BELLE'S BEASTLY INHERITANCE: THE CASTLE'S LAST ROSE

Belle Laurent inherited a ruined castle, a locked rose garden, and one final instruction from her dead father: NEVER KISS THE BEAST.

The beast was waiting in the library.

He wore a black suit tailored for a human body, but his claws had torn through the cuffs. Gold eyes watched Belle from the shadow between two bookcases.

“You came back,” he said.

“I have never been here.”

“Your face disagrees.”

Belle looked at the portrait above the fireplace. It showed a young woman with her eyes, standing beside the same creature. Their hands were joined.

The portrait’s date was 1791.

“You are Lucien Vale,” she said. “The man my father called a monster.”

“He called me worse when he was afraid.”

“What are you?”

“The punishment your family bought.”

He offered his hand, palm open. “You may leave before the last rose falls.”

Belle glanced at the shattered windows, the snow outside, and the iron gate that had appeared where the front drive used to be.

“You said leave.”

“I did not say escape.”

The castle groaned.

A rose bloomed on the library table, black at the center and red at the edges.

Lucien’s gaze followed Belle’s fingers as she touched it.

“Every woman in your family has fed the curse,” he said. “You are the first one who can end it.”

“With what?”

“An honest choice.”

He stepped closer, then stopped. “Tell me to stay away.”

Belle’s throat tightened.

“Stay.”

“From you?”

“From pretending you don’t want me near you.”

The beast’s claws curled.

The rose garden doors burst open.

Inside, a hundred stone women turned their heads toward Belle.

Lucien whispered, “They are the brides who failed.”

One statue cracked its lips.

“Belle,” it said. “He is not the beast.”

The castle locked every door.