CHAPTER 216: NINE WAYS TO SAY YES: THE PLANNING [PART I]

ADRIEN’S POV

(A Month Ago)

The weight of the city pressed against the bulletproof glass of my study, a muted tapestry of distant sirens and the ceaseless hum of a world I commanded. Inside, the only sounds were the rustle of papers and the soft clink of ice as Cameron swirled the amber liquid in his tumbler.

We were doing what we always did on a Tuesday night: dissecting the world we controlled. Spreadsheets detailing shipping logistics that weren’t entirely legal, security reports on rival families who were getting too bold, and acquisition portfolios for companies that didn’t yet know they were for sale. It was a language Cam and I had spoken since we were teenagers, a dialect of numbers, risk, and ruthless strategy.

And yet, my mind wasn’t on the columns of numbers. It was on the faint scent of rose and vanilla that lingered in the air, a ghost of Isabella’s presence from hours before. It was on the sound of her laughter, a melody that had somehow become the new rhythm of my perfectly ordered life.

"Adrien?"

Cam’s voice sliced through the fog. I blinked, realizing I’d been staring at a single line item—a seven-figure expenditure for ’transport security’—for the last five minutes without processing a single digit.

"You with me?" he asked, a brow raised. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes sharp and knowing. "Are we buying the shipping company, or are you just admiring the font?"

I forced a shallow smile, pushing the file away. "The font is a bit ostentatious, don’t you think?"

He didn’t smile back. He just watched me, waiting.

I rose from my chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights painting fractured patterns across my suit. My reflection stared back—a man who commanded boardrooms and back alleys with the same unshakeable composure. A man who, at this very moment, felt like a boy about to jump from a cliff without a parachute.

"I’m going to ask her to marry me," I said.

The words left my mouth with a finality that felt both terrifying and absolute. They hung in the air between us.

The silence that followed was absolute. The rhythmic tapping of the pen stopped. Even the ice in Cam’s glass seemed to hold its breath. I turned to face him.

He looked, for the first time in a decade, utterly poleaxed. His mouth was slightly agape. "You’re... what?"

"Isabella," I clarified, though it was unnecessary. There was no one else. There hadn’t been, not really, since she’d walked into my life and set fire to my carefully constructed walls. "I’m going to propose."

Cam finally found his voice, a slow, disbelieving chuckle escaping him. He set his pen down with deliberate care, as if handling a delicate explosive. "Well, damn. I mean, I knew you were gone for her, but... marriage? Adrien, you’ve known her for what? Five months?"

"Six months and six days," I corrected him automatically. I had tracked every single one. Each day was an asset I hadn’t known I wanted to possess.

"Right. Six months," he leaned forward, his usual jocularity replaced by a rare seriousness. ""Okay. This is good. Great, even. Isabella is... she’s perfect for you. She’s the only one who doesn’t flinch when you get that look in your eye. But... isn’t this fast? Even for you?"

He was right. It was illogical. It was impulsive. It flew in the face of every rule I lived by. Our relationship wasn’t a year old. It was a risk, an unknown variable in an equation I’d spent my life perfecting. And that was the part that was undoing me.

"That’s the problem," I admitted, my voice lower than usual. I ran a hand over my jaw, the admission feeling like a confession of weakness. ""It’s too fast. I know it is. I don’t want to rush her. I don’t want her to feel cornered or pressured. I don’t want it to feel like a demand, or... an acquisition." I paused, searching for the right word. "Her life was normal before she met me, Cam. A quiet, beautiful life. I’ve already dragged her into the orbit of... all of this." I gestured vaguely around the room, at the encrypted monitors and the bulletproof glass. "A ring feels like a cage. A beautiful, diamond-encrusted cage, but a cage nonetheless. I can’t do that to her."

Cam stared at me, his gaze intense. "So, what’s stopping you? The timing?"

I let out a harsh breath, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "The timing, yes. But more than that." I finally looked him dead in the eye and said the word that had been choking me for weeks. "I’m scared."

The shock on Cam’s face was profound. He looked at me as if I’d just announced I was giving up the empire to become a street mime.

"Scared?" he repeated, the word hanging between us like a puff of smoke. "Adrien Walton, the man who stared down the entire Rossi clan without blinking, is scared of proposing to the one woman who actually likes him?"

"Don’t be an idiot," I snapped, my irritation a shield for the vulnerability he’d exposed. "I’m not scared of her answer. I’m scared of rushing her. Of making her feel pressured. She’s... delicate. I don’t want my possessiveness"—I saw him nod, acknowledging a truth we both knew—"to feel like a cage. This has to be her choice, completely and utterly. But I need to ask."

A slow grin spread across Cam’s face, the shock replaced by his usual brand of chaotic enthusiasm. "Okay. Okay, I get it. A tactical proposal. High stakes, delicate target. I can work with this." He sat up straighter, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Operation: Lock Down Isabella."

I leveled a glare at him. "If you call it that again, I will have you reassigned to our research outpost in Antarctica."

"Tough but fair," he mused.

His suggestions started, as they usually did, in the realm of the absurd.

"Okay, picture this," he began, leaning back in his chair and gesturing grandly. "A flash mob. In the middle of Times Square. Hundreds of dancers, a giant screen with her face on it, you descend from a helicopter..."

I stared at him, my expression flat. "Absolutely not. It’s a spectacle, not a proposal."

"Fine, fine. Not it." He tapped his chin. "How about this: We arrange a gala. Massive event. In the middle of your speech, the lights dim, a single spotlight hits you, and you get down on one knee. Thousands of witnesses. She can’t say no."

The city lights shimmered, reflecting the chaos only I truly understood. Cameron’s suggestions, however, were a different kind of chaos entirely – one I had no interest in embracing.

"She can’t say no," I echoed, my voice flat. "Is that what you think I want? To corner her? To make her acquiesce out of public pressure?" I turned from the window, my gaze sharper than a freshly honed blade. "This isn’t a hostile takeover, Cam. It’s a proposal."

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Right, right. My bad. No public humiliation forced acceptance. Got it." He tapped his chin again, undeterred. "Something more on-brand, then. We stage a fake rival gang kidnapping. You swoop in, guns blazing, rescue her from a warehouse, and then, amid the smoke and shell casings, you get down on one knee. How’s that for romantic?"

I picked up a solid crystal paperweight from my desk, weighing it in my palm. The urge to hurl it at his head was nearly overwhelming. "If you ever, ever, put her in a situation that causes her a moment of genuine fear for my own theatrics, I will personally ship you to a remote forest with wild animals. In a crate. After cutting off your limbs. Don’t forget you once made me put her in arms of danger."

"Right," he said, his voice softer, devoid of its usual sardonic edge. He cleared his throat. "No fake kidnappings. No public spectacles. No forced acceptance. Got it. My apologies. I got... carried away."

"Good."

He was quiet for a moment before the irrepressible mischief returned, albeit at a lower voltage. "Plan B: We hire a flash mob. Picture this: you’re walking through the park, and suddenly, fifty of our best men, all in tuxedos, break into a choreographed K-pop routine before spelling out ’Marry Me?’ with their bodies."

I almost threw the paperweight. "Get out."

"I’m just brainstorming!" he said, hands up in surrender, but he was laughing. "You’re the one who’s gone soft, not me."

We went on like that for another hour, his ideas growing more ludicrous and my patience wearing dangerously thin. By the end of it, we had accomplished nothing, except for confirming that Cameron should never be allowed to plan anything more intimate than a corporate takeover. Pretty sure it is because he is single.

The next day, I knew we needed a different kind of expert.

"We need help."

Cam looked up from his coffee. "From who? I’m your guy."

"You suggested a proposal via tactical assault team," I reminded him dryly. "We need someone who understands romance, subtlety, and most importantly, Isabella. We need Aria."

A pained look crossed Cam’s face.

’Why her?’ he muttered, like I’d just sentenced him to death.

’Because,’ I said, my tone final, ’Aria knows Isabella better than anyone. She knows what will make her smile, what will make her feel... safe. She won’t let me miscalculate.’

Cam groaned. ’You’re putting me in a room with Aria to plan romance? You know I am scared of her. I could swear she is planning to...’

’That’s your problem,’ I said, already pulling out my phone.