THE VOW WE NEVER MADE

CHAPTER 12: THE MORNING AFTER

POV : Adrian

I don't sleep.

Instead, I lie in bed—sheets still rumpled from where Isla was pressed against me an hour ago—and stare at the ceiling, replaying every moment on an endless loop.

The fight. The kiss. Her skin under my hands. The way she said my name like a prayer.

And then her brother's call, shattering everything.

At 3 a.m., I give up on sleep and move to my home office, pulling up everything I can find on James Sterling. It's not pretty. Failed businesses, mounting debts, a DUI three years ago that he managed to keep out of the papers. He's desperate, which makes him dangerous.

What could he possibly have found about me?

I run through possibilities. Business dealings? All legitimate. Past relationships? Nothing scandalous. My family's secrets? Those are Victoria and Richard's problems, not mine.

Unless—

My phone buzzes. Marcus, because of course he's awake too.

Marcus: You missed a hell of a meeting. Tokyo investors are pissed.

Me: I'll handle it.

Marcus: Will you? Because you've been distracted for weeks. Ever since Isla moved in.

Me: Not now, Marcus.

Marcus: Then when? You're letting your personal life destroy your professional reputation. The board is starting to ask questions.

Me: Let them ask.

Marcus: Adrian. What's going on? This isn't like you.

I stare at my phone, debating how much to tell him.

Me: I'm in over my head.

Marcus: With Isla?

Me: With everything.

Marcus: I'm coming over.

Me: It's 3 AM.

Marcus: I'm aware. I'm also already in an Uber.

He hangs up before I can argue.

Twenty minutes later, Marcus is standing in my living room with two coffees from the 24-hour place on Sixth Avenue, looking annoyingly alert for someone who should be asleep.

"Talk," he says, handing me a cup.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Bullshit. You missed a crucial investor meeting. You're awake at 3 a.m. And—" He gestures around the living room. "There are throw pillows on your couch. Throw pillows, Adrian. In colors."

"Isla bought them."

"Exactly my point. She's been here less than a month, and she's already changed everything. Your apartment, your schedule, you."

"Is that a problem?"

"That depends. Are you happy?"

The question catches me off-guard.

"I don't know," I admit.

"You don't know if you're happy?"

"I don't know what happy feels like anymore. I know I think about her constantly. I know coming home to her feels right in a way nothing else has. I know that tonight, when we were—" I stop, shaking my head. "It doesn't matter."

"When you were what?"

I take a long sip of coffee instead of answering.

Marcus studies me with that penetrating gaze that makes him excellent at reading people. "Oh my God. You almost slept with her."

"I'm not discussing this."

"You did! You almost slept with her, and something stopped you, and now you're spiraling."

"I'm not spiraling—"

"You're absolutely spiraling. Adrian, sit down. We're having this conversation whether you like it or not."

I sit, because arguing with Marcus when he's in full intervention mode is futile.

"What happened?" he asks.

I tell him. Not everything—some details are private—but enough. The fight over the dining table. My confession about being overwhelmed. The kiss that turned into something more. Isla's brother calling with threats.

When I'm done, Marcus is quiet for a long moment.

"You told her everyone leaves," he finally says.

"Yes."

"That's what you're afraid of. Not that she's taking over your space or disrupting your routine. You're afraid she'll leave."

"Obviously."

"And so you're sabotaging it before she can."

"I'm not—" I stop. "Am I?"

"Yes. You picked a fight over nothing because you're terrified of how much you care about her. Classic self-sabotage. I've seen you do it in every relationship you've had."

"That's not—"

"Adrian. You dated Evelyn for two years and never told her you loved her. When she finally left, you were relieved because it confirmed what you already believed—that you're incapable of intimacy. But the truth is, you were never in love with Evelyn. You liked the idea of her, the image you projected as a couple. But you didn't love her."

"Your point?"

"My point is that Isla is different. You actually love her. And that scares you so much you're trying to push her away before she can hurt you."

"I'm not trying to push her away."

"Then why did you tell her she's overwhelming you? Why did you make her feel like she's too much?"

"Because she is too much!" The words come out harsh. "She's everywhere, Marcus. In my space, in my head, under my skin. I can't think straight anymore. I can't focus on work. I can't—" My voice breaks. "I can't breathe without thinking about her."

"That's called being in love."

"That's called being out of control."

"Same thing."

I stand, pacing to the windows. The city is starting to wake up, early risers and shift workers beginning their days while I'm here having a crisis at dawn.

"What if you're wrong?" I say quietly. "What if I tell her how I feel and she leaves anyway? What if I give her everything and it's not enough?"

"What if you don't and you lose her for sure?"

I don't have an answer for that.

"Adrian." Marcus moves to stand beside me. "I've known you for fourteen years. I've seen you build an empire, negotiate impossible deals, face down hostile board members without flinching. You're one of the strongest people I know. But you're also one of the most afraid."

"I'm not afraid—"

"You're terrified. Of vulnerability, of loss, of being seen as anything less than perfect. But Isla doesn't want perfect. She wants real. And if you can't give her that—if you can't be honest about what you feel—you're going to lose her."

"I'm trying—"

"Try harder. Because what you have with her? It's rare. Don't throw it away because you're scared."

After Marcus leaves, I sit in the growing dawn light and think about everything he said.

I love Isla.

I've probably loved her for years—since that first Thanksgiving when she challenged me, since the funeral when she cried on my shoulder, since the moment she moved in and started making my sterile apartment feel like a home.

I love her.

And I'm terrified.

Because loving someone means giving them the power to destroy you. And I've already been destroyed once—by Sophie's death, by the guilt, by the gaping hole her absence left in my life.

I don't know if I can survive losing someone else I love.

But Marcus is right about one thing: if I don't figure out how to be honest with Isla, I'll lose her anyway.

At seven a.m., I'm making coffee when Isla emerges from her room.

She's in workout clothes—leggings and a sports bra with a loose tank over it—hair in a ponytail, face bare of makeup. She looks tired, like she didn't sleep either.

"Morning," she says cautiously.

"Morning."

We stand in awkward silence, the events of last night hanging between us like smoke.

"About last night—" we both start at the same time.

"You go," I say.

"No, you."

"Isla—"

"I'm sorry." The words rush out of her. "For the fight, for pushing you about the space, for—for everything. You were right. I have taken over. I didn't mean to, but I moved in and just sort of... exploded all over your life. And that's not fair to you."

"You don't need to apologize—"

"I do, though. This is your home. You were generous enough to let me stay here, and I've been treating it like it's mine when it's not. When this is over—when I get my inheritance—I'll move out, and you can have your space back exactly how you want it."

"What if I don't want that?"

She looks up, surprised. "What?"

"What if I don't want my space back exactly how it was? What if I've gotten used to the throw pillows and the music and the evidence that someone actually lives here?"

"You said I was overwhelming—"

"You are overwhelming. You're chaos and color and life, and yes, it's overwhelming. But it's also—" I move closer, and her breath catches. "It's also the best thing that's happened to me in years. You make this place feel less like a museum and more like a home. You make me feel less like a machine and more like a person."

"Adrian—"

"I'm sorry for making you feel like you were too much. You're not too much. You're exactly right. And I was just—" I swallow hard. "I was scared. Of how much I feel for you. Of how completely you've upended my life."

"In a bad way?"

"In the most terrifying, wonderful way possible."

She stares at me, eyes bright with unshed tears.

"So where does that leave us?" she asks.

"I don't know. But I know I don't want to waste any more time pretending this is just convenient or practical or anything other than what it actually is."

"What is it actually?"

Before I can answer, her phone alarm goes off—sharp and insistent.

She glances at it, and her expression shifts. "James. I'm supposed to meet him in two hours."

"I'm coming with you."

"He said to come alone—"

"I don't care what he said. If he has something on me, I deserve to know what it is. We face this together."

"Together," she repeats softly.

"Together."

She moves closer, and her hand finds mine. "After we deal with James, can we finish this conversation? The one about what this actually is?"

"Yes. And Isla? Whatever he has, whatever he threatens—we'll handle it. Okay?"

"Okay."

She goes to shower and change, and I'm left in the kitchen, gripping my coffee mug too hard, wondering what James Sterling thinks he knows.

And wondering if it's enough to destroy everything we're building.