Chapter 6 – The Confrontation
1439 Words
~ Isla ~
The rain started again by the time I left the gallery. It came down in steady lines, soaking through my coat as I walked home. The streets were quiet, only the sound of the sea and a few passing cars breaking the silence.
I was tired. My feet hurt, and the baby had been restless all afternoon, soft movements that turned into sharp little kicks. By the time I reached the apartment, it was past nine.
Inside, everything looked normal. The smell of paint still lingered. My half-finished canvas stood by the window, the blanket on the couch was folded neatly, and the room was quiet. Still, something felt different. The air seemed still, like the space had been waiting.
I told myself it was nothing and walked to the kitchen.
I boiled water for tea, trying to focus on the sound. I thought about calling Luca again. It had been three weeks since I last heard from him. Maybe he’d gone into hiding, or maybe something had happened. I didn’t want to think about that.
After washing the cup, I turned off the light and headed toward my room. The door was open. I was certain I’d closed it that morning.
I stopped.
He was standing by the window. Rainwater dripped from his coat, his hands were in his pockets, and his eyes were fixed on me.
“Hello, Isla.”
My back hit the wall before I realized I had stepped back. “No.”
He didn’t move. “You changed your hair.”
My heart was racing. “You can’t be here.”
“I could say the same about you.”
His voice was calm, but I recognized it the kind of calm that meant danger.
“How did you find me?”
He looked around the room once before answering. “It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have come here alone.”
“You’re not supposed to be part of this life anymore.”
He took a slow step forward. “And yet, here I am.”
The lamp beside the bed cast a soft light across the room. His gaze dropped, and everything in him went still.
It took a moment for me to understand what he was looking at. Then I followed his eyes to my stomach.
His expression shifted. The control in his face cracked for just a second. “You’re pregnant.”
My hand moved to my stomach without thinking.
He stepped closer, his voice quieter. “You’re carrying my child.”
“Adrian”
“How long?”
I didn’t answer.
His jaw tightened. “How long, Isla?”
“Almost six months.”
He was silent for a few seconds. His eyes moved over me slowly, controlled but uncertain. When he spoke, his voice was steady, but I could hear the effort behind it.
“You faked your death while you were pregnant with my child.”
“I had to.”
“No,” he said. “You chose to.”
The sound of rain against the windows filled the pause that followed.
“I wasn’t going to raise a baby in that house,” I said. “Not under guards, cameras, or locked doors. I had to protect—”
“Protect him from me?” His tone rose before he caught himself. He looked away, took a breath, then spoke quietly. “I would have given you anything.”
“Except freedom.”
He looked back at me, his expression unreadable. “Freedom gets you killed in my world.”
“And control kills everything else.”
He turned toward the window, hands tightening in his pockets. “You don’t understand what you’ve done.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“No,” he said. “You thought running would keep you safe. But the moment I found out you were alive, so did the people who wanted you gone. You were never out of danger.”
“You’re twisting this.”
“I’m trying to fix it.”
I shook my head. “By forcing me back into the same life I escaped?”
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze softened slightly, but his voice stayed calm. “You call it a cage. I call it the only place you were ever safe.”
“Safe?” I said. “You controlled everything. Every call, every step. I couldn’t breathe without you watching.”
“Because I wanted you alive.”
“That’s not living.”
He took a slow step closer. “It was the only way I knew to keep you from disappearing.”
“Well,” I said quietly, “I disappeared anyway.”
He didn’t argue. He just looked at me again first at my face, then at my stomach. “You’re carrying my child,” he said again, his tone lower this time.
“It doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything.” He moved closer until he was standing in front of me. “You should have told me.”
“I needed to protect what’s left of me,” I said.
He didn’t speak for a while. His expression settled back into control, but his voice was final when he spoke.
“We leave tomorrow.”
I stared at him. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He tilted his head slightly. “We’ll see about that.”
“Adrian”
“Get some rest,” he said quietly. “You’ll need it. For yourself and for the baby.”
He turned and walked to the door.
When he left, the silence felt heavier. I stood there, shaking, one hand over my stomach, trying to believe I still had a choice. But deep down, I knew he would take me back one way or another.
- Writer
