Chapter 18 HIS SECRET CLAIM.

Chapter 18 HIS SECRET CLAIM.
Isabel’s POV.

I got back to my room just as the first hint of morning was smudging the sky outside the window. I closed the door to the connecting bedroom with the quietest click.

Adrian  was sprawled on his back, breathing evenly. He looked like a careless child. That carelessness—that absolute lack of awareness had been safe before. Now, it just felt like a dangerous blindness.

I walked to my dresser, my legs shaky and unreliable. I pulled off the black camisole and the grey trousers, clothes that now felt tainted, heavy with the memory of the cold desk and Damien’s fingers thrusting into me. I threw them into the laundry hamper, wanting them gone, out of sight.

I stood under the shower for a long time, the water scalding my skin. I scrubbed, trying to wash away the smell of his cologne, the rough pressure of his shirt against my face, the feeling of the smooth, cold wood of the desk against my back. It was pointless. The ache between my legs was still there.

He hadn’t just stopped the kiss and the touch; he had stopped it at the exact moment of my release. He had let me drown, then pulled the water away. It wasn't about pleasure for him; He needed to prove that my desire—my weakness—was his to grant or deny.

When I finished scrubbing, there was still this sickness in my stomach. I looked at Adrian, and I felt shame. I had married him for safety, for a predictable life. And in the space of three days, I had completely wrecked the foundation of that life, trading my fidelity for silence.

I dressed in the  appropriate clothes of a Sterling wife: a tailored silk blouse and a long,  skirt. I pinned my hair back into a perfect knot and walked into the kitchen at exactly 7:30 AM, the time I was expected.

Mrs. Albright, the housekeeper, was already setting the table. The breakfast room was bright, flooded with the  morning sun.

Adrian was ten minutes late, as usual. He burst in, rubbing his eyes, looking relaxed and rumpled.

“Morning, darling,” he said, leaning in to give me a quick kiss on the cheek.

I froze. His lips were soft, dry, and familiar. I felt a sudden  repulsion. The memory of Damien’s hard, demanding mouth—a kiss that tasted like ruin and salvation flashed through my mind.

I managed a tight, forced smile and pulled back. “Good morning, Adrian.”

He sat down, immediately snatching up the morning papers. “Anything exciting happen while I was sleeping?” he asked, a casual question that struck me like a spear.

“No,” I said, my voice steady, miraculously. “Nothing at all.”

We ate in  silence. 

Adrian read his paper; I stared at the arrangement of flowers on the table, trying to make my breathing slow down.

Then, Damien walked in.

He wore a flawless dark suit, ready for the day. He looked like the world’s most dangerous sculpture—all hard edges and beautiful face.

He didn’t acknowledge me. He didn’t have to.

“Adrian,” he said, his voice curt. “We need to discuss the restructuring before the board meeting. You’re late on the projections.”

“Relax, D. Ten minutes won’t kill the company,” Adrian laughed easily, folding the paper.

Damien didn't laugh back. He pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the table and sat down, accepting a cup of coffee from Mrs. Albright. His presence instantly made the room feel smaller.

I focused  on my plate, pretending the two men at the table were invisible. I had to be the perfect, silent, invisible wife.

“Isabel,” Damien said suddenly.

My entire body jerked, a muscle spasm of panic. I looked up, meeting his eyes across the table. They were completely devoid of recognition, cold and assessing, exactly as they were in his study when he was discussing  holding companies.

“You’ll be joining Adrian and me at the Sterling Gala tomorrow night,” he continued. “It’s crucial you attend for  the Hart alliance. Adrian, make sure your wife attends”

“Of course,” Adrian mumbled, already pulling out his phone.

Damien returned his attention to his coffee. But the exchange had lasted maybe five seconds, and in that time, I felt the  silent communication pass between us.

Tomorrow night, you will wear the role. You are mine to command in private, and his to display in public.

My throat was dry. I managed a small, tight nod and returned to my untouched plate. I knew he hadn't asked me to attend for the "Hart alliance." He had done it because he wanted to watch me pretend to be Adrian’s wife while carrying the feeling of his fingers between my legs.

The rest of breakfast was a blur. I excused myself as soon as possible, fleeing back to the safety of my room.

The tension was suffocating. I couldn't be alone in the room, because the silence meant thinking about the desk. I couldn't be in public, because it meant running into Damien.

I decided to call Lena. I needed a distraction, someone who wasn't part of the Sterling family.

“We need to talk clothes,” Lena chirped instantly when she answered. “The Sterling Gala is the event of the year. You need to look like a million dollars, Izzy.”

“I need to look like an empty shell,” I corrected, leaning my forehead against the cool glass of my window.

“Hey. What is it?” Lena’s tone instantly shifted. She knew me too well.

I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t tell anyone. It was too  too ugly, too dangerous.

“It’s just… the pressure,” I lied easily. “Being on display for the whole family. It feels like I’m walking a tightrope.”

“You are,” she agreed, but her voice was sympathetic. “We’ll get you through it. I’ll come over this afternoon. We’ll look at dresses, and you can just vent about your cold, awful brother-in-law.”

I closed my eyes. The image of the "cold, awful brother-in-law" was too vivid—the intensity of his kiss, the devastating control in his hand.

“Yes,” I said, the word shaking slightly. “Come over. Please.”

The afternoon passed in a restless haze of trying on dresses and listening to Lena talk. It was a useful distraction.

Around 7:00 PM, I finally had a moment alone. Adrian was out at the gym, and Lena was scrolling through designers on her tablet. I wandered into the small, unused library attached to my suite.

It was dark and quiet. I walked to the high shelf, pulling down a heavy, leather-bound volume of poetry. It was a comforting, familiar gesture.

As my fingers closed around the spine of the book, they brushed against a small, folded piece of paper tucked between the pages.

I pulled it out. It was a small square of thick, white cardstock—the kind he used for formal notes. It was blank on one side.

I turned it over.

Three words, written in his writing.

Come to me immediately.

My hand trembled, crushing the card. Now. He hadn’t waited until tomorrow. He hadn't waited until the night after the Gala. He had called me hours later, knowing I was already unsettled, knowing I was already weak. 

I didn't have time to put on the 'armor.' I didn't have time to think. I didn't have time to make excuses to Lena.

I looked at the closed door leading to my living room, where Lena was humming quietly. Then I looked at the small, discreet door that led out to the service hall.

He was calling. And I didn’t know if I could answer.