The night in the DeLuca mansion felt heavier than usual, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. Isabella could feel it the moment she stepped out of her room. The air carried a strange mix of silence and tension, the kind that made her skin prickle. She shouldn't have been walking around alone, but after hours of pacing her room, she needed air, space, something that wasn't four walls and worry.
She found Adrian in his private office, still dressed in the dark shirt he'd worn to the council earlier. The sleeves were rolled up, showing the veins along his forearms. He stood by the window, staring out into the night as though trying to see something hidden in the dark. Papers were scattered on the table behind him, maps, old letters, photos that lined up to a truth neither of them had fully uncovered yet.
He didn't turn when she stepped in. "You should be in your room," he said quietly.
"That's not happening," she said. "Not tonight."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "Isabella"
"You can lock me away later," she cut in. "Right now, talk to me. Look at me."
He turned then, slowly, as if bracing himself. His eyes were tired but sharp, holding something restless underneath, like a storm waiting for the right push. "You shouldn't wander around," he said. "Not with what we've uncovered."
"And you shouldn't carry everything alone," she replied.
He stared at her for a long moment. Something flickered in his expression, frustration, maybe, mixed with fear he didn't want her to see.
Before he could speak, she moved closer. "Adrian, why didn't you tell me about Marco's message? Why act like I can't handle the truth? I'm already in this."
"Because I don't want you hurt."
"You can't protect me from everything."
"I can try."
His voice was low, almost rough. She hated that he meant it. Hated that he was willing to burn himself out trying to shield her from a world she was already drowning in.
"Keeping me in the dark won't help either of us," she said. "If we're doing this, finding the truth about my father, my mother, everything, then we do it together."
His eyes softened. "Together," he repeated, like the word itself carried weight.
The closeness between them changed something. The air warmed. Adrian looked away for a second, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to break the moment before it pulled him under.
But she didn't let him.
She stepped in front of him again. "What happened today? At the council?"
His eyes turned cold again. "Nothing good. Someone is feeding Marco information. And the alliance I made today… it's a risk I didn't want to take, but I don't have many choices left."
Her throat tightened. "So you made it to protect me."
Adrian didn't answer, but he didn't need to.
His silence said enough.
She took a slow breath, letting the heat of frustration wash through her. "You can't keep sacrificing everything for me."
"I'm not sacrificing anything."
"You're lying."
His jaw clenched again. She stepped closer, too close, and he didn't move back. His breath brushed her forehead. His eyes dropped to her lips for a second before snapping away.
"Don't," he muttered.
"Don't what?" she asked quietly.
"Don't stand this close when I'm trying to think straight."
"Maybe I don't want you thinking straight."
He let out a soft, strained laugh. "Isabella…"
"Adrian."
The pull between them tightened, slow and dangerous. Neither of them stepped back.
She didn't know who moved first. Maybe it was both of them. Maybe it was inevitable. His hand came up, fingers brushing her cheek like he was afraid she'd disappear if he pushed too hard. Her breath caught. His touch was warm, steady, almost gentle in a way she wasn't used to seeing from him.
Then everything snapped.
He kissed her.
Not soft, not tentative. The moment their lips met, the bottled tension broke open, spilling into something fierce and hungry. She gripped his shirt, pulling him closer. His hands framed her face, then moved to her waist, pulling her against him as if he had been holding himself back for too long.
She didn't know how long they stayed like that. Seconds, minutes, it all blurred. The world narrowed to heat and breath and the way he said her name against her mouth like it meant something he didn't dare admit.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard.
"That shouldn't have happened," he whispered.
"I know."
"We can't get distracted."
"I know."
"But"
She pressed a finger to his chest. "Adrian, stop thinking so much."
He grabbed her hand gently but firmly, lowering it. "I can't. Not when you're involved."
Their eyes held. Something raw passed between them, fear, desire, trust, all tangled together.
He stepped back. She let him.
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping. "Come with me," he said suddenly.
"Where?"
"The rooftop. There's something I need to show you."
She followed him through the hall, up a set of stairs she hadn't seen before. The air grew cooler as they stepped outside. The rooftop was wide, quiet, lit only by the moon and the distant lights of the city stretching beyond the estate.
Adrian walked to a far corner and crouched down. He lifted a loose tile and pulled out a small metal box, hidden so well she would have never noticed it.
"What is that?" she asked.
"Old evidence," he said. "Stuff I didn't want my family to know I kept."
She didn't miss the meaning behind the words.
He trusted her.
He opened the box. Inside were worn photographs, a broken necklace, and a folded sheet of paper. Isabella reached for the paper, and Adrian let her take it.
Her heart skipped.
It was the same handwriting she had seen once as a child, her father's.
The note was short. A warning. A name. A place.
A clue she hadn't known existed.
"Where did you get this?" she whispered.
"My father kept it hidden. I found it the night he died."
Her breath caught. "So you… you think his death is connected to mine?"
"Not think," Adrian said. "I know."
The rooftop light flickered. A gust of wind moved across the tiles, lifting a corner of another old file tucked beside the box. Isabella reached for it, her hand brushing something metallic.
It was a small object, flat, cold, with a symbol carved on it.
A symbol she had seen once before at the scene of her father's accident.
Her chest tightened. "Adrian… I think this belonged to the man who killed my father."
Before he could answer, the rooftop door slammed open.
Isabella spun around, too late.
A figure rushed at her from the shadows. She caught a glimpse
of a hood, a gloved hand, a flash of metal.
She stumbled back.
The attacker lunged.
She let out a sharp cry.
Adrian's roar tore through the air.
He moved fast, faster than she had ever seen. He grabbed the attacker mid-strike, slamming him against the wall so hard the tiles cracked. The figure struggled, kicked, tried to break free, but Adrian's grip tightened with a fury that looked close to breaking.
"Don't touch her," he growled, voice low and dangerous.
Isabella's heart pounded as she backed away, her hands shaking. The attacker managed to slip free, only for Adrian to grab him again, then the masked figure twisted, threw something small and sharp on the ground, and a burst of blinding smoke filled the air.
By the time it cleared, the attacker was gone.
Adrian turned to her immediately, eyes wild with panic and something deeper. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, unable to speak.
He stepped close, cupping her face with trembling hands. "I got you. I promise. I won't let anything happen to you."
There was no distance between them now. No doubt. No hesitation.
Only fire.
And the shadows watching from somewhere she couldn't see.