Chapter 22
1557 Words
ADRIAN
I should have expected it.
Isabella never walked away quietly.
Not when she was angry or hurt or when I was the one who put that look in her eyes.
But hearing her say she was a nuisance?
That hit harder than I wanted to admit.
I followed her into the villa, the cool air inside doing nothing to calm the heat simmering under my skin. She marched ahead of me, towel wrapped tightly around her, shoulders stiff, chin high — the picture of defiance.
She was so furious she didn’t even look back.
And I was losing my patience. I don't have time and we need to go.
“Isabella,” I said, shutting the door behind us. “Stop.”
She didn’t. She kept walking, straight toward the bedroom, like she was done with me... with this.
Done with everything.
I caught her wrist before she disappeared inside.
She yanked her arm back. “Don’t touch me.”
My jaw tightened. “You’re not staying here.”
She spun around, eyes blazing. “Why not? You clearly don’t want me with you.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
I exhaled sharply, fighting the urge to slam my hand against the wall. “You’re twisting my words.”
“No,” she snapped, “I’m reacting to your actions.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and that… that was worse than her anger.
“Isabella,” I said, softer this time, “we need to go.”
She laughed — a bitter, humorless sound. “Why? Because you suddenly decided to care where I am?”
I stepped closer. “Because it’s not safe.”
“Oh, now it’s not safe?” she shot back. “But it was safe enough for you to drag me across the country without telling me anything?”
I clenched my teeth. “I didn’t drag you.”
“You didn’t give me a choice.”
“You agreed.”
“Because you dared me!”
I stared at her, speechless for a moment. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Right back at you.”
She crossed her arms, towel slipping slightly, revealing the strap of her bra. I forced my eyes upward. I couldn’t afford to get distracted. Not now. Not when everything inside me was already fraying.
“Isabella,” I said, “we’re leaving. Now.”
“No.”
The word hit me like a slap.
“No?” I repeated slowly.
She lifted her chin. “You heard me.”
I took a step toward her. She didn’t back away — she never did — but her breath hitched, just slightly.
“You’re being difficult on purpose,” I said.
“You’re hiding something on purpose.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to steady myself. “I can’t tell you right now... but I will. I promise.”
“Why not now?”
“Because—”
“Because what, Adrian?” she demanded. “Because you don’t trust me? Because you think I’ll run my mouth? Because you think I can’t handle it?”
“That’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Not without dragging her into something she wasn’t ready for or without risking her safety. Not without admitting that the thought of losing her again made something inside me twist painfully. The less she knows, the better. It's bad enough I dragged her into my messy life.
She stared at me, waiting.
When I stayed silent, she shook her head. “You know what? Forget it. Go. Do whatever you need to do. I’ll stay here.”
“No,” I said again, firmer this time. “You’re coming with me.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Give me one good reason.”
“Because I said so.”
She laughed again — sharp, disbelieving. “You don’t get to order me around.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
I didn’t answer.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Shutting me out,” she whispered. “Just like before.”
My chest tightened. “Isabella—”
“Back then, you used to tell me things,” she said, voice trembling. “You used to trust me. You used to—”
She stopped herself, biting her lip.
I stepped closer. “That was a long time ago.”
“Not to me.”
Her voice was so soft I almost missed it.
Not to me.
Something inside me cracked.
“Isabella,” I said quietly, “the past is not important.”
She flinched like I’d struck her.
I cursed under my breath. “That’s not what I meant—"
“It’s exactly what you meant.”
“No,” I said, reaching for her arm. “Listen—”
She pulled away. “You left me, Adrian.”
My breath caught.
“You left me standing there,” she said, voice breaking. “You didn’t call. You didn’t explain. You didn’t even apologize.”
I swallowed hard. “I couldn’t.”
“You didn’t try.”
“I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice!”
“Not for me.”
She stared at me, eyes shining with anger and something deeper. Something raw.
“You know what?” she whispered. “You’re right. The past isn’t important. Because clearly, it only mattered to me. But that's okay— this marriage is only for convenience anyway.” The sarcasm in her voice was lethal.
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked. “You moved on. You built your life. You became this—” she gestured at me, frustrated, “—this version of yourself. And I was just… what? A footnote?”
I stepped closer, voice low. “You were never a footnote.”
“Then why did you leave me? Then after all these years, you just swoop in like we're supposed to pick up where we left off?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because the truth — the real truth — was something I couldn’t give her. Not yet. Not when Bianca was missing. Not when danger was closing in. Not when my control was hanging by a thread.
She shook her head. “Exactly.”
“Isabella,” I said, “we need to go.”
She crossed her arms again. “What’s the big deal if you leave me here? It’s not like it’s the first time.”
That one hit me like a punch to the ribs.
I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” she whispered. “It’s true.”
“Because I’m not leaving you.”
“You already did. Many years ago, remember?”
“Isabella—”
“You already did,” she repeated, louder this time. “So go. Go to your emergency. Go to your crisis. Go to whatever is more important than me.”
“Nothing is more important than you.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
She froze.
I froze.
Silence stretched between us — heavy, electric, dangerous.
Her lips parted. “Then why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“Because I can’t right now.”
“Then you don’t trust me.”
“I do.”
“Then prove it.”
I clenched my jaw. “I can’t.”
She let out a shaky breath. “Then go.”
I stared at her — at the woman who drove me insane, who made me feel things I had no right to feel, who was standing there wrapped in a towel and heartbreak.
“I’m not leaving you,” I said again.
She shook her head. “You don’t get to say that.”
“I just did.”
“You don’t get to mean it.”
“I do.”
She looked away, blinking hard. “Adrian… I can’t do this again.”
My chest tightened. “Do what?”
“Care about someone who doesn’t care back.”
I stepped closer, voice low. “I never said I didn’t care.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I reached for her hand.
She didn’t pull away this time.
But she didn’t hold on either.
“Isabella,” I said quietly, “we’re leaving. Together.”
She looked up at me — hurt, angry, stubborn, beautiful.
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because I’m not losing you,” I said. “Not again.”
Her breath caught.
And for a moment — just a moment — the anger in her eyes softened.
But only for a moment.
She pulled her hand back. “Fine. I’ll go. But don’t expect me to pretend everything is okay.”
“I don’t.”
“Good.”
She brushed past me, heading toward the bedroom to change.
I watched her go, every muscle in my body tight, every thought in my head a storm.
Bianca was missing.
Danger was close.
And Isabella…
Isabella was slipping through my fingers again.
And this time?
I wasn’t sure I could stop it.
- Writer
