The Cracks We Choose to Fill
1059 Words
Chapter Seven: The Cracks We Choose to Fill
It started with a phone call.
A jarring ring at 6:03 a.m. on a Thursday morning, when Isla was wrapped in the warmth of freshly washed sheets and the faint scent of Adrian still lingering on her skin from the night before. Her hand scrambled for the phone, mind still groggy.
“Hello?”
“You need to get down to Maddox Tower,” Jules said breathlessly. “Now.”
Isla blinked. “What? Why?”
“Because someone leaked a story. A personal one. About you and Adrian.”
She sat up straight. “What kind of story?”
“The kind that shows you leaving his place at 11 p.m. last night. With pictures.”
Ice dropped in her stomach.
She was fully awake now.
---
By 7:00 a.m., the office buzzed like a disturbed beehive. Isla walked through the front doors of Maddox Tower, painfully aware of the stares following her, whispers darting behind cupped hands. People had opinions. People always did.
Melinda looked uncomfortable as Isla passed the front desk. “He’s waiting in the conference room.”
Of course he was.
She opened the glass doors and found Adrian standing at the far end, eyes locked on the wall-mounted screen where a news site blared:
“Intimate Insider: CEO Adrian Maddox and Designer Isla Carter Spark Romance Rumors”
Sources say the pair have been spending late nights together. Could workplace romance be blooming at Maddox Industries?
The photos were grainy but clear enough. Her, stepping out of a sleek black car. Him, brushing his hand down her back as she walked into her apartment. It looked soft. Intimate.
It looked exactly like what it was.
Adrian turned around, expression unreadable. “Someone followed us.”
“Clearly.”
He stepped forward. “I didn’t want it to come out like this.”
She crossed her arms, heart racing. “Do you know who leaked it?”
“We’re looking into it. But the gossip sites are spinning it fast. If we don’t manage it carefully—”
She flinched. “Manage it?”
He paused. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No, I get it. This is a problem. An inconvenience.”
“Isla.”
She stepped back. “It’s fine. You don’t have to reassure me. I know the rules—office romance, scandal, conflict of interest. I’ve been in this world long enough to know how disposable people like me are when they get too close to someone like you.”
“That’s not what this is,” he said firmly.
“Isn’t it?”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
She looked at him. “Maybe I don’t need protecting. Maybe I just need honesty.”
His jaw tightened. “Then here’s the truth: I want you. I’m not backing away from this. But I also run a company and we both know how brutal the press can be. I have to think three steps ahead, or we lose everything we’ve built.”
“We?” she repeated. “Or just you?”
He went still.
And in that moment, something shifted.
She turned away. “I need to breathe. I can’t do this right now.”
---
Isla spent the rest of the morning at a quiet coffee shop downtown, phone off, head down. But even as she tried to work, her thoughts circled like vultures.
Adrian hadn’t done anything wrong.
But he also hadn’t fought to keep her from walking away.
And that hurt more than she cared to admit.
By the time she got home that evening, her apartment felt too quiet. Too still. She curled up on the couch with her laptop, half-scrolling through emails, until a soft knock sounded at her door.
She opened it to find Adrian standing there in the hallway, dressed down in a hoodie and dark jeans, holding a bag of takeout in one hand and two bottles of ginger beer in the other.
“I figured you hadn’t eaten,” he said quietly.
She stared at him.
“I didn’t come here to fix it,” he added. “Just to say something I should’ve said earlier.”
She stepped aside.
He entered, placed the food on her counter, then turned to her.
“I panicked,” he said. “Not because I was ashamed. But because I’ve spent years building a wall around my life, and you knocked it down without even trying. I didn’t know how to keep you safe and be yours at the same time.”
Her throat tightened.
“You’re not disposable to me, Isla. You’re not a secret. You’re not a strategy. You’re the most terrifyingly real thing I’ve ever wanted.”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t need a speech.”
“I know.” He stepped closer. “But I needed to say it anyway.”
She stared at him, her heart pounding. “I’ve spent so long guarding myself from people like you.”
“I’m not like them.”
“You were. When I met you.”
“I know,” he said. “And I’ll spend every day proving that I’m not anymore.”
She swallowed hard. “This doesn’t fix everything.”
“I’m not trying to fix everything in one night.” He looked at her, soft and sure. “I just want to stay. If you’ll let me.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she exhaled, just a little.
And nodded.
---
They didn’t talk much as they ate. It was quiet. Warm. Simple.
Afterward, he helped her clean up, their movements falling into rhythm like they’d done this before. Like they belonged here, in this messy little domestic moment.
When the dishes were done, he reached for her hand.
She didn’t pull away.
“I want you in my life, Isla,” he said softly. “Even if the world sees it. Even if they twist it. I’m not hiding from this.”
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Then I won’t either.”
He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers.
And when she kissed him again, it wasn’t to forget the chaos of the day.
It was to remember why they were fighting for this at all.
- Writer
