My dignity had already died a violent death, but apparently fate wanted it buried and cremated because the man did not put down.
Not when we stepped off the platform.
Not when the Caron kept snort-laughing behind us.
Not even when Aria muttered, "Bella, stop squirming. You look like an angry ferret trying to escape a bath."
"I—am—NOT—squirming," I hissed, squirming violently.
The stranger’s arms tightened, steady but not restrictive—just enough to keep from face-planting.
"Careful," he murmured again.
That voice.
That voice.
It slid down my spine like sothing I should’ve rembered.
No.
Not rembered.
Recognized.
But I didn’t.
And that confused, irritated, and terrified .
"Put down," I demanded, pointing weakly at the ground like it owed sothing. "I can walk."
"You just tried," the Caron drawled, strolling beside us like this was the most entertaining parade in the world. "Didn’t go well."
Aria elbowed him so hard the wind left his lungs.
The man carrying ignored both of them and kept walking with long, unbothered strides—like carrying a grown adult woman bridal-style through a packed amusent park was normal behavior.
My hands bunched in his shirt, half for balance, half because my brain hadn’t figured out anything else to do.
The scent of him wrapped around again—
Clean. Sharp. Warm.
And it made my chest squeeze.
"Seriously," I said, my voice thinner than my pride. "Put down. Please."
He finally looked at .
Really looked.
Warm eyes.
Dark.
Focused.
Steady.
Sothing flickered in them—sothing soft.
"I’ve got you," he said.
And the way he said it—
Like a fact.
Like a promise.
Like sothing he’d said a thousand tis before—
Stole the breath right out of .
Aria walked ahead, clearing a path because the park was packed and people kept getting in the way.
The realization dawned on .
Aria handed over.
She actually HANDED OVER.
Like I was a lost toddler she found at a grocery store and this man was Custor Service.
"Aria," I hissed. "ARIA. Are you seriously just letting this happen?!"
She turned, walking backwards.
Her expression was way too calm for my current emotional crisis.
"Bella," she said gently, "you almost fell. You’re dizzy. And he’s literally just taking you sowhere to sit."
"HE IS A STRANGER."
"He has arms," she corrected. "Very stable ones."
"THAT IS NOT A QUALIFICATION—"
"She’s right," Caron chid in. "Very stable. Like governnt-funding stable."
"CARON SHUT UP," both Aria and I yelled.
People were definitely staring now.
Not like, casual curiosity.
No.
Like we were a spectacle.
Phones ca out.
Voices chid.
"Oh my God, they’re such a cute couple—did she faint?"
"Wait—isn’t that—? No, no way—"
So girl actually squealed.
"Awwww that’s soooo cute!"
"Is this a double date? The other two look like a couple too."
A second voice gasped.
"Is he carrying her to go propose?!"
I nearly combusted.
"PUT DOWN," I whisper-yelled, jabbing a finger at his collar. "I CAN WALK. I have—legs— functioning— legs—"
"You almost face-planted into the floor," he said calmly.
"I WAS REGAINING BALANCE!"
"You have none."
"I—HEY!"
But it didn’t matter.
Because people whispered louder as we passed.
One girl squealed, "OMG I RECOGNIZE THEM I SWEAR—"
Recognize WHO??
"From where?" I demanded, insulted and confused. "My LinkedIn??"
"Wait—wait—do they look familiar? I swear I’ve seen them sowhere."
Familiar?
FAMILIAR HOW??
Are they mistaking us for a celebrity?
My head shot up so fast I almost gave myself a concussion.
"ARIA," I hissed. "ARIA, WHAT DOES THAT AN? WHY DO WE LOOK FAMILIAR? ARE WE—ARE WE BEING MISTAKEN FOR CELEBRITIES???"
Aria brushed imaginary dust off her shirt.
"I an... wouldn’t mind it."
"I WOULD! What if soone sends this to my father?! WHAT IF LEO SEES THIS??? OH MY GOD LEO WILL NEVER LET LIVE—"
Caron, walking behind us, was STILL LAUGHING.
And taking photos.
Like a paparazzi with a death wish.
"We’re gonna go viral," he said gleefully. "I’m thinking... #ProjectileLove."
"CARON I WILL STRANGLE YOU WITH YOUR OWN LANYARD!"
He cackled louder.
People kept looking.
Recording.
Smiling.
Two won glared daggers at .
One whispered loudly, "Lucky bitch."
OH.
OH GREAT.
I tried to slide out of his arms like a disgruntled ferret.
He tightened his grip without effort.
"Stop wiggling," he said, sohow still calm, like carrying a feral small woman who just vomited on him was part of his job description.
"STOP MAN-HANDLING !"
"I’m making sure you don’t fall."
"I AM NOT FALLING!"
"You’re shaking."
"That’s because you’re KIDNAPPING !"
"I’m not."
"THIS IS WHAT A KIDNAPPER WOULD SAY!"
A tiny, low sound rumbled from his chest.
A laugh.
A REAL laugh.
Deep. Soft. Controlled.
But real.
My entire brain rebooted.
"Did... did you just laugh?"
"No."
"You did."
"You’re imagining things."
I tried wiggling myself free again.
But the more I wiggled, the more I—
God help —
lted.
Because his hold was strong without being rough.
Steady without being restrictive.
Warm without being creepy.
His scent surrounded .
Clean.
Cool.
Sohow... comforting.
My body trusted it.
My body trusted HIM.
My BRAIN did NOT approve of this arrangent.
"Almost there," he murmured.
"We are not even heading toward a bench!" I accused.
"That’s what I said," Caron called behind us. "But Adrien hates crowds—"
"CARON," the man snapped, not loud, but sharp enough to slice through bone.
Caron shut up instantly.
Adrien.
His na was... Adrien.
Even before I could register it my brain, my heart stuttered in my ribs.
Adrien.
It fit.
Like a whisper I’d forgotten I knew.
Don’t be stupid, I told myself. It’s a na. Calm down.
But my pulse was racing while my mind scread, Why does his na feel like a bruise on your heart?
Suddenly he ducked into a corridor marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
I gasped. "Sir, you can’t—this is restricted—security will arrest you!"
"They won’t," he said simply.
HOW DOES HE KNOW???
He pushed through and lo and behold, security didn’t question him, didn’t look twice. Is he the owner of the park?
The corridor opened into a sleek private dical room—white walls, chro tools, expensive machines, soft lighting.
This was not Disneyland’s usual "nurse’s office."
This is a mini hospital hidden inside the park.
I never knew a section like this existed.
EVER.
He stopped.
Finally.
I braced myself for him to set down.
He didn’t.
He just adjusted his grip, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back like he’d carried a thousand tis and could do it blindfolded.
He sat down on the edge of a dical bed WITH STILL IN HIS ARMS.
"Okay, sir—Adrien—Mr. Adrien—whatever—" I sputtered, "this is unnecessary. I do not require... carrying." You are only getting away with this because you are handso and my heart keeps fluttering and because Aria isn’t panicking.
He did not.
"You need to sit."
"I am sitting—ON A STRANGER—WHICH IS NOT NORMAL—"
"You’re pale."
"I’M NORMALLY PALE!"
"You’re dizzy."
"I’M EMOTIONALLY DIZZY!"
He sighed, fingers grazing my back.
"Just breathe."
BREATHE?
BREA—
My heart did a stupid sorsault.
Aria barged in.
"Okay!" she said brightly. "Who wants juice? Bella needs juice. And probably therapy."
"Aria," I whispered, "stop matchmaking with my bodily fluids."
She smiled like a gremlin.
The Caron took another photo.
I lunged for him. Missed. Almost fell. The Adrien caught again.
I wanted to scream.
****
ADRIEN’S POV
She was warm in my arms.
Warm, trembling, furious, humiliated...
and so painfully familiar it burned.
My wife.
My wife.
And she had no idea.
When she wriggled, sothing inside tightened—sothing territorial and exhausted and relieved.
She fit.
Of course she did.
She always had.
She tried to escape again, pushing at my chest with all the strength of a tired kitten.
"Stop wiggling," I murmured.
She beca more chaotic.
Good.
Chaos ant she was alive.
Chaos ant she was still her.
God, she slled like rose and vanilla, and faint nausea, and sohow my body still reacted like she was the only air in the room.
Her legs kicked weakly.
Her voice shook.
It killed .
She didn’t trust .
Not yet.
She gripped my shirt again.
Fingers curled tight.
Trying to threaten .
Every step I took, her breath hit my throat.
Every shift of her weight made my pulse jump.
Every ti she said "stop kidnapping ," I almost smiled.
She had no idea how much I wished I could.
Her face was flushed, eyes glossy, lips parted in panicked protests that made my chest ache.
God, she was still so stubborn.
Still dramatic.
Still ridiculous.
Still perfect.
Still mine.
Even if she didn’t know it.
When we entered the private dical room, the air cooled.
She did not.
She burned in my arms.
I sat with her on my lap, because letting go was not an option.
Not now.
Not after watching her collapse behind .
Not after hearing her whimper on the ride.
Not after thinking I had lost her.
She kept fighting.
I kept holding.
Her apology almost broke .
So sincere.
So small.
So desperate to maintain dignity while wrapped around like warmth I’d been starved of.
She accused of kidnapping her again.
I murmured, "You’re safe."
She froze.
For a second—
one breath—
she believed .
Her body relaxed.
lted.
Leaned in.
Just like she always used to.
I nearly lost control.
I wanted to hold her tighter.
Press my face into her neck.
Tell her the truth.
Tell her everything.
Tell her it was .
Make her rember.
But I didn’t.
Self-control is a cage I built long ago.
And she is the only person who rattles the bars.
She looked up at with wide, stubborn eyes.
"I’m not being kidnapped?" she asked threateningly.
"No," I said softly. "You’re fine."
Her lips parted.
Her breath hitched.
My chest cracked open.
And then Aria burst in, yelling sothing about juice.
Caron took photos like an idiot.
I shot him a look that could end civilizations.
He grinned back like the devil’s favorite nephew.
Aria squeezed Isabella’s hand, murmuring reassurances, but her eyes flicked toward .
And winked, seeing our plan is going well even if it was a bit twisted than what we planned.
Isabella groaned into her hands.
My wife.
Safe.
Still mine, even if she didn’t know it.
And if this brought even a fragnt of her mory back—
even if the first thing she rembered was how badly she wanted to divorce —
I’d take it.
Anything.
As long as she ca back to herself.
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