I woke up slowly, the kind of slow where the body feels heavy, a little uncomfortable and achy. The room was still dim, curtains filtering the morning light into soft gray streaks. Adrien’s arm was draped over , heavy and possessive, his palm resting against my waist like it belonged there.
For a minute, I let myself just... breathe. His steady heartbeat was a quiet percussion against my back, his breath grazing the crown of my head.
The ache in my lower belly had sharpened into sothing that made curl under the blanket, heat flooding my skin. I shifted and tried to get into a comfortable position.
Then, I notice a slightly damp feeling──a subtle stickiness.
I started feeling uneasy.
Without fully waking up, I absentmindedly reach down, and bam - the realization hits. A sudden, sharp jolt of panic.
Blood.
My heart seized. A small, stark stain on the sheet beneath . My sheet. His bed. My stomach dropped like an elevator cut loose.
Oh no. No no no.
My heart slamd into panic-mode instantly. I froze, the panic slamming through like an alarm. My brain scrambled through every possible solution. Get up. Hide it. Wash it. Burn the bed. Escape routes. Anything.—but all I managed was a strangled noise in my throat.
And then I realized Adrien’s arm was still wrapped tight around my waist, heavy and warm. His chest rose steadily against my back. Still asleep.
I pushed weakly at his arm, trying to wriggle free. His hand only tightened, like his body knew I was slipping away even before his mind caught up.
He stirred, his grip tightening instinctively. His voice was still gravelly with sleep. "What’s wrong?"
Oh God. He was awake.
My mind raced, a frantic hamster on a wheel. "Just a bad dream," I managed, the words catching in my dry throat. It wasn’t a total lie. This situation was rapidly escalating into a waking nightmare.
Adrien humd softly, a sleepy, unconvinced sound. He nuzzled his face into my hair, his morning stubble scratching gently against my scalp. "You’re shaking." He pulled closer, molding his body against mine, a gesture that was supposed to be comforting but now felt like being trapped in a warm, loving cage. Every inch he pulled shifted the fabric beneath us, and I was certain I was making things worse, spreading the evidence.
I couldn’t breathe.
The stain felt like it was growing by the second, blooming beneath like a scarlet confession. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to disappear, to rewind ti, to wake up in my own bed where this wouldn’t matter.
Adrien shifted again, his hand sliding up from my waist to my ribs, fingers splayed like he was trying to calm a storm he didn’t understand yet.
"I need to get up," I whispered, voice cracking. "Please."
He blinked awake a bit more now, his brow furrowing as he propped himself up on one elbow. "Isabella..."
"Don’t look," I blurted, panic rising like a tide. "Please, just—close your eyes."
I was already scrambling, trying to peel myself away from the sheets without making it worse, without letting him see. My hands trembled as I reached for the edge of the blanket, trying to shield the stain, my body, everything.
"Isabella..."
"I’m serious!" My voice cracked. I pressed my palms to my face, heat crawling up my neck. "Just—just close your eyes, don’t look, I’ll fix it, I promise."
Now he was awake—really awake. "What happened? Did you hurt yourself?"
His voice was laced with genuine, sleepy concern, and it made the hot knot of humiliation in my chest tighten. He was looking at , not past , not at the bed. His focus was entirely on my face, my obvious distress.
I shook my head, my hands still pressed to my burning cheeks. Words failed . How did you even say it? Sorry, my uterus has betrayed us both and now your pristine white sheets are a cri scene?
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I hated this. The ss. The vulnerability. The fact that I was here, in his bed, bleeding like a broken thing.
I shook my head violently, covering my face with both hands. "It’s worse."
His tone softened imdiately. "Nothing is worse if it makes you cry." Then his gaze flicked once to the stain, then back to . Calm. Steady. Unfazed.
For a long second, there was silence.
Then—his lips curved. Not teasing, not mocking—just that maddeningly calm smile, like he had already decided it wasn’t a big deal. "Is that all?"
Is that all? The words echoed in my panic-stricken mind. Was he not seeing the sa biological disaster I was?
"I’m sorry," I whispered, voice barely audible. "I didn’t know. I didn’t an to—"
"Shh." His hand smoothed down my arm, quieting like I was trembling child. His voice was impossibly gentle. "It’s fine."
"No, it’s not fine! Your sheets—"
"They’re just sheets," he interrupted, like that solved the apocalypse. "Princess... do you really think I care about fabric more than you?"
I stared at him, tears blurring everything, half-panicked, half-ready to throttle him for being so composed while I was combusting.
Adrien exhaled slowly, his other hand lifting to cup my cheek, turning toward him. His eyes were clearer now, sharpened. "Listen to , princess. Nothing you do—nothing your body does—could ever make see you as less than what you are."
The words sank into like a weight, heavier than the panic.
"But—" I tried, weakly.
He shook his head. "No. There’s no ’but.’ It’s human. It’s natural. And if anything, it ans your body is healing. Functioning. Alive." He stroked his thumb along my jaw, softer now. "That’s what matters to ."
My eyes stung. "You don’t—you don’t think it’s disgusting?"
The corner of his mouth curved, faint but certain. "The only disgusting thing here is how little you value yourself." His gaze softened, though, as he added, "No, Isabella. I don’t think it’s disgusting. I think it’s you. And I want all of you."
I swallowed hard, my embarrassnt tangling with sothing else I couldn’t quite na. My chest ached at the quiet conviction in his words, the complete lack of judgnt. He wasn’t just tolerating it. He was... steadying .
Then he shifted off the bed, moving with the sa precision he used in boardrooms. He stripped the stained sheet in one fluid motion, tossing it aside like it was nothing more than a scrap of paper.
"Adrien!" I squeaked. "I can do that—"
"No." He glanced back at , a faint glint in his eye. "You’ll stay put."
"But—"
He cut off again, this ti with the faintest curve of his lips, dry but not unkind. "Do you think I’ve never seen blood before?"
That shut up.
He disappeared into the closet, reappearing with fresh sheets, efficient and unruffled. I sat there on the edge of the mattress, useless, cheeks flaming, as he changed the bed with the sa matter-of-fact calm as if it were a board eting agenda.
When he was done, he returned to , crouching down so we were eye level. His hand ca up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing softly over my flushed skin.
"Embarrassed?" he asked quietly.
I bit my lip, my throat tight, but I nodded.
"Don’t be." His gaze locked with mine, steady as stone. "This doesn’t change anything. You’re still mine. All of you. Always."
The way he said it—low, deliberate—sent a shiver through that had nothing to do with sha anymore.
I exhaled shakily. "You’re... ridiculous."
"And you’re beautiful," he said simply, pressing a kiss to my forehead, fierce and almost desperate, before scooping up in his arms.
"Adrien—"
"Bathroom," he said, decisive. With one hand he held close, the other already fishing his phone from his pocket. His voice deepened as he spoke into the receiver. "Yes. I need herbs—chamomile, lavender, ginger. Bring them fast."
By the ti he set gently on the bathroom counter, his jaw was locked, his phone already abandoned. "Stay here. I’ll be back," he promised. And then he was gone, leaving blinking at the space he’d just occupied.
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