The quiet of the penthouse felt different tonight—still, intimate, and charged with a sense of reflection. Adrian sat by the window, hands wrapped around a mug of untouched coffee, eyes distant. Isabella joined him quietly, perching on the edge of the sofa, sensing the storm beneath his calm exterior.
“You’ve been quiet all evening,” she observed softly. “Something on your mind?”
Adrian exhaled slowly, turning to meet her gaze. “I’ve been thinking… about everything. About us. About the way we started… and the walls we’ve had to break down to get here.”
Her fingers brushed his hand, grounding him. “We’ve both carried scars,” she said gently. “From rivals, past relationships, and even our own pride. But we’re still here, aren’t we?”
He nodded, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. “Yes
