Chapter Eight
Adrian
I lounged in my parked SUV across the street from some trendy brunch place, my baseball cap pulled low, and dark sunglasses masking my eyes despite the overcast day.
The black SUV was as nondescript as possible, even in public. Not my lime green baby, but stalking required finesse.
My laptop rested on my lap, displaying a few different camera feeds I'd hacked into: the restaurant's main security camera, the street-facing traffic cam, and my own view from my stakeout spot.
"There you are, angel," I hummed as Isla walked into frame, looking like fucking sunshine in a pale yellow dress that hugged her curves in all the right places.
Her blonde hair was pulled into a braid, exposing the delicate curve of her neck that I'd spent way too many nights thinking about.
Her friends flanked her like designer bookends, chattering animatedly as the hostess led them to their table.
I switched to the audio feed, adjusting my earpiece to filter out the ambient restaurant noise .
"—swear the wait gets longer every week," Her friend was saying as they settled into their seats. "But their coffee is literally worth selling your soul for."
Isla laughed, the sound sending a pleasant buzz down my spine. "Is that why you dragged us across town? For coffee?"
"Coffee and gossip," The other corrected, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Speaking of which, have you heard anything else from your mystery man?"
I grinned, zeroing in on Isla's face as a blush spread across her cheeks. My angel wasn't much of a liar; every emotion played across her features like a movie, impossible to miss.
And right now, she was remembering our messages, our tasks, our little hunt that her friends knew nothing about.
"No," she said, too quickly, fingers drifting to her wrist.
"Liar," They cackled, reaching for a menu. "Your face is literally beet red, girl.”
I shifted in my seat, adjusting the tablet's angle to get a better view as Isla tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
The movement caused her sleeve to ride up, exposing the inside of her wrist where she'd drawn my tattoo, the knife wrapped in delicate chains, in perfect fucking detail.
My cock twitched at the sight. She'd done it. She'd actually marked herself with my symbol and was parading it around in public like she belonged to me. Which she did.
"Nice ink," One commented, noticing it too. "That's new."
Isla's hand immediately went to cover it, but they were faster, grabbing her wrist to inspect it.
"Holy shit. Did you get a tattoo? Without telling us?"
"It's just pen," Isla admitted, pulling her hand back. "I was... practicing."
"Practicing what? Being edgy?” They leaned closer. "That looks like... wait. Isn't that?—"
I held my breath, wondering if they would make the connection. Her friends had been at the club that night and had seen my tattooed self all over Isla, including my mouth.
"It's nothing," Isla cut her off, tugging her sleeve down. "Just something I saw online that I thought was cool."
"Right," Tracy said, her tone skeptical. "Since when do you draw knives, Isla? That's so not your aesthetic."
I chuckled, taking a sip of my coffee—caramel macchiato, of course. Isla was a good girl, keeping our secrets. But there was a subtle tension building at the table, her friends studying her with calculating eyes.
The server approached their table, and I watched Isla order an oat milk latte and avocado toast. So predictable, so fucking cute.
I could already picture her in my kitchen, barefoot and sleep-rumpled, sipping a breakfast boba from my favorite café after thoroughly fucking her into oblivion the night before.
"So boring, Isla,” Bailey muttered under her breath, loud enough for the microphones to pick up. "At least try the acai bowl. It photographs better."
My eyebrow quirked. The fuck kind of friend said that?
While they waited for their food, my phone buzzed with notifications from my other surveillance systems.
The facial recognition software I'd set up had tracked her movements from her apartment to here, recording every place she went.
She’d stopped at a little bakery where she'd bought a tart for later, a corner where she'd paused to take a photo of a flowering tree.
I flipped through the images like a private flipbook of her day, saving the best ones to the folder on my encrypted drive labeled "Angel."
Alongside them were the photos she'd sent me; the paintings, the selfie in the midnight dress, each one a breadcrumb leading her closer to me.
My attention snapped back to the live feed as their food arrived.
Isla's friends were deep in conversation about some influencer drama, but Isla seemed distracted, her fingers repeatedly brushing over the drawing on her wrist.
"Earth to Isla? Where'd you go just now?"
My angel blinked, that pretty blush crawling up her neck again. "Sorry, just thinking."
"About Mr. Mysterious?" One wiggled her eyebrows, smile thin. "The one who had you climbing him like a tree at my birthday?"
I grinned, remembering how she'd felt pressed against me, how desperately she'd kissed me, how her small hands had clutched at my shoulders.
She'd tasted like champagne and submission, and I was counting the seconds until I could taste her again.
"Maybe," Isla admitted softly, taking a sip of her latte.
“You definitely found him, right?” The other asked. "I still can't believe you made out with him and then just... ran away. Like, what were you thinking?”
If only they knew I'd never been more than a few steps behind her since that night.
"I haven't looked him up," Isla lied, poorly. "It was just a... moment. It's not like someone like him would remember someone like me."
Oh, my pretty angel. I zoomed in on her downcast eyes, the nervous way she toyed with her napkin. I remembered every fucking second.
“Right," Her friend sighed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "I mean, he probably has girls throwing themselves at him constantly. Professional athletes always do."
The dig was subtle but sharp, and I watched Isla's face fall slightly.
I was gathering that these weren't friends—they were vultures in designer clothes, circling my angel with barely concealed jealousy.
Time to remind her who was really paying attention.
I typed out a DM to mess with her pretty little head:
@AdrianCatalyst
How is your latte, angel ?
Isla read it wide-eyed, glancing around the restaurant nervously.
She wouldn't find me. I was too good for that, but I loved watching her search, loved knowing she was thinking about me, wondering if I was near.
I was. I was always closer than she thought.
@IslaBelleflower
How did you know?
@AdrianCatalyst
I know everything about you. The knife on your wrist is my symbol. You're wearing it because you're mine, Isla.
I watched her read the message, watched her cheeks flush deeper as she realized the implications.
Her fingers traced the drawing absently, and she bit her lower lip, making me want to replace her teeth with mine.
My angel liked the idea of being watched, of being pursued.
"Isla?" Her friend’s voice was sharp. "Are you even listening to us?"
"Sorry," Isla mumbled, putting her phone face down on the table. "What were you saying?"
"We were talking about that new boutique opening downtown," Tracy said, her eyes narrowing as she noticed Isla's flustered state. "The one with the cute crop tops. Though I guess you wouldn’t wear those.”
Another dig, this one aimed directly at Isla's curves. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. These bitches were testing my patience.
"Speaking of clothes," Bailey chimed in, “You should really consider changing up your wardrobe, Isla. All those flowy dresses aren’t great on you.”
That did it. Rage flared hot and violent in my chest, the same anger that used to get me in trouble before Wade Easton taught me how to channel it.
Nobody, and I mean fucking nobody , talked to my angel like that .
I watched Isla's face contort slightly, watched her sigh and shake her head.
"Why do you always have to say things like that?" The words came out soft but clear, cutting through Bailey's smug expression like a blade.
Bailey blinked, clearly taken aback by the unexpected pushback. "What? We're just trying to help...”
Fucking liars. I saw right through these plastic bitches. They were jealous that someone like me had noticed Isla instead of them. Jealous that she had curves where they had sharp angles. Jealous that she was real where they were fake.
“It doesn’t feel very helpful.” Isla's tone wasn't confrontational, just genuinely disappointed in that way that made people squirm.
Tracy shifted uncomfortably, fork pausing mid-air. "We're your friends. Friends give honest feedback."
"Honest feedback about what?" Isla's voice stayed level, but I could see the hurt flickering behind her eyes. “I didn’t ask for any.”
Fuck me. Pride warmed my chest from watching my angel use her voice, watching her refuse to just absorb their poison with that sweet, forgiving smile.
She wasn't attacking them, that wasn't her way, but she wasn't rolling over either.
Bailey's laugh came out forced, brittle. “Isla, you're being so sensitive?—"
"Maybe," My angel said with a small shrug, her chin lifting slightly. "But that's not a bad thing."
Holy shit. My cock stirred watching her quiet strength, the way she didn't raise her voice or get dramatic, but simply refused to accept their treatment as normal.
This was my girl learning she deserved better.
@AdrianCatalyst
There's my fierce angel. I'm so fucking proud of you right now.
I watched her read it, watched the way her shoulders relaxed slightly as my approval washed over her. The boost was needed and visible, color returning to her cheeks, that sweet smile touching her lips.
@AdrianCatalyst
Now leave that place. Make an excuse and get away from those poisonous vipers. You've said your piece.
I watched her read it, watched her straighten in her chair.
“I’m sorry," she said, grabbing her purse with newfound confidence. "I just remembered I have a... thing. I have to go."
Bailey's fork paused halfway to her mouth. "What? We literally just ordered dessert."
"Rain check?" Isla was already backing away from the table, and I felt another surge of pride watching her choose herself over their guilt trips.
She threaded through the tables toward the exit with determination. She didn't look back, didn't let them guilt her into staying.
My cock stirred watching her walk away from their poison, listening to me instead of them.
@AdrianCatalyst
You were so brave.
Your reward is a phone call tonight.
And we'll definitely be talking about your taste in friends. Real fucking soon.
I started my car, already planning my route to beat her home.
I had some business to attend to. Bailey and Tracy had just made themselves my problem, and after watching my girl use her backbone, I was feeling particularly creative about solving problems.
By the time I settled down at home, I had their entire digital lives spread across my monitors: Social media accounts, email passwords, shopping histories, DMs they thought were private.
It was amazing how much people shared when they thought no one was watching.
Some included Bailey's OnlyFans account that she'd hidden from sponsors, Tracy's Botox appointments scheduled during "family emergencies,” and the group chat where they began calling Isla vile things after meeting me that night.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, a grin spreading across my face.
They wanted to play mean girls? I'd show them what happened when you fucked with something that belonged to me.