ISABELLA’S POV
My heart stutters like a skipped beat as I stare at the screen, the words "Answer the phone, Bella" seared into my brain like a branding iron.
The phone’s ringtone is like a taunt, a challenge I’m not sure I’m ready to accept. I feel a shiver run down my spine as I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the screen like it’s poised to make a decision of its own.
The ssage itself is cryptic, but the tone is unmistakable – a low, smooth purr that seems to vibrate through my very bones. I can almost hear his voice, the way he says my na, the gentle coaxing that makes my pulse stumble.
The ringtone grows louder, more insistent, and I know I need to make a decision. Part of wants to let it go to voicemail, to pretend I’m not ho, or better yet, that I’m not interested. But another part, a reckless, traitorous part, wants to answer, to hear that smooth voice again, and to know what he wants.
The question is, what do I want? Obviously to call Aria. I glance at the clock – 1:47 AM. What could he possibly want at this hour? The phone rings again, the sound echoing through my room like a siren’s call. I feel my resolve weakening, my fingers inching toward the screen, trembling so much I almost knock the device onto the floor.
And then — in a mont of sheer recklessness — I answer.
"Hello?" My voice cos out as a squeak.
"Isabella."
His voice is not a purr now. It’s steady, but I hear it—the tension underneath. A current of controlled concern. The kind of voice that doesn’t panic, just locks in and assesses the threat.
"Are you okay?" he asks imdiately. "You called and then hung up. Are you safe? Where are you?"
The questions hit in a rapid-fire barrage, and my brain short-circuits.
"Yes— I an— yes," I rush out, my cheeks flaming with heat. "I’m fine. I’m ho."
"Where is ho?"
"My... my house." I swallow. "I’m safe."
There’s a pause on his end. Then a quiet, shaky exhale — like he’s been holding his breath
"Good," he says softly. The relief in his voice is unmistakable. "It’s late. I was worried."
"I—it was a mistake," I blurt out, my voice coming out an octave lower than usual. I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing my complete and utter Lack of Cool. "I was trying to call Aria. Your numbers... they start the sa. I wasn’t looking. I’m so sorry I woke you up."
"You didn’t wake ," he says. I can almost hear the shrug in his voice. "And Aria’s number ends in a four. Mine ends in a seven. You’d have to be pretty distracted to make that mistake."
I groan, burying my face in my pillow and screaming into the fabric.
He’s right.
He’s absolutely right.
I am a disaster. A complete, utter, phone-dialing disaster.
Then, the realization hits again. I sit up, my hair a ssy nest around my face.
"How do you know Aria’s number?" I whisper into the phone. And then, the more pressing, suffocating question follows: "And how... how do you know it’s ? How do you have my na saved? I never gave you my number, Adrien."
"I didn’t have it saved."
"Then how did you know it was ?" I insist, my heart hamring against my ribs.
"I recognized your silence."
I freeze.
The air in the room feels suddenly heavy, charged with the sa electric tension that had been humming between us earlier.
Recognized my silence.
What does that even an?
Is that a line?
Is he a poet — or a psychopath?
"Plus," he continues, a hint of dry humor creeping back into his tone, "you’re the only person I know who breathes that specifically when they’re nervous. It’s like a little huff. Very indignant."
I pull the duvet up to my chin, feeling exposed, as if he’s standing right there in the corner of my dark room instead of miles away.
"I am not indignant."
"You are right now."
"Why were you awake, Adrien?"
"Why are you also awake, princess?"
"I was just... trying to check on Aria if she got ho safe."
"And before that?" He asked
"I couldn’t sleep."
"Do you think you’ll be able to sleep now?"
"I don’t think so. Honestly."
"Would you like to go out with right now?"
"Wait — what? Isn’t it... late? How—"
"Princess," He chuckles. "Calm down. Leave all the thinking to . Just say yes."
My heart trips over itself.
"I’ll co pick you up," he adds, smooth and certain. "I’ll be with you like lightning."
*****
ADRIEN’S POV
Her voice finally cos through the line.
Small. Breathless. Alive.
"Yes— I an— yes. I’m fine. I’m ho."
The words land like a hand on my chest, firm enough to slow my breathing.
Ho.
Safe.
Still, I don’t exhale yet.
I keep my tone steady, even as my grip tightens on the steering wheel. "Where is ho?"
"My... my house," she says. "I’m safe."
Safe.
For the first ti since the call connected, I breathe.
It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic.
Just a controlled exhale through my nose, tension bleeding off my chest in a way that makes my ribs ache.
"Good," I say quietly. "It’s late. I was worried."
I don’t tell her how close I am.
I don’t tell her I’m already counting intersections.
I don’t tell her the engine hasn’t dipped below speed since I left the garage.
The comm vibrates against my ear.
"Sir," Gray’s voice cuts in—low, precise, exactly where it should be. "We’ve reestablished signal triangulation."
I keep my eyes on the road, phone still pressed to my ear as Isabella speaks.
"Confirm," I murmur, barely moving my lips.
"Location matches residential coordinates. No movent anomalies. No secondary signals detected."
Another breath loosens in my chest.
"And the shadows?" I ask.
"All assets report normal conditions. Visual confirmation from two points. No external presence. No deviation from baseline."
Safe.
The word doesn’t settle as deeply as it should, but it’s enough to stop the edge of panic from slicing any further.
"Maintain positions," I tell him. "Do not engage unless I authorize."
"Yes, sir."
The line clicks dead.
I refocus fully on her voice.
I hear the rush of embarrassnt in her voice as she explains — Aria, the numbers, the mistake. I let her talk. Let her regain equilibrium. That matters more than correcting her.
She’s fine.
She’s ho.
She’s not in danger.
That’s when the adrenaline drains — and leaves behind sothing quieter. Heavier. Intent.
I slow the car, pulling to the side of the road beneath a sleeping streetlamp.
"You didn’t wake ," I tell her truthfully. "And Aria’s number ends in four. Mine ends in seven."
Then she asks how I knew it was her.
"I recognized your silence."
It’s the truth. Silence has texture. Hers does.
"Why were you awake?" she asks.
I smile faintly. "Why are you awake, princess?"
She says she couldn’t sleep.
That answers everything.
I glance at the dashboard clock.
I picture her alone in her room, mind racing, adrenaline still buzzing in her veins. If I hang up now, she’ll lie there replaying this mont until dawn.
I don’t do half-asures.
"Do you think you’ll be able to sleep now?" I ask.
Her answer is honest. "I don’t think so."
Neither do I.
The decision settles fully, cleanly, like a lock clicking into place.
"Would you like to go out with right now?"
She stumbles over the question, flustered again, trying to logic her way through it. I almost smile.
"Princess," I chuckle. "Calm down. Leave the thinking to . Just say yes."
I pull the car back into motion, already turning toward her street.
"I’ll co pick you up," I add, voice smooth, certain, and grounded. "I’ll be with you like lightning."
Because I already am.
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