Chapter 23
1412 Words
ADRIAN
The city lights blurred past the windshield as we drove, each one a reminder that I was running out of time. Out of patience. Out of excuses. My men had tracked Bianca’s fake name to a boutique hotel perched on a cliff, the kind of place that catered to tourists who wanted to feel wealthy for a night.
Bianca wasn’t wealthy.
She was reckless.
And she was mine to protect.
Beside me, Isabella sat rigid, arms crossed, gaze fixed out the window. She hadn’t spoken since we left the villa. The silence between us was a living thing — sharp, cold, punishing.
I deserved it.
But I didn’t have the luxury of fixing it. Not right now.
We pulled into the underground parking. My men were already waiting, tense and alert.
“Top floor,” Matteo said. “Rooftop bar. They’re sitting near the edge.”
“They?” Isabella repeated, voice tight.
I didn’t answer.
Her head snapped toward me. “Adrian.”
“Not now.”
She let out a humorless laugh. “Of course. Why would you talk to me now?”
I stepped out of the car. She followed, slamming her door harder than necessary.
“Who is they?” she demanded.
I didn’t slow down. “Stay behind me.”
“I’m not a child.”
“No,” I said, “you’re someone I need alive.”
She scoffed. “Funny. You didn’t seem to care earlier.”
I stopped walking.
Slowly, I turned to face her.
Her eyes were blazing. Hurt. Furious. Beautiful.
“Isabella,” I said quietly, “do not leave my sight.”
She lifted her chin. “Try and stop me.”
I didn’t have time for this. I didn’t have time for her anger, her defiance, her ability to cut me open with a single sentence.
But I also didn’t have time to lose her.
The elevator doors opened. I stepped inside. She followed, arms crossed, chin high.
The ride up was suffocating.
When the doors slid open, music drifted toward us — soft, romantic, the kind of melody that made people lean closer without realizing it. Warm lights hung overhead, casting a golden glow across the rooftop. Couples laughed, glasses clinked, the ocean stretched endlessly beyond the railing.
And there — near the edge — was Bianca.
My heart stopped.
She was sitting with Mario, their chairs pulled close, hands intertwined. She was smiling — wide, bright, carefree — like she hadn’t run away. Like she hadn’t terrified our mother. Like she wasn’t putting herself in danger just by existing.
My men stepped forward, but Bianca saw them and stiffened instantly.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, no, no — I’m not going with you.”
Mario paled. “B-Bianca—”
“Shut up,” she hissed.
My men hesitated. They couldn’t grab her. Not here. Not in public.
Which meant I had to do it myself.
I stepped out of the shadows.
Bianca’s eyes widened.
Mario nearly fell out of his chair.
And behind me, Isabella froze.
I could feel her confusion like a physical thing — sharp, heavy, twisting in the air between us. She thought she was watching me walk toward a lover. I could practically feel the jealousy radiating off her.
But then Bianca stood.
And the world shifted.
Because up close, there was no mistaking it.
She was me.
In female form.
Same eyes, mouth. stubborn chin and fire.
Isabella’s breath caught.
Bianca gasped.
“You’re the girl from the photo!”
The rooftop went silent.
Mario choked on his drink.
Isabella blinked. “What?”
Bianca practically launched herself toward her. “The photo! The one in Adrian’s office! The one he—”
“Bianca,” I snapped.
She ignored me completely.
She grabbed Isabella’s hands. “You’re even prettier in person. I mean, I knew you were pretty, but wow. No wonder—”
“Bianca,” I warned again.
She waved me off like I was a decorative plant.
Then she turned to Isabella with a bright, earnest smile. “Come sit with us! Please? We were just having drinks. You should join.”
Isabella hesitated.
Bianca tugged her hand. “Please?”
And Isabella — hurt, curious, stubborn — didn’t resist.
Of course she didn’t.
She wanted answers... and clarity.
She wanted to understand the girl who looked like a younger version of me.
Mario stood awkwardly. “Hi. I’m Mario.”
He looked harmless. Weak. Soft.
Isabella smiled politely. “Nice to meet you.”
Bianca beamed. “See? Everyone likes each other. Sit, sit!”
Isabella lowered herself into the empty chair beside Bianca.
And I stood there, jaw clenched, watching the three of them — my runaway sister, her pathetic boyfriend, and the woman I’d spent years trying not to want — sitting together like this was some kind of family reunion.
Bianca patted the chair beside Isabella. “Adrian, sit.”
“No.”
She rolled her eyes. “Then stand there and brood. Whatever.”
Isabella looked up at me.
Raised a brow.
And in a low, quiet voice — a voice only I could hear — she said:
“Sit. Be nice. Or I’ll disappear.”
My pulse spiked.
She meant it.
She would walk away and vanish into the crowd.
And yes, I could find her — I always could — but the idea of losing her even for a moment this time made something cold and violent twist inside me.
So I sat.
Bianca clapped like she’d won a prize. “Good! Now we can all talk.”
I shot Isabella a look.
She sipped her drink, eyes innocent.
Liar.
Bianca leaned forward. “So, Isabella, how long have you known my brother?”
Isabella glanced at me, then back at Bianca. “A while.”
Bianca gasped. “Oh my God, is this a secret romance?”
Mario choked again.
Isabella flushed. “No. It’s not—”
Bianca waved her off. “It’s okay, you can tell me. I won’t judge.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Bianca—”
“Shh,” she said, patting my arm. “Adults are talking.”
Isabella bit back a smile.
I glared at her.
She raised her glass in a silent toast.
My headache pulsed.
Bianca leaned closer to Isabella. “You should’ve seen him when he saw your photo. He—”
“Bianca,” I snapped.
She blinked innocently. “What? It’s true.”
Isabella’s eyes flicked to me.
Curious.
Soft.
Dangerous.
I needed to shut this down.
I leaned back, draped my arm around Isabella’s shoulders, and pulled her closer.
She stiffened — surprised — then relaxed slowly, her body warm against mine.
Bianca’s eyes widened. “Oh. Ohhh.”
Mario looked like he wanted to crawl under the table.
I signaled my men with a subtle tilt of my head.
They immediately spread out, patrolling the perimeter, scanning the crowd, watching every exit.
Bianca noticed. “Are we in danger?”
“Yes,” I said.
“No,” Isabella said at the same time.
Bianca blinked. “Okay, now you’re both confusing me.”
Mario whispered, “We should go.”
Bianca glared at him. “We’re not going anywhere. I like it here.”
I exhaled slowly. “Bianca, we need to leave.”
“No,” she said, crossing her arms. “Not until Isabella finishes her drink.”
Isabella took a slow sip.
On purpose.
I felt her smirk against my shoulder.
My headache throbbed.
Bianca leaned in again. “So, Isabella, do you like my brother?”
Isabella choked on her drink.
I closed my eyes.
This was hell.
Bianca continued, oblivious. “Because he definitely likes you.”
“Bianca,” I growled.
She grinned. “What? It’s obvious.”
Isabella stared at the table, cheeks flushed.
I tightened my arm around her.
Bianca squealed. “Oh my God, you’re blushing!”
Mario whispered, “Bianca, please—”
“Shut up, Mario.”
I rubbed my temples.
This was worse than hell.
This was torture.
Bianca leaned back, satisfied. “Okay. Now that we’re all friends, can we order food?”
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Isabella said.
Bianca clapped. “Majority wins!”
I stared at Isabella.
She smiled sweetly.
I was going to lose my mind.
- Writer
