Chapter 88

Anna's POV

"Hey," I answered, my voice softening involuntarily. Adrian's name lit up my screen - I'd forgotten his request from last night to call after handling the press. He'd beaten me to it.

"You okay?" His voice came through, low and edged with urgency, a velvet-wrapped blade that struck right at my core. I stood in the restaurant, the air thick with the scent of tomato sauce and basil. His concern slipped into my frayed nerves like a quiet warmth—I savored it, even if I wasn't used to being cared for like this.

"Sorry," I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I meant to call you. Things got hectic."

"I saw the footage," he replied, his tone tightening with that commanding edge he wore so well. "They were like sharks smelling blood."

"Nothing I can't handle," I replied reflexively. Old habits die hard - I've been self-reliant since childhood. Even with Adrian, with his tailored suits and enigmatic presence, sharing problems feels foreign. It's not pride, just my nature.

A heavy silence hung between us. "I know you can handle it," he said at last, his voice low and refined, mirroring the man himself. "But you don't have to do it alone."

His words stirred something in my chest—warmth laced with a faint sting. I liked that he cared, yet bristled at the idea of being seen as fragile. "I've always managed solo," I said lightly, a smile curving my lips to mask the ripple inside. "Old habits die hard."

"Anna…" His tone softened, but there was steel beneath it, unyielding. "Let me help."

I straightened, my voice steadying. "Actually, there's something. Those photos—someone's watching us. The angles are too perfect, too deliberate."

"I've had the same thought," he said, his words carrying that calculated weight, like he'd already mapped out the chessboard. "The timing's too convenient."

"I need to find out who," I replied, my mind already sifting through possibilities. "Someone's pulling strings."

I could hear him shifting—probably pacing his office, polished shoes clicking against the floor in my imagination. "I've got people on it. But Anna, I need to tell you something—"

Another call cut in—Faith. "Adrian, hold on, I've got to take this. I'll call you back?"

He paused, voice dipping. "It's important."

"So is this," I said firmly, professional sharpness in my tone. "Ten minutes, I promise."

I switched lines before he could argue. "Faith, what's up?"

"Anna, check your email," she rushed out. "Someone sent me info about the photos—I forwarded it. It's about Sophie."

My pulse quickened. "Sophie? What's she got to do with it?"

"Just read it," Faith insisted. "Call me back."

The email loaded slowly, each second tugging at my nerves. Faith's note popped up first: "Source says this was planned. Check the timestamps." Then the attachment—phone records, texts, dates. I pieced it together fast: Sophie had tracked Adrian's location from a message he sent her yesterday. She'd hired someone to tail us, snap those shots, then fed them to tech blogs with a crafted narrative.

But one detail stopped me cold—a timestamp from the night of the gala, when Sophie "collapsed" at the hospital. Adrian had texted her that afternoon, hours before her stunt. My stomach tightened. What had he said? Why hadn't he told me?

My phone buzzed again—Adrian. I answered, my heartbeat steady but strong.

"Anna, I—"

"Why were you messaging Sophie the day of the gala?" I cut in, my voice level, coolly professional.

Silence stretched, heavy with his enigma—like a door he never fully opened. "How did you—"

"Doesn't matter," I said, standing by the counter, fingers tapping lightly as the scent of tomato sauce kept me grounded. "You were in touch with her, kept it from me, and then she conveniently collapsed. Now I find out she's behind these photos."

He exhaled, the sound deep and restrained. "I was drawing a line. Told her to stop the hospital games, the fake emergencies. I made it clear I'm with you—only you."

"And you didn't think I deserved to know?" My tone stayed even, but a woman's edge slipped through—sharp, poised, undeniable.

"I was going to tell you," he said, a rare thread of regret in his voice. "That's what I tried to say earlier. I only confirmed her involvement an hour ago."

Mom peeked out from the kitchen, worry creasing her face. I gave her a quick nod—I'm fine—and turned away, focusing.

"She tracked your location from that message yesterday," I said, laying it out as I connected the dots. "Hired someone to follow us. The photos, the headlines—it's all her."

"I know," he replied, his tone snapping back to its commanding heft. "My team just verified it. I wanted to handle it before it threw you off."

That sparked a flicker of irritation—his instinct to take charge, to shield me, always rubbed me the wrong way. "I don't need protecting, Adrian. I need the truth."

"You're right," he conceded swiftly, his voice still polished as ever. "I should've told you from the start. I'm used to handling things alone too—same old habit."

It was a mirror, reflecting us both—stubborn, guarding our own territories. My frustration eased, softened by that shared truth. "So what now?"

"We've got options," he said, his tone steady with a hint of cryptic intent. "Legal action's one. But there's more—Sophie's falling apart. Her engagement to Henry's unraveling. She's desperate."

"Doesn't excuse this," I said coolly, unyielding.

"Agreed," he said, voice firm. "But it explains her. She's lashing out."

I leaned against the counter, fingers brushing my hair. "So we let her off?"

"No," he countered, his words cutting sharp and sure. "We face her together. Make it clear this stops—or she'll regret it."

"Together?" I echoed, a playful lilt in my voice.

"Yes," he said simply, his authority absolute. "You call the shots, but we stand united. Partners, right?"

Partners. Not him swooping in, not me pushing him away. Equals. The word cracked something open inside me—fear, because letting him in meant risk, more than I'd ever dared. 

I've spent years building walls, calling them strength. Now someone wanted to stand beside me, share the load, and it felt like peeling back my own skin. But I'm not fragile. I'm Anna—independent, sharp, a woman who cuts through chaos. Beneath that fear, there was a whisper of relief, a lightness in not carrying it all alone.

"Fine," I said, my voice soft but resolute. "Tomorrow, your office. We end this."

"I'll set it up," he said, his tone laced with that masterful finesse. "And Anna… I'm sorry. I should've trusted you with everything from the beginning."

I closed my eyes, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "We're both learning to share the weight."

"I love you," he said, calm and deep, like those eyes that held secrets I couldn't yet read. "All of you—your fire, your grit, the whole storm."

Warmth bloomed in my chest, subtle but real. "I know. See you tomorrow."

I hung up, and Mom slid a cup of tea across the counter, her gaze probing. "Trouble?"

I took it, smiling with quiet assurance. "Nothing I can't handle."

She raised an eyebrow and returned to the kitchen. Sipping my tea, I gazed out the window. Sophie made her move yesterday, stirred up chaos today - what's next? We both hold cards. What will Adrian reveal? I'm not afraid of the truth, only that he might bury it so deep I can't see through him.