Isabella’s POV

“Dominic?” Claire’s voice cut sharp through the night, her eyes locked on the glowing screen.

My stomach dropped. My breath came in shallow bursts.

“Claire, give it back,” I said quickly, my voice higher than I meant it to be.

She raised her eyebrow, lips curving into that sly grin she always wore when she smelled drama. “Dominic? As in Father Dominic? Bella..”

“Stop. It’s not what you think.”

She tilted the phone, squinting. “Then why is the holy man texting you at midnight? And begging you not to tell anyone?”

Heat crawled up my neck. I lunged for the phone, but she danced back a step, holding it above her head like we were kids again.

“Claire, I’m serious. Hand it over.”

She laughed nervously, but there was a flicker in her eyes now—suspicion. Curiosity. Something sharp.

“Fine,” she said, pretending to surrender. She lowered her arm slowly, then glanced at the screen one more time just as another buzz lit it up.

The new message blinked across the screen.

I can still taste you, Bella. I can’t stop thinking about it.

Claire’s jaw dropped.

The night exploded in silence.

“Bella,” she whispered, staring at me like she didn’t even recognize me. “What the hell is going on between you and that priest?”

My throat closed up. Words wouldn’t come.

“Bella…” Claire’s voice was sharp, her eyes wide, still staring at the message. “He said he can still taste you. Don’t tell me…”

I forced a laugh that came out too high, too brittle. “Taste the food, Claire. The food.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Earlier,” I rushed on, my mouth dry, my brain clawing for something—anything. “I brought him some of my mom’s gumbo. You know how priests are. He hasn’t had real home cooking in forever. That’s what he meant. God, your mind is dirty.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering, but I pressed harder before she could speak.

“He’s… an old friend of my dad’s, okay? Dominic used to visit the house when I was little. He’s like family. That’s all it is. He’s probably just embarrassed about texting weirdly.”

Silence stretched between us. Claire stared at me, chewing on her lip, trying to decide if she believed me.

“Food?” she repeated slowly.

“Yes, food,” I snapped, snatching the phone out of her hand before she could argue. My heart hammered so hard I thought it might break my ribs. “You’re reading too much into this. Please, just drop it.”

Before she could answer, headlights swept across the churchyard, blinding us both. A black car rolled into the lot, its tires crunching against the gravel.

Claire turned. “Who’s that?”

I already knew. The sleek car, the polished chrome cross swinging on the rearview mirror, the stiff silhouette behind the wheel.

Bishop Caldwell.

The strict, watchful Bishop of New Orleans. The one who inspected everything, who prided himself on knowing every detail of every parish under his care. The one who could ruin Dominic in a heartbeat if he ever suspected the truth.

My blood went ice cold.

Claire whispered, “That looks like…”

“Yes,” I cut in quickly, tugging her arm, trying to pull her away into the shadows. “It’s him. Come on. We need to go. Now.”

But she dug her heels into the ground, eyes flicking between me and the bishop’s car, her suspicion deepening with every passing second.

“Bella, slow down—what is the big deal?” Claire protested as I tugged her down the side path, away from the glow of the parking lot.

“Trust me,” I whispered harshly, glancing back at the black car. “You don’t want him to see us hanging around here.”

Claire rolled her eyes, but she followed, grumbling under her breath.

We ducked behind the hedges near the rectory wall. From there, I could hear the sound of a car door opening and the firm click of shoes on gravel.

Then his voice. Deep. Clipped. Carved from stone.

“—Yes, I just arrived. No, I don’t want excuses. I told you, this parish needs order. Father Dominic has always been… unusual.”

My stomach knotted. Claire raised an eyebrow at me, but for once, she stayed quiet.

“Keep the reports coming,” Bishop Caldwell continued, his voice lowering as if he didn’t trust the shadows either. “If there’s anything improper happening under my watch, I’ll root it out myself.”

The air froze in my lungs. My whole body screamed to run, but my feet stayed planted. Every syllable was a threat. Every pause, a warning.

Claire whispered, “He sounds like he’s investigating something.”

“Shh,” I hissed, dragging her further into the dark until the bishop’s voice faded into the heavy silence of the night. My heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

Dominic’s POV

Back in the rectory, I stared at the glowing screen in my hand.

I can still taste you, Bella. I can’t stop thinking about it.

The words looked reckless even to me. What had I been thinking, pressing send? My fingers had moved faster than my conscience. I had told myself she needed to know how badly I craved her, how deeply she had already ruined me. But now—guilt coiled tight around my throat.

I threw the phone on the desk, rubbing both hands over my face. The smell of her still clung to me. Her skin, her hair, the way she had clutched me inside that booth like I was her last breath. God forgive me, I wanted it again already.

The phone buzzed.

Another message. Not from Isabella.

I frowned, unlocking the screen.

Dominic, just a heads-up. The Bishop is here. Parked outside now.

My stomach dropped.

Bishop Caldwell.

The one man who could sniff out sin like blood in the water. The one who had never trusted me, even back when I was first assigned here.

My pulse raced as the warning sank in.

If he suspected anything… if he found even a trace of what just happened in that booth…

I looked down at my phone again, at Bella’s name glowing on the screen, and whispered to the empty room:

“God help me. I’ve gone too far.”