Chapter 121
Evelyn's POV
I stared at him through the fever haze. My mind struggling to process his presence. He stood in the doorway with a key I didn't remember giving him. Probably a spare from when this apartment had been his gift.
"Isabella called," he said quietly. Closing the door behind him. "She said you were sick. That you shouldn't be alone."
He moved through my apartment with ease. His suit jacket came off first. Draped over the back of a chair. Then his cufflinks. Dropped into his pocket with two soft clicks. He rolled up his sleeves as he walked toward me.
"Adrian, you don't—" I started. But my voice cracked into a cough that tore through my chest.
"Don't talk." He was already moving toward the bathroom. I heard water running. Cabinet doors opening and closing. Then he was back. Kneeling beside the couch with a basin of cool water and a stack of clean towels.
His hand pressed against my forehead. Clinical. Gentle.
"You're burning up," he said. "When did this start?"
I wanted to tell him it didn't matter. That he should leave. But the words wouldn't come.
He didn't wait for an answer. Just wrung out one of the towels and pressed it to my forehead. The cool water was a shock against my burning skin. Sharp enough to make me gasp. But Adrian's hand was steady.
"I've got you," he murmured. "Just rest, Evelyn. Let me take care of you."
He worked in silence. Efficient but tender. Wringing out towel after towel. Pressing them to my forehead. My temples. The burning column of my throat. When the water grew warm, he disappeared to refill it. Returned with fresh coolness.
He moved from my forehead to my neck. The cool cloth slid over fevered skin with a gentleness that felt like an apology. His fingers brushed against my pulse point. Checking my heartbeat.
"Your pulse is too fast," he said. More to himself than to me. "And your skin is too hot. You should be in a hospital."
"No hospitals." The words came out slurred. Barely coherent.
"All right," he agreed quietly. "No hospitals. But if the fever doesn't break by morning, I'm calling a doctor whether you like it or not."
He shifted to sit on the edge of the couch. The towel traced down from my shoulder to my wrist in long, cooling strokes. Should have been soothing. But only made me more aware of how wrong this was.
How he shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be touching me like this. Shouldn't be looking at me with those blue eyes full of a tenderness I didn't deserve.
"Adrian," I managed. My voice barely a whisper. "You should go. If anyone finds out—"
"I don't care." The words were firm. Final. "Let them talk. Let them say whatever they want. You're sick and you're alone, and I'm not leaving you like this."
His hand moved to my other arm. The cloth cool and damp against burning skin. He worked methodically. Missing nothing. The inside of my elbows. My wrists. The delicate skin of my inner forearms where the scars from Vorkuta were faint white lines.
If he noticed them, he didn't say anything. Just kept working. Kept cooling my fevered skin with patient devotion.
"I'm sorry," I heard myself say. Though I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for. "I'm so sorry."
"Shh." Adrian's hand found mine. His fingers threading through mine. "Don't apologize. Just rest. Just let me—" His voice caught. "Just let me do this. Please."
So I did.
I let him press cool towels to my burning skin. Let him murmur soft reassurances. Let him be the protector he'd always wanted to be.
The fever made everything feel distant. Dreamlike. I saw Adrian's face hovering above mine. Saw the concern etched into his features. Saw the way his hands trembled slightly as he wrung out another towel.
And I wondered, with detached curiosity, if this was what he'd wanted all along. To be needed. To be the one I turned to when everything fell apart.
But even through the fever, I knew the truth.
Adrian was here because he was good. Because he couldn't help but try to save people. But he wasn't the one I needed. Wasn't the one whose absence felt like a physical wound.
That was Julian.
Had always been Julian.
"Sleep," Adrian was saying. His voice soft and distant. "I'll be right here. I won't let anything happen to you."
The promise should have comforted me. But all I could think about was Julian's voice saying the same thing in his apartment. His arms around me while I fell apart. His heart beating steady against my cheek.
I'm sorry, I wanted to tell him. Even though he wasn't here. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I'm not brave enough to let you love me.
But the words dissolved into darkness as the fever dragged me under. The last thing I felt was Adrian's hand in mine. His thumb tracing gentle circles. And the cool press of another towel against my forehead.
Then there was nothing but the dark. And the heat. And the ghost of Julian's voice.
You're not as far gone as you think you are. Not yet.
But he was wrong.
I was so far gone that even in my dreams, I couldn't find my way back.