ISABELLA
Adrian led me upstairs without a word.
His hand was warm around mine, steady, grounding, but the silence between us felt like a weight pressing against my ribs. Every step made my pulse thrum harder. By the time we reached our bedroom, my palms were damp.
He closed the door behind us.
I stood in the middle of the room, fingers twisting together, trying to gather the courage to speak. Adrian leaned against the dresser, arms crossed loosely—not defensive, not angry, just… waiting.
That somehow made it worse.
I took a breath. “I need to tell you something.”
His eyes stayed on me, unreadable. “I’m listening.”
So I told him.
Everything.
I told him about walking into the clinic and expecting Dr. Hastings.
About Daniel walking in instead.
About the hug I didn’t see coming.
