now go on, get some rest. You've got a big day tomorrow."

I nod, grabbing my keys and heading out the door. But as I drive back to Rosalie's, the unease in my chest only grows stronger.

When I leave his house and return to my new one, I can't shake the weight of the secrets we're keeping from each other. We've always been open books—ever since Mum died.

That night, I don't sleep well. The burden of honesty keeps me from rest.

The next evening, I stand in front of the mirror, scrutinising my reflection. I fuss over a strand of my brown, curled hair, trying to make it fall perfectly down my back. Rosalie sits on the edge of the bed, flipping through a fashion magazine.

"You look amazing, B. Seriously, that dress is a knockout," she says, glancing up to admire my outfit.

The dress is a sleek, deep emerald green, hugging my curves in all the right places. It's elegant, with just the right amount of shimmer to catch the light at the event. I'd spent more than I should have on it, but I needed to make a good impression tonight.

"Thanks," I murmur, smoothing down the fabric nervously. "I just… I really need this event to go well."

"It will," Rosalie assures me. "Just be your usual charming self, and they'll be eating out of your hand."

I offer her a small smile, but my nerves are still buzzing under the surface. The agency had made it clear that this event was a big deal—a chance to prove myself to some of the most influential people in Seattle. Alice and I had met once before to discuss tonight's plan, but that only made me more anxious to get everything right.

"Okay, deep breaths. You've got this," I tell myself, grabbing my clutch and heading for the door.

Rosalie gives me a thumbs-up as I leave. "Go knock 'em dead!"

The venue is breathtaking, with towering glass windows that offer a panoramic view of the city skyline. The air is filled with the soft hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and the faint strains of classical music from a string quartet in the corner.

I step out of the elevator and take a moment to compose myself, scanning the room for Alice Cullen. My new client is known for her impeccable taste in fashion and her fierce business acumen. We met briefly a few weeks ago to go over tonight's strategy, and now it's up to me to make sure everything runs smoothly.

As I weave through the crowd, I can't help but marvel at the opulence around me. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the room, and the scent of fresh flowers lingers in the air. This is a world of wealth and power—one I'm not entirely comfortable in. I hope to be soon.

I'm almost to the centre of the room when it happens.

One second, I'm scanning the crowd, searching for Alice, and the next, I'm drenched in ice-cold liquid. My gasp echoes through the room as I look down at the front of my dress, now soaked with what smells like expensive champagne.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry!"

I look up, ready to glare at whoever is responsible, but the words die in my throat when I meet his eyes. Intense, green eyes that are wide with shock and—something else I can't quite place.

The man standing before me is tall, with tousled bronze hair and a sharp, chiselled jawline. He looks every bit as startled as I feel, holding an empty champagne flute in one hand and a cocktail napkin in the other.

"I didn't see you there," he stammers, immediately handing me the napkin. "Let me help—"

I'm too stunned to do anything but stare at him, my mind racing. This is the guy who just ruined my dress? And he's… gorgeous.

"You've got to be kidding me," I finally manage, more to myself than to him, as I take the napkin and try to blot the stain. The champagne is cold against my skin, and I can feel my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"I'm really, really sorry," he repeats, looking genuinely apologetic. "Please, let me make it up to you. I'll buy you a drink, or—"

I shake my head, trying to regain my composure. "No, it's fine. Just—don't worry about it."

But as I turn to leave, feeling utterly humiliated, he reaches out to gently grab my arm. "At least let me cover the dry cleaning bill. It's the least I can do after… this."

His touch is light, but it sends a jolt of electricity through me, making me freeze in place. I glance back at him, and for a moment, we just stare at each other, the rest of the room fading into the background.

That's when it hits me—this man isn't just a guest at the event. There's something about him, a presence that suggests he's someone important. Someone I should recognise.

Before I can process the thought, a voice calls out from behind us. "Edward! There you are!"

I whip my head around to see a petite, dark-haired woman approaching, her face lighting up as she spots us.

Alice Cullen.

My heart skips a beat as she reaches us, glancing between me and the man.

"Edward, are you causing trouble already?" Alice teases, but there's an edge of affection in her tone.

"Not on purpose," Edward replies with a small, sheepish smile, finally releasing my arm.

Alice turns to me, her eyes widening as she takes in the state of my dress. "Oh no, did my brother spill champagne on you?"

Brother.

Of course. Edward Cullen—the architect behind tonight's event.

My stomach churns with a mix of embarrassment and dread. This is the man I'm supposed to impress tonight, the man who's going to play a significant role in my professional future. And I've just met him by having champagne dumped all over me.

"I'm so sorry," I say, feeling my face heat up again. "I didn't mean to—"

But Alice waves off my apology with a laugh. "Don't be silly! This sounds like classic Edward. He can be a bit clumsy when he's not paying attention."

Edward shoots her a look, but his expression softens when he turns back to me. "I really am sorry. I'll cover whatever expenses this causes, and—please, let me make it up to you."

I open my mouth to respond, but the words catch in my throat. What am I supposed to say? That it's fine? That it doesn't matter? It does matter—especially when I'm trying to make a good impression. But I'm too flustered to think clearly, too caught off guard by everything that's just happened.

Before I can figure out what to do, Alice takes charge. "Why don't you come with me, and we'll get you cleaned up? I've got a few designer friends here who might be able to help salvage the dress."

Her voice is kind, but there's a firmness to it that leaves no room for argument. I nod dumbly and allow her to lead me away, my mind still reeling.

As we walk away, I can feel Edward's gaze on me, a strange tension lingering in the air. Tonight was supposed to be about proving myself, about showing that I belong in this world.

Instead, I'm walking away drenched in champagne, with a nagging suspicion that this is only the beginning of something much more complicated.


Thank you so much for reading!

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If you've read my stories before - well! Life has changed for me! I've had a glorious baby boy, I've started my own business and I've been absolutely busy! Buuut this story came to me and I had to write. Upon writing this the story is almost complete. It's a good one! I'm hooked and I'm writing it. I can't wait for you to love it as much as I do.

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