TERESA’S P.O.V.
It was early the next morning, Sunday morning to be exact, the sun barely filtered through the curtains when I heard a soft knock on my door. Groggy and still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, I struggled to lift myself out of bed. My whole body felt achy, with a dull throb pulsing through my lower back, and nausea churned in my stomach, making even the thought of movent exhausting.
Curiosity got the best of , and I dragged myself to the door, peering through the peephole. My foggy mind cleared instantly at the sight. Adrian? Standing outside my door at this hour? My heart skipped a beat, the nausea montarily replaced by confusion and a hint of caution I couldn’t quite suppress. Why would he be here, especially so early? It was 7 am.
With a cautious tug, I cracked open the door. Adrian stood there, hands tucked casually into his pockets, his expression warm and reassuring. The early morning light frad him, making him look like he’d stepped right out of a classic romance novel—impeccably dressed, composed, and, sohow, both familiar and distant. He looked at with an amused smile, his gaze sweeping over gently.
"Teresa," he greeted, his voice a soft murmur, "I thought I might steal you away for that tour I promised."
A flush crept up my cheeks, and I instinctively pulled my robe tighter around , feeling more than a little self-conscious. Here I was, bedraggled and nauseous, and he looked... perfect. "Adrian, I... um... I just woke up," I stamred, my voice barely a whisper.
His eyes softened as he looked closer, and his brows creased with concern. "Are you feeling well?" he asked, his tone deepening, as if coaxing out the truth with his steady warmth. "You look a bit... uncomfortable."
Before I could stop myself, the words spilled out. "It’s just... my back hurts, and I feel so nauseous, I can barely think." I attempted a weak laugh. "Pregnancy is quite the adventure."
Adrian’s eyes narrowed slightly with concern, his easy smile fading as he registered my discomfort. "You’re not well, you clearly need to rest," he murmured, a firmness in his voice that left no room for argunt. With that said, I thought he was going to turn around and leave but without asking, he stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him, his presence imdiately filling the room with a calm I didn’t know I needed but it was weird.
"Adrian, what are you—"
"Shh." He held up a finger, his gaze steady and gentle. "Just let help you," he said, his tone so full of kindness that my resistance suddenly began to crumble. It was as though he had pulled into a bubble of quiet compassion, and all the awkwardness of his sudden closeness mysteriously began fading, replaced by sothing else—sothing comforting.
Before I knew it, he was guiding to the couch, helping settle down, his hands surprisingly gentle as he eased my feet onto a nearby stool.
"Alright," he murmured, kneeling in front of as he carefully slipped off my slippers. I watched, stunned, as he began to massage my feet, his fingers working away the tension with practiced gentleness. "Let’s see if this helps you feel better."
"Oh, Adrian, you don’t have to do that," I mumbled, my cheeks flushing again. My instinct was to protest, to insist that I could handle things myself. Yet, there was sothing undeniably comforting in his touch, in the way he moved so naturally as if he was born to care for others.
"Teresa," he said softly, his voice like a gentle lull, "allow this small gesture. Besides, I’m far too stubborn to leave you like this."
I sighed, feeling the awkwardness reduce as his fingers eased the ache from my feet. His hands, though a bit cold, moved with such care that it lted the tension I hadn’t even realized I was carrying. Each press and stroke seed to chase away so small burden, and I felt a quiet calm begin to settle within , even as my mind churned with questions.
The words slipped out before I could second-guess them. "Adrian... why are you being kind to ?"
He paused, glancing up, his gaze eting mine with a softness that took my breath away. "Because, Teresa, everyone deserves kindness, especially in tis like these," he answered, his words carrying a gravity that felt like a balm to my frayed nerves. Then, with a playful smirk, he added, "And you strike as soone who’s a bit too willing to suffer alone. Let be stubborn for both of us, just this once."
I bit back a chuckle, surprised by the lightness that bubbled up in his presence. His gentle humor, his steady warmth—it was almost surreal.
When he noticed a shiver run through , he moved with that sa attentive focus, quickly finding a blanket to wrap around my shoulders. The gesture was so careful, so genuine, that it touched sothing deep within , a place I rarely let anyone see. Then he retrieved a hot water bottle from the kitchen and held it against my back, his fingers lingering just long enough to ensure it brought warmth.
"Feeling any better?" he asked, his tone soft, as though he could feel the fragility of the mont. His srizing purple eyes held mine, a quiet understanding in them that I hadn’t expected.
To my surprise, I nodded, the lingering discomfort gradually ebbing away under his care. The walls I had instinctively built around myself, the ones that told I had to bear everything alone, felt less impenetrable with him here. It was strange. This morning, I couldn’t have imagined allowing anyone into my vulnerable space like this. And yet here Adrian was.
He flashed a grin, one of those knowing ones, like he’d caught my thoughts red-handed. Then, as if deciding I could use a little cheering up, he leaned back with a playful look. "Alright, Teresa," he declared grandly. "I think I’ve earned the right to ask you a few questions."
"Oh, really? And what might those be?" I raised an eyebrow, doing my best to keep a straight face.
"Nothing heavy," he said, still with that easygoing charm. "Just the big ones... like, what’s your favorite color?"
I burst into laughter, caught off guard by his tone. "Sage green," I replied, still chuckling. "Easy one."
"Sage green?" he repeated, looking at like he was cataloging every detail. "Fits you perfectly."
There was a pause, and it was clear he was waiting. I rolled my eyes and gave in. "Alright, what about you?"
"Crimson," he said with a mischievous twinkle. "Like the roses described in old, romantic poetry. Very dramatic, I know."
"Wait... are you telling you like poetry?" I asked, trying to keep a straight face but already picturing him with a book of sonnets in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.
He looked almost bashful. "What can I say? Old poetry has a way of speaking that’s... rare nowadays." He gave a little shrug. "You know, sothing like... ’Shall I compare thee to a sumr’s day?’"
I blushed, totally unprepared. "That’s... actually beautiful."
His grin widened, clearly pleased with himself. "Alright then, next question. Books! What’s your favorite?"
"Hmm..." I bit my lip, a little shy. "Romance novels, if I’m being honest. Especially ’Ember of the Heart.’ It’s... moving."
"Ah, a love story!" His eyes glinted knowingly. "Why am I not surprised?"
He gave a thoughtful pause before his tone shifted, to more serious. "So, have you... found out the sex of your baby?"
"Not yet," I admitted, feeling my cheeks heat up a bit. "I only know I’m having twins."
"Really? That’s huge, congratulations!" He said and I smiled sheepishly thanking him.
He was silent for a mont before he nodded, a serious look back on his face. "Teresa, have you registered yet at the local hospital? For regular checkups and such?"
The way he asked, with such genuine concern, made feel strangely sheepish.
Squirming under his gentle interrogation, I replied, "Er... not yet."
He shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval like an old grandma. "Well, that’s settled. Tomorrow, I’m taking you myself. No arguing."
"Oh, Adrian, really, you don’t have to—"
He held up a hand. "Teresa, it’s a done deal. I’ll be here at dawn."
I could see that debating was useless, so I gave in with a sigh. Just when I thought he’d pulled out all the stops, he suddenly stood and asked, "By the way, mind if I use your kitchen?"
I blinked, totally thrown. "Uh... sure?"
He nodded, pleased as punch, and disappeared into the kitchen like he owned the place. A few minutes later, the heavenly sll of eggs, toast, and oatal filled the air. Soon, he erged triumphantly with a tray loaded with a bowl of oatal topped with berries, fluffy scrambled eggs, and toast practically glowing with butter.
"You know, you’re really sothing else," I laughed as he set it down in front of .
He shrugged casually, but his smile was warm. "Hey, everyone deserves a little spoiling. Now, go on—dig in."
He watched with an amused expression as I took a bite. I couldn’t help but smile. "This is amazing. You’re like... a jack-of-all-trades or sothing."
His grin turned proud. "Glad you think so. Now finish it up, or I’ll have to call in reinforcents."
I nodded, mock-serious, and obeyed until every last bite was gone. True to form, he even cleared the dishes, washing and drying each one like it was no big deal. When he finally reached for his coat to leave, I felt this odd tug in my chest.
"Thank you," I said softly as he slipped on his coat. He paused, turning back with a soft, understanding smile.
"My pleasure, Teresa." He tipped his head in that old-fashioned way, his eyes warm. "I’ll see you tomorrow."
After he left, the house felt oddly empty. I couldn’t believe how he had shown up, and taken care of with such patience and kindness. I rembered what my new acquaintances had told about Adrian: respected, feared, loved, and it made sense now. He had shown what kindness looked like—real, gentle kindness.
A pang of regret hit as I thought of Lucian, wondering what life might have been like if he’d been as caring as Adrian. But I brushed the thought aside. It was too late for such thoughts now. There was absolutely no way I was falling for anyone ever again thanks to him.
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