20. Adrian
Chapter twenty
Adrian
“ D o you think she’ll like them, Dad?” Caleb’s practically vibrating with excitement, clutching the box of cupcakes like it’s the last lifeboat on the Titanic. He picked them out himself, a celebratory treat for the gender reveal that’ll be taking place any minute now.
“Isabella’s got a sweet tooth that could rival Willy Wonka’s,” I assure him, ruffling his hair. “You did good, kiddo.”
The doorbell chimes and Caleb dashes off, leaving me to open the door. There stands Isabella, but she’s not her usual firecracker self. It’s like someone sucked the air out of her, left her standing tense and wound up tighter than a coil. Something’s brewing; I can tell.
“Hey,” I start, but she cuts through it like a hot knife through butter.
“We need to talk,” she says, and damn if those words don’t send a shiver down my spine. They’re never followed by anything good.
“Sure,” I say, keeping my voice even. I gesture toward Caleb, who’s eyeing us with an unease that mirrors the tightness in my chest. “Buddy, why don’t you go finish your math homework. In my office.”
“Okay, Dad,” is all he says before he slinks away .
Isabella and I sit, and I brace for impact. She’s a hurricane in a pencil skirt, and I’m pretty sure we’re heading straight into the eye.
Isabella perches on the edge of the couch, her fingers laced so tight they’re bloodless. I lean back in my armchair, trying to appear calm despite the fact that my stomach is doing flips. Her eyes—usually vibrant—are clouded over with worry.
“I think Leo is the one who leaked the confidential documents,” she says, each word dropping like a lead weight into the silence.
The room spins for a second, and I swear I can hear the distant sound of my trust in people shattering. Leo? He’s practically an institution around here, as much a part of the firm as the gilded scales of justice hanging in the lobby.
“Come again?” My voice sounds foreign, like it belongs to some other guy who hasn’t just had his world rocked.
She repeats herself, slower this time, as if that might help the absurdity of her claim make sense. “I overheard him. A conversation between Leo and another man. They were discussing a plot to sabotage the firm. To hand over the merger ...”
“Stop.” I hold up a hand, the other balling into a fist. “You’re telling me that Leo, the man who practically helped raise me, is now our own Benedict Arnold?”
Her nod is slow, deliberate. “I know how it sounds—”
“Like a conspiracy theory.” I cut her off, not ready to entertain this scenario where Leo goes from mentor to menace. “You have to be mistaken,” I say, trying to keep the frustration from boiling over. I run a hand through my hair, which probably looks like I’ve been caught in a wind tunnel now. “Look, Leo’s got more loyalty in his pinky than most have in their entire body. He was my father’s right-hand man.”
“Adrian,” Isabella starts, but I’m already shaking my head.
“Leo wouldn’t do that. He’s been with me through every high and low tide this firm has seen. Hell, he’s the steadfast ship in the storm.”
“Adrian—” She tries again, but I’m on a roll.
“Always had my back. Even sat through every single one of Caleb’s school plays—and let me tell you, those are a test of endurance.”
“Adrian!” she snaps, finally snatching my runaway train of denial off the tracks. “I saw what I saw. Heard what I heard.”
I study her face, searching for any hint that this is all some elaborate prank. But nope, there’s only the grim set of her jaw, the earnest plea in those usually fiery eyes now dimmed by concern. It’s enough to make me want to believe her, but doing so means admitting to a betrayal that cuts deep. Too deep.
“Isabella,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “if you’re wrong about this … we’re talking decades of trust between Leo and my family here.”
I lean back against the couch, arms crossed as if they could shield me from Isabella’s next volley of words. The cupcakes sit forgotten on the counter, their cheerful sprinkles mocking us.
“I know he’s been loyal to you, but that doesn’t mean he’s not capable of betrayal.”
The air feels thick, like I’m trying to breathe underwater. Her words hit a nerve, and it’s like an electric current zaps straight through me.
“But you treat him like an employee, not a partner, and that’s exactly what he resents.” She’s relentless, pushing past my defenses. “You’ve said it yourself—you two have been clashing ever since your father passed.”
My fists clench so tight I’m sure my knuckles are white enough to start their own ghost story. Heat rises, simmering beneath my skin, threatening to boil over. “So now you think he’s just out to sabotage me? To steal the firm out from under me?” There’s a snarl in my voice I don’t recognize. “He’s like family, Isabella!” My volume is cranked up now, and if these walls weren’t built to withstand the tantrums of a high-strung lawyer, they’d probably be shaking. “You overhear one conversation and suddenly he’s the villain?”
Isabella stands her ground, green eyes locked onto mine. “Adrian,” she warns, her tone a mixture of steel and velvet—a dangerous combination. “Consider the possibility.”
The possibility. That word tastes sour on my tongue. Trust in Leo wrestles with this newfound fear that Isabella might be right, and it’s a heavyweight matchup in my head.
“Isabella, if trust were currency, I’d be bankrupt by morning,” I quip, hoping humor will defuse the bomb ticking between us. But even as I say it, I realize this situation isn’t one I can joke my way out of.
“Adrian,” she repeats, softer now. “Just think about it.”
“Think about it,” I echo, but the idea festers like a splinter I can’t tweeze out. Doubt seeps into the cracks of my certainty, whispering ugly truths I’m not ready to face.
I sit there, words lodged in my throat like a stack of unserved subpoenas. Isabella’s eyes are two green spotlights, illuminating the stark truth I’ve been dancing around.
“You’ll never fully trust me, will you?” Her question doesn’t just hang in the air; it hammers into me like a gavel.
“Isabella, it’s not that simple,” I say, but even as the words tumble out, they feel hollow.
“Isn’t it?” She crosses her arms, and I note the slight tremble. It’s barely perceptible, but there it is—the crack in her facade. “You’re too caught up in your past, too afraid of being betrayed again.”
The room shrinks, walls inching closer with each syllable she utters. My past—a scrapbook of crossed lines and broken trusts—stalks me, a relentless shadow.
“Look, Isabella … it’s complicated.”
“Complicated,” she scoffs. “So, what was all that talk about marriage with our parents? Was it really just for the baby? Or is that complicated, too?”
There’s this chasm between us now, filled with the things we aren’t saying. But her question feels like a splash of ice water, and suddenly, I’m awake to everything I stand to lose.
“Of course not. I—” The protest is feeble, even to my ears. I want to tell her everything—to pour out the truth like the finest cognac and toast to a future where fear doesn’t get a vote.
But I hesitate. Because spilling your guts is messy, and love ... love is the messiest of them all.
Disappointment flickers across Isabella’s face, quick and jagged like lightning. “Maybe we’re fooling ourselves,” she says so softly it’s like the whisper of a verdict. “I think we need to call this off.”
My heart squeezes tight, panic clawing its way up my chest. This isn’t happening. She can’t mean it. Not when I’ve only just begun to figure out how deep my feelings for her go.
“Isabella, wait—” I reach out, but it’s too late.
She rises and turns on her heel, retreating with the dignity of a queen who knows when to abandon a lost kingdom. And there I am, a jester left juggling all the balls I’ve dropped.
“Damn it, Adrian,” I mutter to myself once Isabella’s long gone. “Way to go.” But the sarcasm tastes bitter on my tongue because, for once, I’m not finding any of this the least bit funny.