Page 38 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

Isabella scoffs at this, but keeps her lips sealed.

“Then it got worse. When I dropped the bomb on her that I didn’t want anything to do with my father’s firm—thus wouldn’t be inheriting it when he retired—she dipped. Thankfully, she had no problem agreeing to give me full custody of Caleb. Colette was smarterthan she let on, though. She managed to convince the court that our prenup was unfair due to her being left with pretty much nothing. Ended up walking away with ten million dollars.”

“Ten million? Jesus, Adrian … I had no idea.”

“Nobody does. Not even my mother.” I shrug, trying to act nonchalantly. “When my father passed and I inherited the firm, I made the money back, and then some. But Colette made me question if anyone could be trusted, if love was just a fairy tale spun to sell diamonds and lace.” My laugh is hollow, the sound of a man who’s seen the puppet strings behind the magic show. “I became a master at keeping people at arm’s length, making sure no one could get close enough to pull a Houdini on my heart—and bank account—again.”

Her hand on the steering wheel is steady, but her silence is heavy with something I can’t quite name. When she finally looks at me, there’s no pity in those striking green eyes, just a depth of understanding that knocks the wind out of me. In that look, there’s a bridge being built over the chasm I thought was impassable.

“Thank you,” she says simply. “For trusting me enough to share all that with me.” But it’s not simple, not really. It’s acknowledgment and acceptance all wrapped up in two words that seem to lift the weight from my chest—one I wasn’t fully aware I’d been carrying.

“You don’t think any less of me for putting myself in a situation like that?” I dare to ask. Because if this was a client of mine, I would have told him he had it coming.

She shakes her head. “We all make mistakes. You have a good heart and wanted to see the best in someone you love. The mother of your child. Could you really fault yourself for that?”

I huff. “I suppose when you put it that way … not really.”

Isabella smiles. “Good. Because you shouldn’t feel bad about trying to make your marriage work.”

The night air is cool against my skin as Isabella parks in my driveway. The familiar sight of my house, with its dark windows and silent facade, feels different tonight—less solitary, more inviting.

“You can come in,” I mention, my voice threading through the quiet as I unlock the door. “Caleb’s at my mom’s tonight.”

“Convenient,” Isabella teases, following me inside with an easy grace that makes the space feel suddenly less mine and more … ours.

In the kitchen, I gesture towards the fridge. “Want something to drink?” Habit, nothing more.

Her answer is simple, “Plain old water is fine.”

I chuckle, shaking my head at myself as I pour her a glass. “Sorry, force of habit.” I hand her the water, our fingers brushing in the exchange, sending a jolt of something electric up my arm.

She tastes a sip as we enter the living room together.

“Come here,” I say, patting the couch next to me after taking a seat. She complies, the faint sound of her sigh reaching me as she settles in.

My hands find her shoulders, kneading the tension I find there. She moans softly, and I can’t resist—the urge to taste her skin wins over. My lips press against the back of her neck, feeling her pulse jump under my mouth.

“Thought this was just a standard massage,” Isabella teases, turning to face me with a playful glint in her eyes.

“For my favorite customer?” I quip, meeting her gaze. “I might be persuaded to throw in a little extra.” Our laughter mixes, a light, easy sound.

Then, we’re kissing. It’s not like before, those hurried, heated clashes of lips and teeth. No, this one’s got layers—like peeling back the wrapping on a present you didn’t expect to get. It’s full of affection, charged with intimacy, and it hits deeper than any of our previous make-out sessions. This isn’t just chemistry; it’s alchemy,transforming everything we thought we knew about us into something richer, something golden.

“Bedroom?” I murmur against her lips, my heart a jackhammer in my chest. She nods, and I’m up, tugging her hand as we navigate the stairs.

The door swings open to reveal a path of roses leading to my bed—a cliche gamble that feels like throwing dice on a Monopoly board. Her gasp tells me I’ve hit Park Place.

“Confident, aren’t you? Thinking I’d just waltz over after you crashed dinner?” Isabella’s eyebrow arches, but there’s amusement in her voice.

“Guilty as charged,” I admit with a half-grin. “But it paid off, didn’t it?”

I light the candles, their flickering glow casting dancing shadows across the walls, adding a dramatic flair to my already questionable interior decorating skills. With the overhead lights off, the room becomes an intimate stage set only for us.

Turning back to her, we’re drawn together again, our kiss reigniting with a passion that could set the room ablaze—if not for the fact that I’m suddenly hell-bent on savoring every second of undressing her.

Once we’re down to only our final layers, her fingers work at my boxer briefs. I chuckle and say, “Eager, are we?”

“Only fair,” she shoots back, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.

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