Chapter 19
1107 Words
ISABELLA
The smell of pancakes drifted through the room. Warm, buttery, sweet — the kind of smell that made you forget, for a moment, that your life was a chaotic mess and you’d woken up in someone else’s shirt with absolutely no memory of how you got there.
I blinked slowly, adjusting to the soft morning light. Adrian was already sitting at the small table by the window, sleeves rolled up, hair still slightly messy from sleep. He looked… annoyingly good. Like he’d stepped out of a magazine titled Men Who Ruin Your Emotional Stability.
“Breakfast is here,” he said without looking up, as if he could sense I was awake.
I pushed myself up, clutching the blanket around me. “I can see that.”
He finally glanced over, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “Relax. I’m not looking.”
“You literally just looked.”
“At your face,” he said, deadpan. “Calm down.”
I rolled my eyes and slid out of bed, grabbing the oversized shirt he’d given me last night. It fell mid‑thigh, which only made me more aware of the fact that my clothes were still on top of that stupidly tall dresser.
I sat across from him, and he pushed a plate toward me. “Eat.”
“You’re bossy in the morning.”
“I’m bossy all the time.”
He wasn’t wrong.
I had just taken my first bite when my phone buzzed. A message from Lena.
Lena:
Babe I’m so sorry. Mom’s not feeling well. I need to head home. I’ll make it up to you, promise. Love you.
My heart sank a little. I’d been looking forward to spending the day with her — wandering around, catching up, pretending life wasn’t complicated.
I typed back quickly, telling her to take care of her mom, but the disappointment lingered like a small weight in my chest.
Adrian noticed. Of course, he did.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low.
“Yeah,” I said too quickly. “Just… Lena had to leave.”
He nodded slowly, studying me with that unreadable expression he always wore when he was trying to figure out what I wasn’t saying.
“You wanted to spend the day with her.”
“It’s fine,” I said, stabbing a piece of pancake. “I’ll just… go back to the penthouse.”
He cleared his throat. “Or,” he said casually, “you could spend the day with me.”
I froze mid‑chew.
He said it so simply, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like spending the day with him wouldn’t be emotionally hazardous to my health.
“I— I don’t know,” I said, suddenly fascinated by my plate. “I didn’t really plan anything.”
“You don’t need a plan.”
“I have an overnight bag,” I reminded him. “Not a whole‑day‑with‑a‑mafia‑don bag.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m taking you to a board meeting?”
“I don’t know what you’re taking me to.”
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “You’re hesitating.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re hesitating,” he repeated, a slow smirk forming. “You’re scared.”
I snapped my head up. “I am not scared of you.”
“Then come with me.”
“That’s not—”
“Unless,” he said, tilting his head, “you really are scared.”
I glared at him. “You’re insufferable.”
He said, sipping his coffee, “You still haven’t said no.”
God, he was impossible.
And the worst part? He knew exactly how to push me. Exactly how to get under my skin. Exactly how to make me do things I wasn’t sure I should do.
“Fine,” I said, dropping my fork. “I’ll go.”
He didn’t smile, but his eyes did — warm, satisfied, like he’d known I’d say yes all along.
“Good,” he said simply.
I crossed my arms. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Adrian.”
He stood, collecting our plates. “Finish getting ready. We leave in an hour.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
I groaned, leaning back in my chair. “You’re the worst.”
He paused at the sink, glancing over his shoulder.
“You’re still coming with me.”
***
The drive started out normal enough — quiet roads, sunlight spilling through the windows, Adrian’s hand resting casually on the steering wheel like he wasn’t secretly the most infuriating man alive.
But then we passed the city limits.
And then the highway.
And then… the airport.
I sat up straighter. “Why are we at the airport?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Which was already a bad sign.
“Adrian,” I repeated, louder this time. “Why are we at the airport?”
He glanced at me, amused. “Relax.”
“Relax? We’re at an airport!”
“You have excellent observational skills.”
“Adrian!”
He parked the car and turned off the engine, completely unfazed by my rising panic.
“We’re just going to have a late lunch,” he said calmly. “And go for a walk.”
“At the airport?” I frowned.
“Not at the airport.”
“Then where?”
He smirked. “You’ll see.”
I stared at him, suspicion clawing up my spine. “I didn’t pack anything. I have an overnight bag. One. Bag.”
“You won’t need more.”
“That’s not comforting!”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Isabella… if I wanted to kidnap you, I would’ve done it years ago.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
My heart did a weird, traitorous flip.
He stepped out of the car before I could argue, leaving me to gather my thoughts — which were currently a chaotic mess of he’s insane, I should go home, and he wouldn’t hurt me.
Because he wouldn’t.
No matter how angry he’d been.
No matter how complicated we were.
No matter how much I confused him — or myself.
My heart knew that.
My head… was still filing complaints.
But I followed him anyway.
- Writer
