I pulled into the secondary garage, the Aston Martin's engine purring to a stop. Thomas was already waiting by the door, a team of staff assembling behind him, their expressions a mix of professional alertness and bewildered curiosity at the sheer volume of bags I was personally hauling.
"The chairs have been changed to soft ones, Sir," he informed me, his voice a low hum. "And the kitchen is already preparing the revised breakfast menu."
"Good," I nodded, relief coursing through me. "The herbs?"
"Delivered to your room, sir. And the house temperature is being adjusted as well."
"Excellent." I began walking inside as a few younger footmen quickly moved to unload the car, following me with its content.
*****
ISABELLA'S POV
I sat on the toilet, elbows braced on my knees, staring at the floor tiles like they might give me answers. The cramps twisted low in my belly, sharp but familiar, and the faint sound of Adrien's voice still echoed in my ears—calm, steady, utterly unbothered.
