Chapter 7 THE TEMPTATION IN HIS TOUCH.

Chapter 7 THE TEMPTATION IN HIS TOUCH.
Isabel's POV.

The alarm buzzed at six. I shut it off before Adrian stirred.

He slept on his side, breathing slow, his hand curled near my pillow. The guilt pressed down before I even sat up.

I showered, dressed, and made coffee like I’d done every morning since the wedding. The routine helped because it was mechanical. Reliable.

When Adrian walked in, hair still damp, I handed him a cup before he asked.

“You’re up early,” he said, smiling.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He kissed my forehead, quick and easy. “You’re going to spoil me if you keep this up.”

“Maybe you deserve it.”

He laughed softly. “That’s a first. You hated mornings a week ago.”

“I’m adjusting.”

He took his place at the breakfast table, scrolling through his phone. I watched him eat. The normality made my stomach knot tighter.

When he looked up, I dropped my gaze to the plate.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” I said too quickly. “Everything’s fine.”

He studied me for a second, then nodded. “We’ve got that strategy meeting at nine. Damien’s supposed to brief us on the projections. You’ll be there?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He sounded pleased, unaware that my hands were shaking when I reached for my cup.

I burned my tongue and said nothing.

By eight, my lips still felt raw. The swelling had gone down, but the memory hadn’t.

I kept touching my mouth without meaning to, then catching myself mid-gesture.

I skipped doing makeup because I didn’t want to see my reflection.

My mother would go into coma if she knew I left the house without makeup.

She was dramatic like that.

In the hallway mirror, I caught a glimpse anyway. Same face. Same eyes. Nothing to mark what had happened. That somehow made it worse.

The meeting room smelled like paper and old coffee. Adrian was already there with his father. Damien walked in last.

He was composed. Dark suit, dark expression, not a trace of what had happened between us.

He gave a brief nod to his father, then to me. Just that. No smirk, no comment.

It shouldn’t have mattered but it did.

“Morning,” Adrian said. “Ready to impress the board?”

“Always,” Damien replied, his voice calm.

He opened a file and started talking about liquidity ratios and projected yield curves. His tone never faltered.

I tried to focus on the numbers, not on the way his sleeve brushed the table near my hand when he reached for a chart.

Mr. Sterling interrupted twice, impatient. Adrian jumped in with a defense. I kept taking notes, pen digging too hard into the paper.

When Damien’s gaze finally met mine, it was brief, detached. He looked through me, not at me.

That calm way he didn’t acknowledge me burned more than any cruel remark would have.

After the meeting, Adrian stayed behind with his father. Damien gathered his papers.

I was almost free when Damien spoke.

“Mrs. Adrian.”

I froze. The title landed like a paper cut. “Yes?”

“Next time, bring the printed sheets instead of handwritten notes.”

I turned back. “They were temporary. I’ll type them later.”

“Temporary isn’t efficient,” he said, voice low, even. “You can do better.”

“My notes are legible, Damien. They are fine for drafts."

He shook his head “No, they are not. Don't use notes next time”

“Is that an order?”

“A suggestion.” His mouth twitched, almost a smile. “You take orders from my brother, not me. Remember?”

I clenched the folder against my chest. “I do.”

“Good.” He looked down at his watch. “Then we understand each other.”

He walked out first. I followed a minute later, heart hammering.

At lunch, the family ate together in the office dining room. Conversation stayed on business.

Adrian sat beside me; Damien across.

Mr. Sterling spoke to Damien about projected investor calls. I focused on my plate.

When the servers cleared the dishes, Adrian stood. “Isabel, will you make sure the afternoon schedule is updated? Damien’s review session is at three.”

“I’ll handle it,” I said.

Damien pushed back his chair. “Don’t bother,” he said. “I’ll confirm with her directly.”

Adrian nodded, oblivious. “Perfect. I’ll see you both later.”

When he left, the silence between us thickened.

I gathered the tablet from the table. “Three o’clock?”

Damien didn’t move. “You’re avoiding looking at me.”

“I’m looking at the schedule.”

“You weren’t yesterday.”

My throat tightened. “You made that impossible.”

He leaned back slightly, eyes steady. “And now?”

“Now you’re pretending nothing happened.”

He folded his arms. “Would you rather I announce it over breakfast?”

“Don’t twist this.”

“I’m not twisting anything.” He stood. “You lied to him. You lied to my father. Maybe you should focus on keeping those stories straight.”

I stepped back. “You think I did it for you?”

He gave a small, humorless laugh. “You should be smarter than that.”

Then he just checked his watch and walked out.

By mid-afternoon, I found him in the conference room. He was alone, reviewing reports.

“I came to confirm the review session,” I said.

He didn’t look up. “You’re early.”

“I thought you wanted efficiency.”

“Sit down.”

I hesitated, then did.

He handed me a sheet. “Proof these figures.”

I read them. My eyes blurred halfway through. “They’re fine.”

“They’re not,” he said. “Look again.”

I looked. “I don’t see the error.”

He leaned closer, pointing to a line of numbers. His sleeve brushed my wrist. The contact was accidental, quick, but it felt deliberate.

“There,” he said quietly.

I kept my voice steady. “I see it.”

He didn’t move away immediately. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m not. I am fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I came to work, Damian. Do you want me to fix the figures or not?”

He smiled without warmth. “You’ll fix them.”

He sat back. “You always fix what you break, don’t you?”

I stared at the page until the numbers blurred again. Then I stood and left without replying.

The rest of the day passed in slow motion. I avoided him, though I caught him in passing twice: once near the main staircase, where he brushed by without speaking, and again in the corridor outside Adrian’s office.

Both times, he let his eyes rest on me for half a second longer than polite conversation allowed. That was all. No words. No touch. Just the quiet reminder that he could.

I sat alone with Adrain during dinner. His parents didn’t show, neither did Damien.

When he set down his glass, he smiled. “I’m glad you and Damien are working together now.”

The fork slipped from my hand. “What?”

“He said you’ve been efficient. Cooperative. That’s a relief. I was worried things might stay awkward.”

I forced a small laugh. “Awkward?”

“You know, family business dynamics. You two couldn’t be more different.”

I looked at him. He meant it as a compliment. There was nothing behind the words but trust.

“I suppose we’re learning,” I said.

He reached across the table, covering my hand with his. “That’s good. I want you to feel like you belong here.”

“I do,” I said quietly.

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the truth either.

I stared at my plate, every sound in the room magnified—the clock, his breathing, the echo of Damien’s calm voice saying You’ll fix what you break.

I wanted to forget. I wanted to stop waiting for the next reminder.

But I knew he wouldn’t let me forget. 

By morning, he’d find another way to make sure I remembered.