The morning had been soft, filled with whispered words and tender kisses, but as the hours slipped away, reality began knocking at the edges of their perfect bubble.
Amara was in the kitchen, making coffee, humming under her breath. Adrian watched her from the couch, his chest aching with a kind of happiness he hadn't thought he'd ever deserve. She looked beautiful in the simplest way—hair tousled, wearing one of his shirts that draped over her like it was made for her.
This is what I want, he thought. This. Her. Us.
But then his phone buzzed again.
At first, he ignored it. But the buzzing persisted, insistent, like a warning bell that refused to be silenced. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he picked it up.
The name on the screen made his heart drop.
Isabella.
His chest tightened. Memories rushed back—things he hadn't spoken about, things he had buried. He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen, then quickly pressed decline.
But Amara had noticed. She stepped into the living room, two mugs in hand, her eyes narrowing just slightly. "Who was that?"
Adrian forced a smile, setting the phone face down. "No one important."
Her gaze lingered on him, sharp, searching. "You hesitated."
"Amara—"
She set the mugs down, her voice soft but steady. "Don't lie to me. Not now. Not after everything we've shared."
His chest ached. She deserved the truth. She deserved all of him. But the thought of telling her—of watching the light in her eyes fade—terrified him.
"Her name is Isabella," he admitted at last, the name heavy on his tongue. "She's… someone from my past."
Amara's heart clenched. Past. The word echoed in her mind, sharp and merciless. She wanted to ask more, but fear coiled in her chest. Fear that whatever this Isabella represented could shatter the fragile happiness she had just found.
"Someone," she repeated quietly. "Someone who keeps calling you."
Adrian reached for her hand, his eyes pleading. "She doesn't matter, Amara. You do. Only you."
But doubt had already slipped in like a shadow.
She pulled her hand back, not harshly, but with a hesitation that broke him.
"I want to believe you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "God, I do. But I need to know what I'm fighting against. If there's another ghost in this story, I deserve to see it."
Adrian closed his eyes, shame twisting inside him. He had wanted their love to be clean, untouched, pure. But the past had claws—and now it was reaching for him.
For them.