Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 144: Her Silence, His Storm [III]

ISABELLA’S POV

Darkness pulled back—slowly, like thick soft curtains being drawn open one at a time.

It started with a breath.

Not the painful gasp I expected, but a soft, hesitant pull of air into my lungs—like my body was testing the weight of being alive again.

My eyelids were heavy. The air around me felt wrong. Too clean. Too cold.

Then came sensation.

There was a steady beep nearby, the kind that only existed in hospitals. The cool slide of oxygen against my nostrils. A dull ache pressing against the side of my skull. Warmth. Something warm wrapped around my hand.

My tongue felt like sandpaper, glued to the roof of my mouth. Water. I needed water more than I needed to understand where I was or what had happened. The need was primal, eclipsing everything else.

I blinked—once, twice.

The ceiling above me came into focus, pale and unfamiliar. The smell of antiseptic clung to the air like a warning.

Where...?

Hospital?

A face. Sharp lines. Dark hair. Auburn eyes.

Adrien.

He was there, beside me, his hand around mine like it was the only thread tethering me to the earth.

But for a second... I didn’t feel relief. I felt fear.

His voice echoed in my head. That memory—

"If she dies..."

"Spill your blood."

"Kill."

My breathing stuttered. The words blurred into static. Had I imagined them? Dreamed them? Was he the one protecting me—or...?

I tensed without meaning to.

My fingers twitched—just barely. The warmth around my hand shifted.

"Isabella?" he whispered, like my name might break if he said it too loud.

Adrien’s face hovered into view—pale, exhausted, eyes rimmed in red. There was stubble along his jaw, his suit jacket wrinkled, like he hadn’t moved in hours.

My breath hitched. My eyes, still blurry, widened marginally. The fear was a cold knot in my stomach, battling with the relief that he was here, that I wasn’t alone. But the images, the brutal words, were too vivid to dismiss. Spill your blood. Whose blood? Mine? His?

I tried to pull my hand back, a weak, almost imperceptible tremor. It was less a conscious decision and more an instinct, a primal urge to create distance. But his grip, though gentle, was firm. He didn’t release me.

"Hey, hey," he murmured, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. The touch was meant to soothe, but it only amplified the discordant feeling within me. "You’re awake. Thank god. You scared me half to death."

His hand moved to my cheek, gently brushing my hair back. There was no fire in his eyes now. Only something raw. Something soft.

I tried to speak, but my throat caught. Just a broken rasp.

He leaned closer, free hand lifting to brush a damp strand of hair from my cheek. "Don’t try to talk. You’re safe. You’re okay."

Safe.

But that word didn’t sit right.

"You scared the hell out of me," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"You..." I forced out, barely a whisper. "You said kill."

He stilled.

The hand in my hair froze. His eyes scanned mine, narrowing slightly—watching. Then his expression softened, the way a shadow dissolves in sunlight.

"I did," he said quietly. "But not about you. Never you."

I tried to move. My chest was tight. My heart was beating too fast.

"Shhh," he murmured, leaning in. "It was Gray. I was furious. He left his post. You could’ve died. I lost it."

His forehead touched mine, careful not to jostle my bandage. "I would never hurt you. I’m right here."

I nodded faintly, tears burning against the backs of my eyes. "I’m sorry."

His brow creased, a flicker of confusion passing over his raw exhaustion. "Sorry? Isabella, what are you apologizing for?" His voice was a low rumble, laced with disbelief. "You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. You were... you were hurt. Don’t apologize. Ever."

"I didn’t mean to scare you." I gave a weak smile. "I just wanted to relax."

He chuckled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Next time, you’re relaxing with security guards in the room."

That made me laugh. It hurt. Everything hurt.

I took a shaky breath. "Is everyone okay? Elise? Clara?"

He looked at me for a long second before asking, "Do you trust Clara?"

That caught me off guard.

"What kind of question is that?"

Adrien’s expression was unreadable, but something in it... shifted. Like he was measuring my answer.

"She’s been with you all day," he said quietly. "You didn’t notice anything? Anything... off?"

I frowned. "Off how?"

"Shady. Sneaky. Anything out of place."

I blinked at him, baffled. "Adrien... Clara’s your childhood friend. She stayed calm through everything. She pulled me out. She held my hand while Elise called for help. She didn’t leave me."

Adrien’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He didn’t drop my hand, but his thumb stopped its comforting circles. His gaze, still intense, now held a new, sharper edge. "She’s good at playing the part, Isabella. Better than you think."

My mind, still sluggish, struggled to keep up. "What is this about? You sound... you sound like you’re accusing her of something." The words came out raspy, weak, but I tried to inject some indignation into them.

I shook my head, as much as the dull ache allowed. "You’re being paranoid. She didn’t do anything wrong. I saw her help me"

He didn’t argue. But he didn’t agree either.

"She’s not the enemy, Adrien," I said gently. "I am sure of it."

He looked at me then. Really looked. And for a moment, I saw the war behind his eyes.

"I hope you’re right," he said softly.

He kissed my forehead. Not the bruised part. Just barely. Like touching me too hard might break something.

"Water," I croaked, the word a desperate plea. My tongue felt like a forgotten rag in my mouth.

Adrien’s expression immediately softened, the guarded intensity receding. He pressed a button on the side of my bed. "Of course. I’m sorry. You must be parched." He picked up a small plastic cup from the bedside table, filled with ice chips, and held it to my lips. "Just a little at first."

The icy shards melted slowly, agonizingly, on my tongue, offering a meager but welcome relief. I sucked on them, trying to draw out every drop of moisture.

"Sleep," he murmured. "You’re safe now."

****

I wasn’t asleep. Just resting.

Adrien hadn’t moved from my side. He held my hand like it grounded him as much as it grounded me. One of his fingers traced slow, lazy lines across my skin, as if reassuring himself that I was real.

I wanted to say more. Ask more. But the effort... it was too much. I let my eyes close again.

Until the door opened.

A rush of voices broke through the quiet.

"Oh my God," Aria said first, her voice tight. "Bella?"

I blinked slowly. Her face came into view—eyes wide, black eyeliner smudged, hair wild like she’d sprinted here straight from the car.

Behind her—Leo.

And then... Dad.

My chest tightened.

Aria was already at the bedside, pushing Adrien aside like he was a coat rack. "Don’t you ever do that to me again," she breathed, brushing a tear from her cheek as she squeezed my wrist. "You nearly gave me a stroke. A full stroke, Isabella."

Leo hovered at the foot of the bed. He looked pale. Shocked. "I didn’t even do anything this time," he said quietly, like he didn’t trust the room.

"Hey," I rasped.

His head snapped up. "You sound like a frog."

I managed a weak, watery smile. "Look who’s talking. You look like you just saw a ghost."

Leo actually managed a small, sad chuckle. "Considering... yeah. Pretty much."

Then my dad stepped forward. And the air shifted.

His face was unreadable. Older than I remembered. More tired. But his eyes—his eyes locked on mine like he’d just gotten them back.

"You okay, baby?" he asked.

My throat burned. I nodded once. "I’m okay."

He looked to Adrien briefly—just briefly. Not a glare. Not a thank you. Just a quiet, heavy measuring gaze that seemed to weigh Adrien’s presence, his responsibility, and perhaps even his very being, before snapping back to me, sharp and consuming. It was a look that bypassed the polite and cut straight to the core of paternal relief and lingering fear.

Then, just as the room was starting to feel too full—too many emotions, too many people—Cameron stepped in.

He didn’t say anything aloud. Just walked to Adrien’s side and bent down slightly, whispering something into his ear.

Adrien’s entire posture shifted.

His jaw clenched. The softness disappeared.

"Stay with her," Adrien told Aria quietly. Then to me, he leaned down and brushed a kiss against my temple. "I’ll be back soon."

I tried to hold on to his hand. He gave it a soft squeeze.

And then he was gone.

The moment the door clicked shut, Aria turned to me, hands on her hips. "Now that the mafia boyfriend is gone, what the hell happened?"

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