Page 59 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

Chapter twenty-four

Adrian

The last cop opens the door with a nod, his badge catching the glint of the dying fluorescent lights. “Thanks for your cooperation,” he says, and I can’t help but think it’s the nicest way to say “sorry for the chaos that’s been brought into your night.”

Isabella’s beside me, her posture rigid with the kind of strength that’s seen her through more than a few boardroom battles.

“We’ll keep you updated,” the officer informs us. “Have a safe night, you two.”

“Will do,” I reply, giving him a two-finger salute as they head out.

With the police gone, the silence is almost deafening. The tension that’s been clinging to the air like bad cologne starts to fade away, and I find myself exhaling a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Come on. I’ll take you home,” I murmur, reaching for Isabella’s hand. It’s not exactly protocol, but then again, neither was having our office turned upside down by detectives on a Friday night. She lets melead her outside, and I’m hyper-aware of the warmth of her fingers against mine.

I usher her into the passenger seat of my SUV like she’s made of glass, or dynamite, or maybe both. The engine hums to life, and we’re swallowed by the comfortable leather seats and the quiet of the ride. The city lights blur past us, painting streaks of gold and red in the night.

“Mom, yeah, it’s me,” I say into the car’s AirPlay once we’re halfway to her apartment, both hands on the wheel. “Something came up tonight. I’m going to stay at Isabella’s tonight.”

“Is everything okay?” Mom asks.

Isabella’s gaze is fixed out the window, but I can see the reflection of her eyes flicker to me when I mention staying with her tonight. I keep my voice steady, explaining the debacle with Leo, how his deception was more twisted than a pretzel in a knot-tying contest.

“I can’t believe Leo would do something like that,” Mom finally says, her voice tired, but shaken. “It’s such a relief the both of you made it out alright.”

“Everything’s under control now,” I add, which is rich coming from me, but Mom doesn’t need to know that my pulse is still playing hopscotch.

“Adrian, did things work out between you two?” Her voice crackles through the speaker, concern woven through every syllable. For a second, I hesitate, because “working out” is the understatement of the century for what’s happening with Isabella and me.

Glancing over at her, something clicks—an alignment of desire and opportunity so clear it could be in neon. “Working on that one,” I say, and damn if my heart doesn’t decide to skydive at that moment. There’s a beat of silence from Mom’s end before she gives a soft, knowing chuckle.

“Good,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Take care of each other.”

“Always,” I promise, and mean it more than she knows.

As the call ends, I let the silence stretch between us like a bridge, waiting to be crossed.

I park the car with a precision that would make a driving instructor weep with pride, or at least give a begrudging nod. We head upstairs to Isabella’s apartment, and it feels like we’re shedding the weight of the world one step at a time. I reach for her hand as we step into her living room—it just feels right—and the air greets us, lighter than before, like it too is in on our little secret.

“We need to talk,” I murmur, not wanting to break whatever spell we’ve stumbled under. The corners of her mouth twitch upwards, and she nods, her green eyes flickering with anticipation—or maybe that’s fear? Hard to tell.

Her door clicks shut behind us, sealing us away from the rest of existence. No more police inquiries, no more corporate espionage—just Adrian and Isabella, two people who’ve danced around each other so much we could have our own ballet.

“When you asked me the other night if I only wanted to be with you because of the baby … it isn’t true,” I start. “I know I hesitated, but it wasn’t because I was stalling to spare your feelings. I could only focus on the potential heartbreak I might face if I said yes—if I dived headfirst into a relationship with you. As you know, I don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to marriage.”

“Adrian, I may have blamed you, but I was scared too,” she admits, her words shaking slightly. I never thought I’d hear Isabella King admit to fear. It’s like spotting a unicorn at a bus stop.

“Scared?” I scoff gently, running a hand through my hair which probably looks like a bird’s nest by now. “You? I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” she shoots back, but there’s warmth there. She’s melting, and I’m the lucky fool holding the hairdryer. “I want to be with you. Through thick and thin.”

“Okay, full disclosure—I was terrified too,” I confess, and her smile spreads, lighting up the room. “But if we’re going to leap into this relationship abyss together, we need to be all in. Cards on the table, skeletons out of the closet, the whole nine yards.”

She steps closer, closing the insignificant gap between us as she says, “No more walls. No more guessing games.” It’s a truce, a white flag, and a starting pistol all rolled into one.

“Deal,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I cup her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin against my rough palm, and wonder how I ever thought keeping distance was a good idea.

Then, we’re kissing, and it’s like finding the missing piece to a puzzle you didn’t even know you were putting together. The kiss deepens, unhurried and promising, as if we have all the time in the world to explore what’s unfolding between us.

---