The glow of the screen paints my fingers blue as I scroll for a while without really reading anything —pointless s, old photos, a half-hearted check of ssages I already know are empty. Nothing sticks. My thumb hovers over the cara app, then veers away.
Oh no.
Aria
Three hours.
It’s been three hours since Aria dropped off and sped away like she was running from the cops. She’d said she wanted to stop sowhere first. I should probably check if she got ho safe.
I open the call app.
My thumb hovers, then moves—automatic, impatient. I don’t open my contacts. I don’t even think about it. My fingers just move—faster than my thoughts, like they already know where they’re going.
Her number flows out of like breath.
My thumb hits call before my brain can catch up to what I’m doing. The screen shifts to a pale green, a single ringtone piercing the silence, and I pressed the phone to my ear.
It didn’t even ring twice before the call connects.
That’s... fast. Was she expecting my call?
"Hello?"
A male’s voice.
Low. Clear. Awake.
Instantly, my breath catches—sharp in my throat like I’ve been doused in ice water. My knees jerk closer to my chest on reflex.
It sounds like that Adrien’s voice.
I stare at the screen.
This... isn’t Aria’s number.
My stomach drops.
I squint, heart suddenly loud in my ears, and look at the digits. The beginning. The end.
It’s—
Oh.
It’s the sa pattern.
The sa one that had been written on my palm earlier. The one I’d rubbed at in the shower.
The digits stared back at , mocking. My hand flew from the screen, then back again, as if to confirm what my eyes were telling . It wasn’t a variation of Aria’s number. It was another’s.
A wave of heat rushed up my neck, flooding my ears. My heart thrumd a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Oh, no. Oh, no
Did I just—
Did I subconsciously morize this man’s number or?
My brain barely finishes the thought before—
"Hello? You still there?" Adrien’s voice ca again, closer this ti, a soft murmur of inquiry that managed to cut through my panic.
I yelp and fling my phone onto the bed like it’s burned .
What—
What did I just do?
The phone is still on. Still connected. I can hear his breathing through the speaker. Steady. Controlled.
Wait.
Why is he awake?
It’s past one.
Did I wake him up?
He doesn’t even have my number—why would he answer unless he thought it was important?
Oh my God. He probably thinks sothing’s wrong or.
"Oh my God—" I whisper, slapping a hand over my face.
"Bella?"
My na lands softly. Carefully.
I bolt upright.
He knows it’s .
How does he know it’s ?
How is that possible?
My na on his lips—Bella—sends a shock through , sharp as a live wire. It wasn’t a guess. Not so casual, hopeful "Is that you?" It was certainty. Recognition. Like he’d been waiting.
Like he knew I’d call.
I stare at the phone where it lies face-up on the duvet, the call duration tir ticking upward with rciless precision.
Sixteen seconds. Seventeen.
"Isabella?" Adrien says again, softer this ti, almost coaxing.
Panic slams into full force.
I scramble for the phone, fingers clumsy, heart racing like I’ve been caught committing a cri. The screen lights up just as I grab it.
I don’t even think.
I hit end call.
The abrupt silence is deafening. My hand stays frozen around the phone like it’s still dangerous, the faint warmth of the device seeping into my palm. My pulse hasn’t slowed; it’s a wild thing, thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
I stare at the blank screen.
Thirty-two seconds. That’s how long the call lasted.
I drop back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, my heart still pounding like it’s trying to escape my ribs.
I press my tingling palm against my chest.
Fantastic.
Absolutely fantastic.
I’ve officially reached the stage where my subconscious is calling n without my consent.
But...
Why did I hang up?
Why did he know it was ?
Why do I even know his number?
I was literally just about to call Aria.
How did I──
I press my palms to my face.
Okay. Okay. Breathe.
Maybe he’ll think it was a mistake. A pocket call. A wrong number.
But he called my na!!
He─
The phone lights up again.
Incoming call.
The number flashes across the screen with blinding clarity.
No, no, no—
My stomach drops into my knees. I stare at the screen, fingers frozen, heart in my throat.
He’s calling back.
No.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
I stare at the screen like it’s about to accuse of sothing.
I feel my brain short circuiting—the sa way it did on that damned roller coaster. This can’t be happening, it can’t be. Why is he calling back? Is he just checking to see if it was a mistake?
My thumb hovers. The phone keeps ringing, his number glowing in that cursed green screen.
Part of thinks I should let it go to voicemail. That would be the smart, logical thing to do. Hell, I should probably just block his number and be done with it.
But I can’t deny the way my heart leaps at the prospect of his voice again. His smooth, low tones and the way he said my na—
No.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the phone to my chest. This is ridiculous. I’m not a teenage girl with a little crush. This is just one of those stupid, stupid feelings that will pass. I’m stronger than this.
The phone goes quiet. I breathe a sigh of relief—but the mont of reprieve lasts only as long as it takes for the screen to light up again.
Of course he’s calling back.
My phone vibrates insistently against , like it refuses to be ignored. I threw it back on the mattress like it’s a live grenade.
One ring.
I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that will make it stop. It doesn’t.
Two rings.
My heart starts doing that stupid thing again, thudding too loud, too fast. I turn onto my side, bury half my face into the pillow like that might muffle reality.
Three rings.
And then—silence.
The call cuts off. No voicemail notification pops up. No follow-up text. The screen dims, then darkens entirely, leaving in the dim glow of my bedside lamp.
My lungs finally unlock, and I suck in a desperate breath, slumping against the headboard. Okay. Okay.
That’s it. He gave up.
Good.
Right?
My fingers itch toward the phone, like so part of —so traitorous, reckless part—wants him to call again. But the screen stays dark.
A shaky exhale leaves my lips.
And then—
Ping.
I flinch so hard my knee smacks the nightstand. My phone vibrates once, lighting up with a notification.
[New ssage – Unknown Number]
No. No, no, no.
I squeeze my eyes shut, count to three, then force myself to look again.
The ssage is short. Just four words.
Adrien:Answer the phone, Bella.
And then—
It rings.
Again.
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