CHAPTER 122Isabella stood in the doorway, slightly breathless from what must have been a sprint from her car to the suite.Her hair was windswept, her makeup minimal, she'd clearly left wherever she'd been in a hurry.She was wearing jeans and a simple sweater, casual clothes that suggested Rafael's call had caught her at home.Her eyes swept the scene, Keal and Miguel flanking the bathtub, Fabian hovering nearby with medical equipment, and Adrian...Adrian in the tub, fully clothed, soaking wet, his hands cracking porcelain as he gripped the tub's edges with inhuman strength."Oh my God," Isabella breathed. "Adrian, what..."Then her eyes landed on his face.On his eyes.Those terrible, impossible, completely black eyes. No whites. No irises. Just endless void staring back at her.Isabella's breath caught in her throat.She took a step backward, her hand flying to her mouth. "What... what's wrong with your eyes?"Adrian's head turned toward her slowly, those black eyes tracking her

CHAPTER 124Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains of the hotel suite's bedroom, painting everything in soft gold.Adrian's eyes opened slowly, his consciousness surfacing gradually from the deepest sleep he'd had in weeks.For a moment, he was disoriented, unsure where he was, why his body felt simultaneously exhausted and strangely relaxed, why he could smell vanilla and something sweet so close by.Then memory crashed back.The drug. The bathtub. Isabella.Oh God. Isabella.Adrian's entire body went rigid with sudden awareness.He was in a bed, the hotel suite's massive king-sized bed, judging by the feel of expensive sheets against his skin.And he wasn't alone.Slowly, carefully, Adrian turned his head.Isabella lay beside him, propped up on one elbow, already awake.She was wearing one of the hotel's plush white robes, her damp hair spread across the pillow, her face clean of makeup.And she was watching him.Not with fear or disgust or regret.Just... watching. Her brown

CHAPTER 126Two hours later, after the medical team had tended to Camila's injuries, setting her broken nose, splinting her finger, treating the various contusions and lacerations, Adrian returned to the interrogation room.This time, he came alone.Rafael had argued against it, insisting that Adrian should have backup, that Camila was still dangerous despite her injuries.But Adrian had been firm. "She'll talk more freely without an audience. Without feeling like she's performing for your benefit."So now he sat across from Camila Reyes in the sterile interrogation room, studying her bandaged face with clinical detachment.She looked marginally better than before, cleaned up, medicated, her more serious injuries stabilized. But the damage was still evident.Her eyes were still swollen, though now she could at least open them both partially. Her nose was packed with gauze. Her split lip had been treated with some kind of supernatural healing salve that had stopped the bleeding but le

CHAPTER 128Isabella stood in front of the hotel room mirror, her fingers working methodically through the buttons of her blouse.The clothes had been delivered while she was in the shower, neatly folded and placed on the dresser by hotel staff. A simple but elegant outfit: dark jeans, a cream-colored silk blouse, and a lightweight jacket. Far more practical than the wet, ruined clothes from the night before.Her hands trembled slightly as she fastened each button, and she had to start over twice when she realized she'd misaligned them.Stop shaking, she told herself firmly. You made a choice. You don't regret it. So stop acting like you do.But her body didn't seem to be listening to her mind.Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Adrian's face, those impossible black eyes that had slowly bled back to blue as the night progressed. His fangs that had retracted gradually until they were almost normal. The way he'd looked at her with such desperate need mixed with genuine care."I'l

CHAPTER 130Isabella stared at the man, her mind struggling to process what she'd just heard."What do you mean, you slept with my mother?" she demanded, her voice shaking.Then she whirled to face Jean-Baptiste, her eyes wide with confusion and hurt. "I mean... I understand the fact that you never liked talking about Mom. When I was eight and you shouted at me, I decided never to speak about her again. Not because I wasn't curious...God knows I was so curious...but because I never wanted you to be sad, Papa."Her voice cracked. "And now, sitting here, a man I've never met before is telling me he slept with my mother. And you... you're just sitting there. You're not explaining anything to me. You're not defending her. You're not..."She gestured helplessly between the two men. "What is going on?"Jean-Baptiste looked at his daughter, and Isabella could see the conflict written across his face. Pain. Guilt. Fear. Love.He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.But no words came