thank you so so so much for reading, y'all! Back in Bella's POV for this one… gulp.

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twenty-nine
clean
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"I'm Isa Hale."

I'm instantly relieved once the words are out of my mouth.

No more hiding or lies by omission.

I can just be me.

Holding my breath, I wait for what I said to sink in for Edward.

I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't allow him to continue opening up to me, continuing to be so goddamn sweet, and making me feel like we were so right for each other when I had this hanging over my head.

I tell myself it will be okay. And even if it's not, this needs to happen. I've fallen for him. I care about him. I trust him and want us to do this together—to figure out what happened to Rosalie and finally bring each other peace. We deserve that.

Seconds pass, and still he says nothing.

Instead, he sits here and stays eerily calm.

I half expect him to tell me he already knows who I am.

But then he says, "That's not funny."

"I know."

"Why would you say that?"

Tears fill my eyes. "Because it's the truth."

I don't know if he realizes that he slightly moves back from me, but I notice. I can already feel his walls going up, closing himself off to me. It's expected, but it doesn't hurt any less.

"You're… Rosalie's younger sister," he states, fisting his hair.

"I was technically her cousin, but her parents—my aunt and uncle—adopted me after my parents passed away. I didn't lie to you about any of that. Rosalie and I were like siblings."

"She's the cousin you said you lost, and…" He trails off, the pieces falling into place because he remembers the dinner conversation we had during our date weeks ago. Betrayal and disgust flash over his features. "How? I mean, why?"

The tears brimming my eyes spill over and slip down my cheeks before I wipe them away. "I don't even know where to start."

"When did you realize who I was?" he urges, almost like he wants to believe this was a crazy coincidence and not like I was being shady.

"I knew the entire time," I confess.

His eyes narrow, and he glares at me like I've wounded him.

And I have. That was what I wanted. Now that it's coming to fruition, I just hate myself.

"What the fuck, Bella?" he fumes.

"I know." My chin trembles. "I'm so incredibly sorry for how I handled everything. For letting it get this far."

I reach for him. I don't know why; I know I have no right. But I just need contact—to comfort him and myself.

He stands from the couch before I can touch him, and it stings, but it's fair.

I wring my hands together, watching him pace and connect the dots of our interactions from the last month.

"Say something," I whisper.

"Did you know who I was before or after I saved you from almost getting hit by that car?" he demands, jaw clenching.

"Before."

He exhales a sharp, surprised laugh.

And then he pulls out his phone and puts it to his ear.

"Hi, Pete. Bella's ready to go home." He listens and waits. "Ten minutes. Great. I'd appreciate it if you could come up to the condo to walk her out. Thank you." He hangs up and then looks at me with suspicion. "Or, sorry, should I have referred to you as Isa? I'm not sure which identity you prefer."

"It's not like that." I stand and go to him. "My legal name is Isabella Hale, but I prefer to go by Bella. Only my family calls me Isa. And Swan was my birth parents' last name."

"How is it not like that?" he roars. "Day one, you should've said who the fuck you were. But you didn't. You purposely kept me in the dark for whatever reason. I mean, was it fun making me look stupid?"

"No," I stress. "I know you're mad and have every right to be. I know I fucked up and don't even deserve to be here right now. But will you hear me out?"

"No," he says, clipped, and my heart deflates. "I think the longer you're here, the worse this will be for me."

"Edward, please," I beg. "Please. I'll explain everything, and then you'll never have to see or hear from me again."

He moves toward the bar and fills a glass with whiskey.

I watch. I wait.

And then he sits at his dining room table, motioning for me to sit across from him.

"You have less than ten minutes," he says roughly, and I sit. "I get to ask you whatever I want. And you're going to answer, or I'm done."

"Okay. I will."

I feel calm despite my spiraling emotions and his hard, intimidating exterior. Maybe because I'm the one who came clean to him, and he didn't stumble upon my identity on his own. I still have my footing somewhat, but I'm not expecting this to be easy. It will be one of the hardest things I've done, but I'm willing to be honest with him, even if it's too late.

With his eyes on me, he drinks. "What was the point of all of this? What was your goal?"

I swallow.

"First, it was to hurt you," I confess, vague and painfully honest. Tears fill my eyes again and roll down my cheeks, but I furiously wipe them away, trying to stay grounded.

"Great. Mission accomplished, I'm fucking hurt." He points toward the door with his glass. "You can go now."

"Just… wait. There's so much more I need to say, Edward."

"I can fill in the blanks. You wanted to punish me because you thought I was guilty, right? No need to drag this out anymore."

"It's more than that, though."

"Really?" he asks, disbelieving.

I start from the beginning despite how crazy I sound.

"Ever since Rosalie disappeared, I've been living this half-life. My world was turned upside down at the age of ten. Between losing my parents, Rosalie, and then my aunt, I just…" I shake my head. "I'm not excusing myself for what I did with you. I know it was wrong," I whisper.

"Yet you still did it."

"I know. I had tunnel vision. I randomly saw you one day at Starbucks, and it shocked me how hurt I was. It'll sound awful, but seeing you ignited something in me. Before that, I didn't spend every day plotting against you. I rarely thought about you, even though I thought about Rosalie nearly daily." To my surprise, he lets me keep talking. "But there you were, just existing, and Rosalie was gone. It felt unfair. I thought you were a monster. Like you got away with something evil. So I kept going back. I don't even think I knew why at the time. But I did want to hurt you. I guess it was to punish you, like you said. And then two weeks later—"

"Two weeks," he deadpans, draining his entire glass before slamming it down. "You watched me for two fucking weeks."

I inwardly cringe. "It sounds bad, I know."

"It doesn't sound bad. It is bad, Bella. So you staged the car? Or was that for me to get hit with?"

"No. I didn't want you to get hurt like that. The car situation was real. I was crossing the road without looking, and you saved me. It was one of the many times you surprised me," I admit softly.

"Did you know where I lived, too? Did you follow me there?"

It feels surreal to talk about this, but I say, "No. I only knew where you lived because you invited me back to your condo that day to help me."

His eyes grow distant, like he's thinking back. "I found you in my home office. What were you doing there?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Looking for anything to tie you to Rosalie's disappearance, I guess. Something that would've screamed guilty."

He laughs darkly. "Wow. I'm a fucking idiot, huh?"

"You're not," I stress. "You couldn't have known. I knew you didn't recognize me, and I took advantage of that."

He stares into his empty glass. "You were on my mind like crazy after that first day. I looked for you. I wanted to find you. And then I did, and you were on my mind even more. The mysterious, sexy, funny woman who stumbled into my life. The woman who made me feel better and forget how shitty things were going for me." His eyes meet mine. "I thought meeting you was fucking fate."

"It was," I murmur even though it's bold, even though he won't believe me.

"No. It's all twisted now."

"Yes, a twisted fate, but still fate," I insist, a little irritated even though I have no right to be. Despite my dishonesty, he has to feel how genuine and rare this thing is between us. "Other than hiding who I was, I've been honest about everything. I fell for you. I like you, Edward. So fucking much. This stupid plan started with me wanting to get information from you about Rosalie, but it quickly turned into selfishly wanting to be around you for myself."

He shakes his head, ignoring my confession about how I feel. "Well, I'm sure you feel better getting all that off your conscience. You can go."

"No, I don't feel better. I feel fucking awful, and I hate that I hurt you. I know I need to fix this," I mumble. "I want to fix this if you'll let me."

"I don't know what you expect me to say." He glowers. "All I can focus on is that you were fishing for information while I opened up tonight. I thought I was confiding in the woman I fucking—" He stops himself, not giving me any further indication of how he feels for me. "I've never told anyone. Ever. Don't you get that? I never wanted to before. I wanted to keep that shit buried. But you made me want to… to just…"

"What?"

There's pain in his eyes. "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

"But it does matter. All of this does. I feel like something brought us together. Something bigger than us. Don't you see, we can help each other now?" I challenge, my heart stuttering because maybe he won't want me anymore, and I'll have to accept that.

"Help each other how? You lied to me. How am I supposed to trust you, Isa?" he says with intention, brows raised.

He's not being cruel for the hell of it. He's hurting. I hurt him. My stomach twists because the next thing I was about to come clean about was the podcast, and I know confessing that I'm familiar with Jackson will be another punch to his gut. But I have to do it so Edward hears all this from me.

"I'm sorry I lied to you. I truly am. But if I'm telling the truth now, there's something else we need to address."

"What?" he snaps.

"Jackson."

His eyes flash with anger, jaw tightening. "What about him?"

"I know him. I—"

Edward immediately pushes his chair back as he stands. "You need to leave."

I panic. "What?''

Striding across the room, he says, "I'm not about to sit here and have you tell me you were working with him to get information out of me."

"That's not what I was going to say." I'm up now, rushing after him as he moves toward the entryway. I beat him there and stand between him and the door, blocking it.

He looks surprised I'm putting up this much of a fight, this much effort. I feel bad I'm being pushy, but I know we won't have a chance to clear the air if I leave now. He'll never talk to me again. He'll disappear. And even if I deserve that, I just want him to know I'm on his side.

"I'm not going to touch you, but you need to move," he demands, but he doesn't put space between us.

I stare up at him, our faces close. "I believe you. I'm on your side. I know it looks bad, but I was never working with Jackson, not like that."

Still, he doesn't move away. I can feel his heavy breath on my skin, the hot energy radiating from him.

"When was the last time you talked to him?" Edward asks, his face inches from mine.

I falter. "Earlier today, but—"

He starts to move away, and I raise my hands to grab his face so he'll listen. So he can feel how much I care for him from my touch.

"Jackson is a fucking asshole," I say firmly. "I've never liked him or trusted him. He doesn't know that you and I talk at all. I never told him anything."

Edward steps back from me and breaks our contact, but I can sense his reluctance.

"Why would I believe that? How do I know you're not fucking wired right now?" he asks, gesturing toward me.

"Come on. Jackson is an idiot. He's not the FBI. And where would I hide a wire? This dress is already pretty revealing."

He doesn't look convinced, so I reach behind my lower back and feel for the zipper of my dress, letting silk fall to the floor and pool at my feet.

I stand here in just my lingerie.

It's desperate and unnecessary, but I'm desperate for him to believe me. I need to earn his trust again. I'll do anything.

"No wires," I tell him, spinning around in a circle and lifting my arms to prove my point. When I face him again, his eyes roam every inch of my body, taking me in. He doesn't look away like I thought he would. He looks pissed, though. And a little flustered.

"Bella," he murmurs with a dark, heated gaze. "I need you to put your dress back on. Now."

My cheeks burn a hot trail down my neck to my chest. Maybe I should be embarrassed, but all I am is a little turned on by how he looks at me like he hates that he wants me. Like I'm torturing him in the most delicious way.

I pull my dress back on, leaving it unzipped and hanging off me.

"That proved nothing because, wire or not, how do I know you weren't running to him this entire time, laughing behind my back and sharing everything I ever said?" Edward demands.

"Has anything you've ever shared with me made it onto the podcast? No. Earlier, when you confided in me that you met with Jackson, I urged you not to talk to him anymore. And I didn't run to him tonight with your confession about Rosalie. I'm not going to tell him anything you said. That should prove that I never worked with him against you, Edward. I have nothing to hide. Not anymore."

I have nothing and no one, but I don't tell him that because I don't want his pity. I just need his forgiveness. I might not get it tonight, but I hope I eventually do.

Shaking his head, he walks away, and I go after him again.

"Jackson said he got an anonymous tip that Rosalie was pregnant," I blurt because if this is the only chance I'll have to get everything off my chest, I need him to know the big stuff. Edward stops in place, his back to me. "That's why he and I talked today. Who else knew about Rosalie's pregnancy?"

He turns to look at me with a guarded expression. "I have no idea. Rosalie never told me who else knew. I never saw her again to get more answers."

"Do you think Jasper might have known?" I ask.

Edward sneers. "Was Rosalie's twin brother in on this, too? Befriending me, or whatever you want to call it."

"No. It was all me. Jasper never approved of this—of what I was doing with you."

"Good. Someone with morals."

It hurts, but I get it. He could've thrown me out minutes ago, and I would've understood that, too. It sucks being in this position where I want his understanding but also feel deserving of his animosity and mistrust.

"I don't know about Jasper having morals," I mumble. "We're not on good terms right now because I more or less called him out before I left for the gala. He admitted he's been lying to me but didn't say about what. I think he knows more than we do about the night Rosalie disappeared."

Curiosity and minor concern crease Edward's stony expression. "He's your roommate?"

"Yeah."

He scrubs a hand over his mouth, nodding. "I heard the latest podcast episode about Jackson's suspicion of Jasper."

"He's wrong. Jasper didn't have anything to do with it, at least not in a malicious way."

"Yeah, I figured Jackson focused on Jasper because I threatened to sue him if he mentioned me again." Edward keeps his eyes on me. "But still. Do you have somewhere else you can stay tonight?"

My chest squeezes. "I'll be fine."

"I'd offer to let you stay here, but considering everything, I don't think that's a good idea."

"It's okay. I don't expect anything from you."

"Good," he says flatly.

I give him a look, remorse coating my tone. "I'm trying here, Edward."

"I understand, but I can't do this right now," he says firmly. "It's a lot to process. I went from having you on this fucking pedestal to just… being blindsided and feeling like none of this was real. I don't trust people the way I did with you. I don't do this," he mutters, gesturing between us. "Now I'm remembering why."

"But it was real," I whisper. "I know I can't say or do anything to convince you of that right now, but I was more myself with you than I've ever been with anyone else. And I don't know why. It just happened. It felt different with you. It felt scary and good, and you made me happy. I don't want to lose you, Edward. And I know how crazy that sounds since it hasn't been that long, but it's the truth."

His eyes soften, but his jaw stays set, so I go on.

"One thing I've learned from all this is that we're the same," I insist. "You and me. We're both stuck in this shitty, chaotic, leftover mess. I know I've let Rosalie's disappearance affect my life. You have, too, in your own way. But we can work together now to find the truth."

With perfectly terrible timing, a knock on the door interrupts our moment.

"It's Pete. Go get your things," Edward says quietly. When I turn around to get my shoes and bag from the kitchen, he says, "Wait. Your dress."

With my back still turned, I pause, and he zips me up. He doesn't linger. He doesn't touch me any more than he has to.

Moving into the kitchen, I step into my heels and slide my clutch under my arm.

When I return, Edward's still standing by the closed door. I appreciate that Pete's not with us yet.

"Did you mean what you said?" Edward asks, voice low, his hand on the doorknob.

"I meant every single word," I murmur, hoping he hears the devastating honesty in my voice.

"No. That I'll never have to see or hear from you again," he clarifies, and my heart sinks so dangerously low.

"Oh. Right," I say flatly, not hiding my disappointment. I know this is because of my actions, but it still stings. "Sure. If that's what you want, Edward."

His gaze drops. "Trust me, there are many other things I would've wanted than this."

"I know," I mumble. "Do what you need. Take space. If you want to talk, you know where to find me."

Without another word, he nods and opens the door, making walking out of his life too easy for how hard my heart hurts.