Chapter Thirteen
Adrian
I lounged on Isla's couch, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee, my jade-handled knife dancing between fingers as I watched her.
She fussed with her blue dress and adjusted her ring light, the pale ribbon tied at her throat. My ribbon. “ Adrian ” stitched against her pulse.
It shouldn’t look so sweet and innocent and obscene all at once, but on her, it did.
She sat at her desk five feet away, framed in that camera glow like art meant for me alone.
Though technically, she was about to be viewed by a crowd of gossipy strangers and bored beauty fans thirsty for her latest haul.
Her brushes were laid out to her left, and half of her desktop was cluttered with things that screamed Isla—pastel phone charms, a battered sketchbook I wanted to look through.
She flicked on her professional smile, and I nearly choked on finally seeing the smile I ogled over social media in person .
“Hi flowers!” Her voice lilted, sugar and sparkle for her followers, easy and bright. “Welcome to today’s unboxing. Look at how many PR packages came this week!”
The knife in my palm paused mid-spin; I watched her, the gentle cut of her jaw, the glint in her eyes when she peeked at me over the boxes like she hoped she could still keep a secret from the world.
Four giant tubs of ice cream sweated on the coffee table in front of me—cookie dough, strawberry, rainbow sherbet, and mint chip.
I'd ordered them all because only a monster would make an angel choose.
I scooped a spoonful of cookie dough, my eyes never leaving Isla as she held up some pastel pink box for her viewers.
“It’s so cute! It’s hand-knitted and sustainable,” she gushed, holding up a jacket to the camera. "It would pair perfectly with a floral dress or...”
Her fingers toyed with the sleeve, and my mind supplied an image of her in nothing but my ribbon.
I shifted, adjusting myself in my jeans as I lazily swirled the ice cream.
I watched the curve of her throat, the way her hair caught the light.
I wanted to taste that sweat again, press my lips to every place brightened by her laugh, and paint her with my hands.
Instead, I shoveled more ice cream, biting my cheek to stop myself from storming her stream and showing her audience what their “flower” looked like when she bloomed with my hand around her throat.
She read from her chat, hands deft as she unboxed. “Oh! This next one is my favorite night cream. You guys know how obsessed I am with hyaluronic acid.”
She rattled off details about textures and ingredients, my focus narrowing on the sweet way she smiled, the way her eyes flickered to me, shy and proud and deeply aware I was in her space for the first time .
The passion in her voice was its own kind of art form—I could get in on this serum business.
I grinned, sinking deeper into her colorful throw pillows, letting my eyes wander.
The apartment fit her, soft, bright, and lived-in. Chipped paint by the window, a haphazard menagerie of painted pottery, a wall of her paintings.
It all created a love note to the parts nobody but me would see. And my family, eventually.
I snapped a quick, slightly blurry pic of my absurd ice cream line-up and shot it to the group chat.
Adrian
How a woman deserves to be treated.
You’re meeting her soon BTW.
Bee and Star, too. Triple date.
It was ridiculous how much I wanted that future to start right now.
Jax
I was starting to think you made her up.
Connor
An ice cream date… You’re soft.
Adrian
Soft? I bought her FOUR flavors. That's dedication to the craft!
Also she's real and perfect and I might propose tomorrow.
Jax
Tomorrow? Slow down there, Romeo. You need your iPad first.
Connor
Let me guess. Proposal with fire?
Adrian
DUH!
Only the most romantic proposal for my girl.
Connor
You’re not romantic.
Adrian
I have been since meeting her. Proof: Ice cream.
Jax
He actually thinks that’s romantic…
Adrian
It’s HEAD OVER HEELS romantic.
I grinned. Now they knew my angel was very much real, and I was very much taking good care of her.
I focused back on Isla, becoming entranced by her knowledge, her passion for things I'd never given a second thought to.
She spoke about ingredients and formulas with the same passion I reserved for dismembering bodies or sorting my novels. It was endearing as fuck.
Isla’s livestream went on, her words flowing, talking color, fabric, design.
Occasionally, she’d risk a glance my way and catch my over-the-top wink or slow, obscene lick of my spoon. Her words would falter, and her cheeks would burn, her hand drifting to the ribbon.
"Comments time! She cheered, leaning closer to her screen. "Questions, questions… any questions?”
I set down the ice cream, attention sharpened.
I’d been monitoring the chat from my phone, watching her followers flirt in the comments.
Most of it was innocent enough—questions about products, compliments on her dress, the predictable.
"'Where did you get that ribbon? It's so pretty!" she read aloud, her fingers moving to her throat like she couldn’t help herself, twisting the silk, eyes flicking at me.
“Oh, this? It was a gift… from someone special.”
The possessive heat that flooded through me at those words was immediate and visceral.
Someone special. Damn right I was. I spun my knife faster between my fingers, my emotions running hot.
She continued reading comments, answering questions about her painting techniques and upcoming content plans. Then her voice changed, just slightly, and my gaze locked on hers.
"Are you single? You're gorgeous and so pretty,” she read, the blush on her cheeks deepening. Her mouth parted, staring at me as if seeking permission.
My insides snapped taut.
Dark and primal possession uncoiled in my chest. Mine. She was mine. I'd marked her, claimed her, I’d made her come apart with my mouth.
And now some faceless fuck on the internet thought they had the right to ask if she was single ?
I set down the knife and stood slowly, every muscle locked tight and dangerous.
She clocked me instantly, eyes wide as she watched me close in. She couldn’t hide the thrill twisting into her voice, and the comments kept flowing obliviously.
I stepped carefully behind her, just out of frame. I fucking loved this—Isla center stage, me a monster at the wings.
I calculated exactly how I would appear to her audience, waiting for the right moment.
Her eyes caught mine in the display, and my hands came down into frame, tattooed and dangerous, gripping the back of her chair
Just my torso and arms were visible—the green button-up I'd worn earlier rolled to my elbows, unbuttoned at my chest, exposing scars and ink layered over muscle.
Isla's breathing quickened, but she didn't turn or acknowledge me, trying to maintain her professional demeanor as she read another comment. "Yes, I'll definitely do a tutorial on?—"
My hand slid slowly around her throat, fingers wrapping around her skin. Not tight, but enough to make her words catch.
She went quiet when I applied pressure, and I tilted her head back until she was looking up at me, her lips parted in surprise and desire.
"W-What?" she whispered, seemingly forgetting her audience, that my hand gripping her throat was currently being livestreamed.
Everyone watching knew something seismic had shifted.
I bent low, the discerning of my face just out of frame, and captured her lips in a filthy, claiming kiss.
She melted against me instantly, a small whimper escaping her as my tongue swept past her lips. I could feel her pulse racing beneath my palm, the heat of her skin against mine.
When I broke the kiss, I kept my lips close to her ear, making sure my voice would be picked up by her mic as I murmured low and deep.
“She's mine."
My fingers possessively cupped the line of her jaw, thumb brushing over her lower lip, glistening from my kiss.
Then I stepped out of frame, a satisfied smirk spreading across my face. For a second, time hung suspended, and then she blinked.
Her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink, her eyes wide and slightly dazed. "I, um—" she stammered, still blinking like she was lost. "I should probably wrap this up."
The comments section was exploding, her followers losing their collective minds at what they'd just witnessed.
I caught glimpses of "WHO WAS THAT??" and "OMG THOSE TATTOOS" as they scrolled past too quickly to read.
The screen ended up freezing with the influx of comments, and I read a few, “I need her life,” and so on. I grinned off frame; it was hilarious.
Isla signed off with a flustered, “Thank you all for joining—see you next week!” and quickly ended the stream .
She swiveled around in her pastel chair to face me, shock and exhilaration all over that pretty face.
"You just—" she began, gesturing wildly at her computer. “They saw that!”
I grinned, untamed. “Problem, angel?"
"They're going to lose their minds," she gasped, her voice breathless wonder. "My DMs are going to break.”
“Good. Now they all know.”
I caught her and pulled her into my lap, hands sliding up until fingers curled under her jaw, over the ribbon, possessive and proud.
The city could burn for all I cared. She was dazed, head tipped back, eyes shining.
Her smile was radiant and unfiltered, nothing like the practiced one she just showed her followers. This one was just for me.
“My life has just changed,” she whispered, snuggling into my hold.
I pressed my lips to her neck, to my ribbon, whispering against her pulse, “This is just the start. Wait until I introduce you to my family. Everyone needs to see the angel I’ve caught for good.”
I smirked, feeling smug as fuck, then glanced at the four tubs of ice cream melting on her coffee table.
"But now, we have more important matters to attend to. I didn't buy all this ice cream for it to go to waste."
I flicked her a grin, loving the way she grinned back, cheeks flushed, hair mussed from both my mouth and her own euphoria.