The first firework screamed into the sky, but I didn’t watch the burst of color overhead. I watched Bella—yellow sundress bright as sunlight, face lit with wonder and defiance, finally alive and unafraid. Edward’s possessive shadow lingered, but she didn’t flinch; she chose to meet my gaze instead, something real and electric sparking between us. When I reached her side, the world narrowed to her heartbeat and the fierce hope in her eyes. “It ain’t the sky I’m here for,” I murmured. She…

Bella curled into the porch swing, lemonade sweating in her hand, the hum of cicadas and scent of jasmine wrapping around her like a lullaby. Rosalie leaned on the railing, golden hair caught in the breeze, while Jasper watched from the shadows, still and steady. For the first time in months, Bella wasn’t bracing for the next demand, the next correction. Here, under the soft Southern sun, she wasn’t broken or fragile—she was becoming. She didn’t have to speak for them to understand….

The note smelled like pine and leather: Midnight. Swimsuit. Quiet. —J Forks was hushed at night, mist coiling between the trees. Jasper waited by the Jeep, barefoot, moonlight touching his pale skin. He looked at her like she was the beginning of something. They swam in a hidden lake no map could find, floating in silver water and silence. “I feel everything,” he confessed. “Too much.” Bella drifted closer. “Do you feel what I’m feeling now?” He nodded. “Yeah.” Then she kissed him—weightless, barefoot, brave. And everything changed….

Jasper Whitlock stood beside Bella on the sunlit deck, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. To the world, they were a wealthy American couple disembarking for leisure in Monaco. In truth, they were spies, their Louis Vuitton luggage concealing weapons, comms gear, and secrets. Bella smiled with effortless grace, accepting a tourist map from a weathered man by the kiosk—a courier, code embedded in the ink. “Merci,” she said sweetly. Jasper scanned the harbor, already cataloging threats. Behind the…

Bella Swan wakes up naked, glitter-covered, and definitely not alone. Her thighs are bare, her dignity is missing, and Jasper Whitlock—smirking, naked, and far too pleased with himself—is sprawled beside her like a Calvin Klein ad gone rogue. Oh, and there’s a wedding ring on her finger. Her left hand. A very real, very silver wedding ring. “Mornin’, Mrs. Whitlock,” he drawls with that honey-thick accent that does terrible things to her pulse. Cue the chaos: a highlight reel, a bite mark, and…

Bella turned wide eyes on him. “The cat just… talked.” She said it with the same tone someone might use to announce they’d just seen Elvis riding a unicorn through the Walmart parking lot. Jasper’s hand froze halfway to his mug. “What now?” For once, the empath looked genuinely surprised. “About time your aura opened up,” the cat said. “Took me three visits and a moon cycle just to get through that human static. You’re broadcasting on all frequencies but receiving on none. Typical.” “Okay,” Bella…