Four
BELLA
I sat across from the two women in my office, my hands folded neatly in my lap. The air was thick with tension, and I could feel the weight of their emotions pressing down on me like a storm cloud.
One of them, a petite brunette named Claire, had tears streaming down her face, her hands clenching the tissue in her lap. Her wife, Melissa, sat beside her, her posture stiff and defensive.
"It's not that I don't love you anymore," Melissa said, her voice calm but detached. "I just… I think I might like men again. I can't fight that curiosity."
Claire let out a choked sob, shaking her head. "How can you say that? We built a life together. We promised each other forever. This is about the guy at work again isn't it?"
"I didn't plan this," Melissa said, avoiding her wife's gaze. "It's just… something I've been feeling for a while. I didn't want to lie to you."
"You've already fucked him haven't you?" Claire chokes out.
Melissa's eyes narrow, defensively - not entirely innocent.
"How could you even suggest I have been unfaithful?" Mel snaps.
Every word felt like a dagger, and I could see the fractures forming in their connection, the delicate threads that held them together fraying with each painful exchange.
Normally, this was where I'd step in, guiding them through their emotions, helping them find a way to communicate without tearing each other apart. But today, my own frustrations clawed at the edges of my resolve.
It wasn't just their pain. It was mine.
My power as Cupid came from healing fractured relationships, from reigniting sparks in the hearts of those who'd lost their way. But lately, it felt like my abilities had stagnated. Every session was a test of restraint, a battle against the urge to touch them both, to rekindle what they couldn't see for themselves.
I couldn't.
Using my power recklessly only made the fractures worse in the long run.
It was like forcing a broken vase back together without sealing the cracks—it would hold for a while, but eventually, it would shatter again - and potentially worse.
Instead, I had to do it the human way. Slow. Painful. Patient.
Sometimes it can be like pulling out teeth.
I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Melissa, it sounds like you've been carrying this for some time. Can you tell Claire what changed for you?"
Melissa hesitated, glancing at Claire, whose tear-streaked face was pleading for answers.
"I don't know," Melissa admitted finally. "I thought I knew who I was, but lately… it's like something's shifted. I don't feel the same connection I used to."
Claire's voice cracked as she whispered, "How long?"
Melissa's jaw tightened, guilt flashing across her face. "A few months."
Claire buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.
"Have you… done anything?" Claire's voice is quiet but the question is loud.
"We… kissed," Mel admits, shamed.
I closed my eyes briefly, trying to block out the pull of my instincts.
My fingers itched with the urge to touch them both, to find even the faintest spark of love and amplify it. But I knew better. I couldn't interfere like that—not without their willingness to rebuild on their own.
Claire bursts into tears, broken by the admission.
Okay infidelity isn't ever great, but the damage here isn't beyond repair.
"Claire," I said gently, leaning forward. "I know this is overwhelming and hard to hear. But if you could tell Melissa one thing right now, what would it be?"
She lifted her head, her eyes red and swollen. "Why wasn't I enough?"
The rawness of her question made my chest ache.
Melissa flinched, her lips pressing into a thin line.
"It's not about you not being enough," Melissa said, her voice wavering. "You're everything. That's what makes this so hard. I love you."
The room was silent, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air.
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening slightly in my lap. My power was a constant hum beneath my skin, an ache I couldn't soothe. It would be so easy—too easy—to touch them both and mend the fractures, to show them the love that still lingered in their hearts.
But it wasn't real if I forced it.
Instead, I took a steadying breath and said, "This isn't an ending unless you decide it is. Right now, it's about finding clarity, understanding each other's truths, and deciding if there's a path forward together."
Claire let out a shaky breath, nodding slightly. Melissa glanced at her, guilt etched into every line of her face.
I could feel the spark between them, faint but still there. It wasn't gone, just buried beneath the weight of uncertainty.
And as much as I wanted to reach for it, I knew I had to let them find it themselves.
They left my office an hour later, both of them visibly exhausted but willing to keep trying. I leaned back in my chair, the warmth of their lingering connection bolstering me.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.
And for now, that was enough.
EDWARD
It was late. The office was empty, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the faint glow of my laptop screen. I glanced at the time in the corner of the screen—10:47 PM.
Too late to be working, too early to go home to the suffocating quiet of my penthouse.
I shut the laptop with a sigh, running a hand through my hair. The day had been hell—arguments over budgets, a disaster with scheduling, and a staff meeting that could have been an email.
I needed a drink.
Stepping out into the cool night air, I walked a few blocks to the bar I sometimes found solace in after days like this. The place was dimly lit, with a low buzz of conversation and soft jazz playing in the background. It was just noisy enough to keep me from being alone with my thoughts.
I slipped onto a barstool and ordered a whiskey neat. As I waited, I scanned the room, not really looking for anything but not wanting to stare at my own reflection in the mirror behind the bar either.
The blonde woman caught my eye first. She was sitting two stools down, her dress sleek and black, her lips painted crimson. She glanced at me, smiled, and leaned slightly closer.
"Rough night?" she asked, her voice smooth and practiced.
"You could say that," I replied, turning slightly to face her.
"Whiskey," she said, nodding at the glass the bartender set in front of me. "You look like the type."
"Is that so?" I asked, amused despite myself.
She tilted her head, her smile widening. "Let me guess—you're some kind of executive. Serious, brooding. Married to your work."
"Impressive," I said, raising my glass to her.
"It's a gift," she said, her voice playful. "Let me guess. You don't date."
"You've been stalking me?" I snicker.
She smiled again, brushing her hair back over her shoulder. "Maybe you should reconsider. Life's too short, you know?"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Is that your pitch?"
"Depends," she said, leaning closer. "Is it working?"
Before I could respond, she set her empty glass down and stood, smoothing her dress. "Hold that thought," she said, her voice dropping slightly. "I'll be back in a minute, Broody."
I nodded, watching as she walked toward the restroom.
I turned back to my drink, but a soft voice behind me made me freeze.
"Poor woman. She's hitting on the anti-love," the voice said, tinged with amusement.
I turned, my eyes landing on Bella, who was sitting at a small table directly behind where the blonde had been. She had a pile of documents spread out in front of her, a pen resting between her fingers as she smirked at me.
For a moment, I didn't know what to say. She looked completely out of place in the dim, sultry atmosphere of the bar, her focus clearly on something more important than a casual drink or a pick-up line.
"Bella," I said finally, leaning back slightly. "Didn't expect to see you here."
She tilted her head, her smirk widening. "I could say the same about you. I thought you swore off anything resembling romance."
"I have," I said, my tone clipped.
"Sure looks like it," she said, her gaze flicking toward the empty barstool where the blonde had been sitting.
I sighed, taking a sip of my whiskey. "She's just… company. Nothing more."
Bella raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Company, huh? Where I come from, we don't drunk hump our company."
I met her gaze, unwilling to let her get under my skin. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
She rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. "I'm reviewing case notes, not that it's any of your business."
Now I'm interested.
"Work? What do you do?" I ask.
"I'm a marriage therapist," she says, tapping her pen gently on her notepad.
"A real love guru then. Mike Meyers, watch out," I tease, "I'm sure you're just as comical. Fixing what's doomed. Helping people is overrated, just like relationships."
"Right," she said, her voice dry. "Because the world is doing just fine without it. It's almost as if a lack of it creates war, hate… anger at slow WiFi.
I raised an eyebrow at her, leaning forward on the bar. "War and WiFi outages? That's quite the leap."
Bella smirked, tapping her pen against her notepad again, her confidence unwavering. "Not really. It's all connected. Frustration breeds chaos. Chaos breeds destruction. And most of it starts when people lose their ability to connect. Love's the glue that holds society together, whether you want to admit it or not."
"Love?" I asked, my voice dripping with skepticism. "You think that flimsy, overhyped concept is the answer to the world's problems?"
She tilted her head, her expression equal parts amused and defiant. "You can call it flimsy all you want, but I'd say it's the strongest force out there. It's messy, sure, but when it's real, it's unbreakable."
I snorted, taking another sip of my whiskey. "Unbreakable? That's a bold claim for a marriage counselor. You must see the worst of it—people tearing each other apart over things they promised wouldn't matter."
"I do," she admitted, her voice softening slightly. "But I also see the other side. The people who fight to make it work. The ones who choose to love, even when it's hard. That's what makes it worth it."
I studied her, my gaze lingering on the determination in her eyes. There was something almost magnetic about her, the way she spoke with such certainty, as if she believed every word she said down to her bones.
"Interesting perspective," I said finally, swirling the whiskey in my glass. "But not everyone's built for it. Some of us know better than to bother."
"Do you, though?" she asked, her tone casual but her words sharp. "Or is that just an excuse to avoid getting hurt?"
I stiffened, her question hitting closer to home than I cared to admit. "I'm not avoiding anything," I said flatly.
She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "If you say so, Broody."
Her tone mimicked the blonde woman, who reappeared sliding back onto the barstool and giving Bella a pointed look. She didn't like that I'd found a new friend (if that's you can even call it) during her bathroom break.
"Are we interrupting something?" she asked, her tone edged with irritation.
Bella didn't even flinch. "Not at all. I was just trying to help your 'company' see the value of not being a cynical jackass."
The blonde blinked, clearly caught off guard, while I smirked despite myself.
"She's got a point," I said, my voice tinged with amusement.
Bella stood, gathering her papers and slipping them into her bag. "Well, as fun as this has been, I have actual work to do."
She slung her bag over her shoulder and started toward the door, pausing only briefly to glance back at me. She placed her hand on my shoulder before turning to the blonde beside me.
"Good luck with your company," she said, touching the blonde's shoulder briefly, her tone playful but with a hint of challenge. "You might need it."
The blonde shifted beside me, leaning closer again, but I barely noticed. My thoughts were already elsewhere, replaying the sharp wit and unwavering confidence of the woman who had just walked out the door.
Bella, marriage therapist and walking contradiction, had somehow gotten under my skin.
And I hated it. Almost as much as I didn't.
The blonde watched me, likely waiting for me to say "let's go fuck" - instead I slide off my stool and chase the brunette out the door.
Stepping onto the sidewalk, I spotted Bella standing by the curb, her arm raised to hail a cab.
Her presence caught me off guard. Her beauty does that to me.
I approached, my curiosity piqued, and she turned to me with a look I couldn't quite read.
"Where's your new friend?" she asked, her tone clipped but casual enough to make me smirk.
"Fucked if I know," I said, shrugging.
Her brows furrowed slightly, her gaze searching mine. "You didn't get her number?"
"Nope."
Her frown deepened, and for a moment, I almost laughed. She looked… irritated.
"Why not?" she pressed, crossing her arms.
"Why do you care?" I countered, raising an eyebrow.
She hesitated, glancing away, and I could see the tension in her posture.
And that's when it hit me.
She was jealous.
The realization sent a rush of smug satisfaction through me. Bella Swan, the sharp-tongued, too-clever-for-her-own-good marriage counselor, was jealous over a woman I barely remembered the name of.
"Jealous?" I tease.
She scoffs - overcompensating ever so slightly with her reaction.
"You're a terrible liar, you know that?" I said, smirking.
Her eyes snapped back to mine, narrowing slightly. "I'm not lying."
I didn't believe her for a second.
Before I could press further, a cab pulled up to the curb. Bella opened the door, pausing to glance at me one last time.
"Well, goodnight, Cullen," she said, her tone sharp but with an edge of something softer.
"Goodnight, heartbreaker," I teased, smirking as she slid into the backseat.
The cab pulled away, but I stood there for a moment, watching its tail lights disappear into the night.
Jealousy.
I couldn't stop the smirk that tugged at my lips. Whatever this was between us, Bella was clearly feeling it, too—even if she didn't want to admit it.
And for some reason, that thought stayed with me all the way home.