Chapter 21
1465 Words
Isabella’s POV
I did not realise how tense I was until the car doors closed behind us.
Only then, sealed inside the quiet leather interior with Adrian opposite me, did my body begin to shake.
Not visibly at first.
A tremor in my fingers.
A tightness releasing too quickly in my chest.
The delayed reaction of someone who had spent an hour holding herself together through willpower and tailored posture.
Adrian noticed immediately.
He pressed a bottle of water into my hand.
“Drink.”
“I hate when you’re right about things.”
“I’m right about most things.”
“I’m actively unwell and still find you irritating.”
“Healthy sign.”
I laughed once, then unexpectedly burst into tears.
Proper tears.
Hot, humiliating, unstoppable.
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
I turned my face away.
Adrian moved beside me without asking, handing me tissues from some impossible hidden compartment.
“You are allowed to break after performing competence,” he said quietly.
“I hate crying in cars.”
“Then think of it as hydration leaving emotionally.”
That made me laugh through tears, which only worsened them.
By the time we reached the estate, I was drained and furious at myself for feeling anything at all.
My father was waiting in the library.
Of course he was.
He stood the moment I entered.
“Well?”
“Still alive,” I said.
“Details.”
“He knows.”
Matteo’s jaw hardened.
“And?”
“He wants involvement.”
“Convenient.”
I sighed.
“Papa.”
“What? Timing matters.”
I sank onto the sofa and handed him the paper Ryan had signed.
He read quickly, expression unreadable.
“You let him sign conditions drafted without counsel present?”
“They’re boundaries, not treaties.”
“They are leverage if he breaches them.”
Adrian took a drink from the sideboard.
“You’re welcome.”
My father ignored him.
Then looked at me more carefully.
“You’re pale.”
“I cried in the car.”
Adrian added helpfully, “Spectacularly.”
“Traitor,” I muttered.
My father’s face softened.
“Come here.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Must I repeat myself?”
I crossed reluctantly.
He pulled me into a brief, awkward embrace that would have shocked entire industries.
“You did well,” he said quietly.
Emotion rose again so suddenly I almost shoved him away.
Instead I stepped back quickly.
“Please stop both of you being kind. I can’t cope.”
Adrian smiled faintly.
“Excellent. Progress.”
By evening, the story had changed again.
Because scandal never starved for long.
I was eating soup in the smaller dining room when Maria entered carrying a tablet with the solemnity of a priestess bringing prophecy.
“Your old life is on the internet again.”
I took it warily.
Screenshots.
Texts.
Private messages.
Sold anonymously to media outlets, though no one needed genius to guess the source.
Ryan to Chloe:
She’s too emotional to leave.
Once the timing is right, the divorce will be simple.
I need stability at home right now.
I read them twice.
Then once more, slower.
My appetite vanished.
Across the table, my father held out his hand.
I passed him the tablet.
His expression became glacial.
“Animal.”
“Calculated animal,” Adrian said from the doorway. I hadn’t heard him enter. “Those are old messages timed for maximum damage.”
I looked up sharply.
“You knew?”
“I expected escalation.”
I hated how normal everyone made warfare sound.
My father set the tablet down carefully.
“He used you as optics.”
“I know what he used me for,” I said quietly.
But the texts still hurt in a new place.
Not because I believed them.
Because once, somewhere in those months, I had felt him slipping away and blamed myself.
Too emotional.
Too demanding.
Too needy.
And all along he was narrating my loyalty as inconvenience.
Maria removed my untouched soup with muttered Italian fury.
I went upstairs before either man could stop me.
In my room, I locked the door and sat on the floor beside the bed.
Then I cried again.
Not for Ryan.
For the woman I had been while loving him.
The one who apologised for wanting attention.
The one who dimmed herself to avoid conflict.
The one who mistook endurance for devotion.
A knock sounded an hour later.
“Go away.”
“It’s me,” Adrian said.
“That narrows nothing. Everyone here ignores boundaries.”
Silence.
Then, “I brought chocolate.”
I opened the door immediately.
He held out an expensive box with insufferable smugness.
“Manipulative.”
“Effective.”
He came in only when I stepped aside.
No crowding.
No assumption.
He placed the chocolate on the desk and looked around the room.
“You cried.”
“Please expand your vocabulary.”
“You also look murderous.”
“Better.”
He sat in the armchair by the window while I remained on the floor.
After a minute, he said, “Read me the worst one.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The text that cut deepest.”
“I’m not sharing my humiliation for entertainment.”
“It isn’t entertainment.”
I looked away.
Then quietly said, “She’s too emotional to leave.”
Adrian’s expression did not change.
“That one’s lazy.”
“It worked.”
“No,” he said calmly. “It wounded.”
I wrapped my arms around my knees.
“He made me feel like wanting basic affection was instability.”
“That is a common trick among selfish men.”
“Wonderful.”
“It also means the flaw was never yours.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You make everything sound solvable.”
“No.” He leaned forward slightly. “I make things sound nameable. Different skill.”
The room fell quiet.
Then I asked the question that had been stalking me.
“Do you think people can really change?”
He considered carefully.
“Yes.”
Hope flickered before I could stop it.
Then he added, “But usually only after losing what made change unnecessary.”
I looked down.
“So Ryan could.”
“He could.”
“And?”
“And growth is not reimbursement.”
That sentence lodged deep.
I stood and crossed to the desk, opening the chocolate to avoid crying yet again.
Dark truffles.
My weakness.
“You’re annoyingly useful.”
“I’m frequently told.”
I bit into one.
Actually moaned.
He looked pleased with himself.
“See? Healing.”
“You’re unbearable.”
A buzz came from my phone.
Ryan.
I stared at the screen.
Adrian said nothing.
I answered.
“What?”
His voice was ragged.
“Those texts—”
“Yes?”
“They were real.”
I laughed once in disbelief.
What a standard.
“Thank you for clarifying reality.”
“I’m trying to explain.”
“No, Ryan. You’re trying to control damage.”
“They were from the worst version of me.”
“There only seems to be one version lately.”
“I never meant those things the way they sound.”
“How else does too emotional to leave sound?”
He was silent.
Then: “Cruel. Stupid. Cowardly.”
The honesty almost hurt more.
“I loved you when you sent that,” I whispered.
His breath caught audibly.
“I know.”
“No,” I said, voice breaking. “You enjoyed that too.”
I ended the call before he could answer.
My hands shook afterwards.
Adrian stood but didn’t come closer.
“Do you want me to stay or go?”
The respect of the question undid me slightly.
“Stay,” I said.
So he did.
No touching.
No speeches.
Just a steady presence while I sat on the bed eating expensive chocolate and grieving the death of illusions.
Later, as he reached the door, he paused.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“The gala seating changed.”
I groaned.
“Why do I care?”
“Because Ryan has been moved.”
“To where?”
Adrian’s mouth curved.
“Directly opposite us.”
I stared.
“That was you.”
“I donate generously.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Sleep well, Isabella.”
When he left, I lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Ryan opposite me at the gala.
Adrian beside me.
My child growing quietly inside all this noise.
And somewhere beneath the chaos, a new truth beginning to form:
Love was not proved by suffering.
Maybe that was where my old life ended.
- Writer
