The Stolen Sapphire: His Fake Girlfriend

The iron gates of Stanton Manor were closed.

Belle didn't wait for the intercom. She leaned across the center console and slammed her hand onto the horn. The Jeep blared a long, aggressive note that shattered the peaceful afternoon of the wealthy neighborhood.

"Open the damn gate!" she screamed out the window.

The security guard, recognizing the chaos if not the car, scrambled to open it.

Adan gunned the engine. The Jeep roared up the long driveway, gravel crunching under the tires.

Before the car even stopped moving completely, Belle kicked the door open. She jumped out, her boots hitting the pavement hard. Her knees buckled for a second, but adrenaline snapped them straight.

A figure stepped out from the shadows of the portico.

Jonas.

He looked good. Too good. Crisp shirt, perfect hair, the face of a tortured poet that had made her fall in love with him freshman year.

He grabbed her shoulders. His grip was painful.

"Is it true?" he shouted, shaking her. "Whose bastard is it, Belle? Did you go to Paris just to become a whore?"

The words were like a slap. Belle stared at him, the world spinning. The smell of his cologne-the one she used to buy him-made her want to vomit again.

"Get your hands off me," she hissed.

"Answer me! Flo saw you!"

"Flo is a liar, and you are a pathetic idiot," Belle spat.

Jonas raised his hand, his face twisted in ugly rage.

Crack.

Adan's fist connected with Jonas's jaw. It was a beautiful, solid sound. Jonas stumbled back, tripping over his own feet, blood instantly blooming on his lip.

"Touch her again," Adan growled, stepping in front of Belle, "and you'll need a straw to eat your dinner."

Belle didn't wait to see if Jonas got up. She turned and ran up the steps. She burst through the front doors.

The house smelled of lilies and furniture polish. It was silent.

"Aryana!" Belle screamed. Her voice echoed off the marble floors.

She ran up the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time. She knew exactly where her sister would be. The master suite. The one that used to belong to Belle's mother.

She reached the door and didn't bother with the handle. She kicked it. The lock splintered. The door flew open and banged against the wall.

Aryana was standing in front of the full-length mirror. She was wearing a white silk robe.

And the sapphire necklace.

She screamed when Belle burst in. "You're crazy! Get out!"

Belle crossed the room in three strides. She was a whirlwind of leather and fury.

Aryana tried to cover the necklace with her hands. "Daddy gave it to me! It's for the engagement!"

"It's mine," Belle snarled.

She grabbed the chain. She didn't unclasp it. She yanked.

The gold clasp snapped. The metal scraped against Aryana's neck, leaving a thin red welt.

"Ow! You hurt me!" Aryana shrieked, lunging at Belle with clawed hands.

Belle sidestepped. She raised her hand and slapped Aryana across the face.

The sound was sharp, loud, and final.

Aryana froze. Her hand flew to her cheek, her eyes wide with shock. She fell back onto the bed, gasping.

Belle stood over her, breathing hard. She clutched the necklace in her fist, the diamonds biting into her palm.

"Listen to me," Belle whispered, leaning down. Her voice was low, dangerous. "I saw you in the bathroom this morning on Instagram. I saw the ginger tea. I saw the way you're holding your stomach."

Aryana's pupils dilated. Her face went from red to ghostly white.

"If you don't want Carlton to know that you trapped him with a baby before the ring was even on your finger," Belle hissed, "you will shut your mouth. You will never touch my mother's things again."

Aryana trembled. Tears leaked from her eyes, but she didn't make a sound. She was terrified.

Belle straightened up. She clasped the necklace around her own neck. The cold metal against her feverish skin felt like victory.

"Happy engagement, sis," Belle said, and walked out.