ISABELLA
The moment the last stylist left the room, the air changed.
The door clicked shut behind them, and silence settled like a warm, heavy blanket. The kind that made every breath feel louder. The kind that made every heartbeat echo.
Adrian didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, picked up a plate of grapes from the table, and brought it to where I sat on the couch. He didn’t sit beside me. He didn’t sit across from me.
He stood.
Too close.
The room felt suddenly smaller. The air thicker. The tension between us — the one that had been simmering all afternoon, sharpened into something undeniable.
He held the plate out to me.
I swallowed. “Thank you.”
He didn’t answer.
He just watched me.
His eyes were darker than usual, the kind of d
