Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 302: Answer the Phone, Bella

The glow of the screen paints my fingers blue as I scroll for a while without really reading anything —pointless memes, old photos, a half-hearted check of messages I already know are empty. Nothing sticks. My thumb hovers over the camera app, then veers away.

Oh no.

Aria

Three hours.

It’s been three hours since Aria dropped me off and sped away like she was running from the cops. She’d said she wanted to stop somewhere first. I should probably check if she got home safe.

I open the call app.

My thumb hovers, then moves—automatic, impatient. I don’t open my contacts. I don’t even think about it. My fingers just move—faster than my thoughts, like they already know where they’re going.

Her number flows out of me like breath.

My thumb hits call before my brain can catch up to what I’m doing. The screen shifts to a pale green, a single ringtone piercing the silence, and I pressed the phone to my ear.

It didn’t even ring twice before the call connects.

That’s... fast. Was she expecting my call?

"Hello?"

A male’s voice.

Low. Clear. Awake.

Instantly, my breath catches—sharp in my throat like I’ve been doused in ice water. My knees jerk closer to my chest on reflex.

It sounds like that Adrien’s voice.

I stare at the screen.

This... isn’t Aria’s number.

My stomach drops.

I squint, heart suddenly loud in my ears, and look at the digits. The beginning. The end.

It’s—

Oh.

It’s the same pattern.

The same one that had been written on my palm earlier. The one I’d rubbed at in the shower.

The digits stared back at me, mocking. My hand flew from the screen, then back again, as if to confirm what my eyes were telling me. It wasn’t a variation of Aria’s number. It was another’s.

A wave of heat rushed up my neck, flooding my ears. My heart thrummed a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Oh, no. Oh, no

Did I just—

Did I subconsciously memorize this man’s number or?

My brain barely finishes the thought before—

"Hello? You still there?" Adrien’s voice came again, closer this time, a soft murmur of inquiry that managed to cut through my panic.

I yelp and fling my phone onto the bed like it’s burned me.

What—

What did I just do?

The phone is still on. Still connected. I can hear his breathing through the speaker. Steady. Controlled.

Wait.

Why is he awake?

It’s past one.

Did I wake him up?

He doesn’t even have my number—why would he answer unless he thought it was important?

Oh my God. He probably thinks something’s wrong or.

"Oh my God—" I whisper, slapping a hand over my face.

"Bella?"

My name lands softly. Carefully.

I bolt upright.

He knows it’s me.

How does he know it’s me?

How is that possible?

My name on his lips—Bella—sends a shock through me, sharp as a live wire. It wasn’t a guess. Not some casual, hopeful "Is that you?" It was certainty. Recognition. Like he’d been waiting.

Like he knew I’d call.

I stare at the phone where it lies face-up on the duvet, the call duration timer ticking upward with merciless precision.

Sixteen seconds. Seventeen.

"Isabella?" Adrien says again, softer this time, almost coaxing.

Panic slams into me full force.

I scramble for the phone, fingers clumsy, heart racing like I’ve been caught committing a crime. The screen lights up just as I grab it.

I don’t even think.

I hit end call.

The abrupt silence is deafening. My hand stays frozen around the phone like it’s still dangerous, the faint warmth of the device seeping into my palm. My pulse hasn’t slowed; it’s a wild thing, thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.

I stare at the blank screen.

Thirty-two seconds. That’s how long the call lasted.

I drop back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, my heart still pounding like it’s trying to escape my ribs.

I press my tingling palm against my chest.

Fantastic.

Absolutely fantastic.

I’ve officially reached the stage where my subconscious is calling men without my consent.

But...

Why did I hang up?

Why did he know it was me?

Why do I even know his number?

I was literally just about to call Aria.

How did I──

I press my palms to my face.

Okay. Okay. Breathe.

Maybe he’ll think it was a mistake. A pocket call. A wrong number.

But he called my name!!

He─

The phone lights up again.

Incoming call.

The number flashes across the screen with blinding clarity.

No, no, no—

My stomach drops into my knees. I stare at the screen, fingers frozen, heart in my throat.

He’s calling back.

No.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

I stare at the screen like it’s about to accuse me of something.

I feel my brain short circuiting—the same way it did on that damned roller coaster. This can’t be happening, it can’t be. Why is he calling back? Is he just checking to see if it was a mistake?

My thumb hovers. The phone keeps ringing, his number glowing in that cursed green screen.

Part of me thinks I should let it go to voicemail. That would be the smart, logical thing to do. Hell, I should probably just block his number and be done with it.

But I can’t deny the way my heart leaps at the prospect of his voice again. His smooth, low tones and the way he said my name—

No.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the phone to my chest. This is ridiculous. I’m not a teenage girl with a little crush. This is just one of those stupid, stupid feelings that will pass. I’m stronger than this.

The phone goes quiet. I breathe a sigh of relief—but the moment of reprieve lasts only as long as it takes for the screen to light up again.

Of course he’s calling back.

My phone vibrates insistently against me, like it refuses to be ignored. I threw it back on the mattress like it’s a live grenade.

One ring.

I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that will make it stop. It doesn’t.

Two rings.

My heart starts doing that stupid thing again, thudding too loud, too fast. I turn onto my side, bury half my face into the pillow like that might muffle reality.

Three rings.

And then—silence.

The call cuts off. No voicemail notification pops up. No follow-up text. The screen dims, then darkens entirely, leaving me in the dim glow of my bedside lamp.

My lungs finally unlock, and I suck in a desperate breath, slumping against the headboard. Okay. Okay.

That’s it. He gave up.

Good.

Right?

My fingers itch toward the phone, like some part of me—some traitorous, reckless part—wants him to call again. But the screen stays dark.

A shaky exhale leaves my lips.

And then—

Ping.

I flinch so hard my knee smacks the nightstand. My phone vibrates once, lighting up with a notification.

[New Message – Unknown Number]

No. No, no, no.

I squeeze my eyes shut, count to three, then force myself to look again.

The message is short. Just four words.

Adrien: Answer the phone, Bella.

And then—

It rings.

Again.