Chapter b232 /b

    bChapter /bb232 /b

    ISADORA’S POV

    58%

    I stepped out of the café, the warm air from inside instantly reced by the cool breeze outside. The ss doors swung closed behind meb, /bthe little bell above them chiming as if to announce my exit to the whole street. At least today, I wasn’t exhausted beyond words. I had other staff around me to help cover the tables, make coffee, and deal with impatient customers–unlike thest time, when I was left to single- handedly run the entire café. That day had nearly broken me, and I wasn’t in the mood to repeat it.

    Thankfully, my shift ended right on schedule. Nost–minute orders, no extra hours. I was free, and my mind instantly switched from work mode to… well, my next journey

    It had been five days since Ist heard from him, the assassin. He had told me he would “keep in touch,” but in my book, this silence didn’t count as keeping in touch at all. We should have been speaking daily, updating each other, going over ns, fixing every single w in our previous attempt. Instead? Nothing. Radio silence.

    I reminded myself of what he’d said: it was going to take time. Fine. But just because something takes time doesn’t mean you disappear entirely. Still, I wasn’t going to chase him for updates–not yet. He was the one who screwed upst time, and this time, he owed me more than just vague promises. If anything, he should be the one sending me detailed progress reports and groveling for forgiveness.

    On a lighter note, I had actually followed my mom’s advice for once. She had told me to save up instead of blowing my money on nonsense, and shockingly, I had listened. With what I’d managed to put aside, I bought myself a new dress. Nothing extravagant, nothing that screamed “look at me,” but just enough to make an impression. Perfect for my second journey.

    It had been months since Ist went to Adrian’s house. That wasn’t by ident. I’d given him the space he needed. I’d given him time to recover, to heal from everything that had happened. But the thing about giving people too much space? They start to forget you. And Adrian forgetting me was not part of my n.

    If I stayed away too long, someone else could slide right in and take my ce in his life. And now, especially, with him knowing that Olivia was still alive… Well, the risk was even greater.

    The very thought made my stomach twist. Even after five years, Olivia still had the ability to stand in my way and she didn’t even have to try. She was like a shadow I could never quite get rid of, a ghost who somehow had more influence than I did, even when she wasn’t in the room. It was infuriating.

    But she wouldn’t be a problem forever. Not if I had anything to say about it.

    Right now, I needed to focus on step one: reestablishing my ce in Adrian’s world. I wanted to be the face he saw again, the one who made him remember… us.

    On the walk back home, I started rehearsing in my head. The words I would use when I saw him again. How I would smile. How my voice would soften just enough to make him drop his guard. It had to feel effortless, natural like no time had passed at all.

    By the time I stepped through my front door, I had already decided exactly what I’d wear. I didn’t waste a second. I went straight to my bedroom, throwing off my café uniform and slipping into the outfit I’d bought, A short mini skirt paired with a fitted crop top, and over that, a light denim jacket.

    I stopped in front of the mirrorb, /brunning my hands down the outfit, turning side to side. My reflection smirked back at me. This wasn’t just an outfit–it was a strategy.

    It was deliberate.

    When we were in college, Adrian loved it when I dressed like this. Something about the way it made me look carefree, youthful, almost untouchable. I wanted to bring that version of us back–the version where I was in control, and he knew it.

    Tilted my head slightly, watching how the jacket framed my figure, Perfect.

    “Rx, you look great, I’m sure he will hear you out,” my mom said, her voice warm butced with that subtle urgency she always had when the topic was Adrian. Her hands were resting on her hips like she was my personal coach before the biggest game of my life.

    1 let out a small, shaky breath, trying to steady myself. “You’re right. It’s just up to me to give him a reason to listen,” I whispered, mostly to myself. The words weren’t just for reassurance, they were a reminder of why I was doing this. If I lost my nerve now, everything I’d been nning would crumble before I even reached his doorstep.

    Grabbing my purse, I gave my mom a quick look. She was watching me like she had everything riding on this visit, and in a way, she did. “Wish me luck,” I said.

    “I already did,” she replied with a small, almost sly smile. “But you don’t need luck, you need determination. Remember that.”

    She didn’t need to say more for me to understand. It wasn’t just me who was tired of living in this dump of a house with its creaky floors, peeling paint, and musty smell that no candle could mask. She had been pressuring me almost daily since Adrian pushed me away–littlements, reminders of the life I’d had, the life I could have again. Sometimes, it almost felt like she wanted me back with him more than I wanted it for myself.

    And maybe she was right to push me. Once I was back together with Adrian, everything would go back to normal. No, better than normal–it would be the life I was meant to live. Shopping for new bags and shoes every week. Lunch at rooftop restaurants with views of the city. Vacations to ces people only dreamed about–Paris in the spring, the Amalfi Coast in the summer, maybe even Bali for the winter just because we could. Thinking about it pulled the corners of my mouth upward into a big smile as I stepped out the front door.

    And I promised myself I wouldn’t take any of those things for granted, once I have ess to Adrian’s money I’ll make sure to drain him as much as I can because it’s clear we’re not gonna be together till we die

    I waved down a taxi almost immediately. The driver barely looked at me as I slid into the back seat, but I didn’t care. My mind was already elsewhere, flipping through dozens of different ways to start the conversation with Adrian.

    “Hi, Adrian. I just came to talk…”

    No, too in.

    “I know I hurt you, but we belong together…”

    Too desperate.

    “I’ve missed you, and I know you’ve missed me too..”

    Hmm… maybe.

    By the time the taxi pulled away from the curb, I’d cycled through at least twenty versions of my apology, and none of them felt quite right. I leaned back in the seat, staring at the passing buildings, and kept practicing anyway. The driver started ncing at me through the rearview mirror, his brow furrowing slightly every time I murmured under my breath. He must have thought I was crazy, but his opinion didn’t matter. This was about strategy. About making sure Adrian saw me the way he used to–irresistible, important, impossible to push away.

    By the time we pulled up in front of Adrian’s ce, my palms were sweaty and my heartbeat was faster than it had been all day.

    The house loomed in front of me, grand and elegant as always, the kind of ce that practically whispered wealth and power without trying. bI /bcould already imagine walking through those doors again, like I belonged there because I did.

    I paid the driver quickly, ignoring the curious nce he shot me when I lingered for just a second to adjust my jacket. Purse in hand, I walked straight up to the gate, my heels clicking against the pavement with each step. Pressing the doorbell, I straightened my shoulders and looked directly at the discreet camera mounted near the top corner of the gate.

    15:52 FR. 15 Aug

    After a few seconds, I knew Adrian would be watching. So I did what felt natural I turned slightly, lifted my hand, and gave a small wave to the camera, letting my most charming smile slip into ce. It was a calcted move, meant to disarm him, to make him remember softer

    times.

    Thest time I was here, I had stood outside the entire day, my legs aching and my pride screaming at me to leave. He hadn’t let me in then, not even for a moment. That had been months ago. Hopefully, by now, the wounds had started to heal at least enough for him to crack the door open and let me speak.

    And even if they hadn’t, even if he still looked at me with that same cold detachment, I was ready to wait out here again if I had to. This time, I wasn’t leaving without a fight.