Isabella stood frozen for several seconds after Adrian's last words, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. The sound of her own heartbeat pounded in her ears. Slowly, her eyes drifted toward the door that was still slightly open. The golden numbers on the plaque gleamed under the morning sunlight—106.
Her room had been 109.
Her chest tightened painfully as realization hit her like a storm. No… this can't be true. She blinked twice, her lips parting slightly in shock. She'd entered the wrong room last night. It wasn't Adrian who forced his way into her room—she was the one who walked into his.
Her fingers trembled as she clutched the edge of the bedsheet, her throat dry and heavy with guilt. The truth was unbearable. Every moment from the night before flashed in her mind like a broken film reel—the dizziness, the corridor lights, Aurelia's faint voice fading behind her, the heavy hotel door that looked the same as hers. Everything blurred into one fateful mistake.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. What have I done?
Adrian, who had been watching her silently, noticed the way her expression shifted from anger to confusion and finally to regret. His eyes narrowed, curious, calculating.
Isabella took a shaky breath. "I... I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Adrian tilted his head slightly. "Sorry?" His voice was calm, but the undertone carried both irritation and curiosity.
She nodded, not daring to meet his eyes. "It was my mistake. I entered the wrong room last night. I thought it was mine." Her words came out quickly, like she wanted to push them out before her courage failed her.
David, who was still standing silently by the door, lowered his gaze. Even he hadn't expected this twist.
"I shouldn't have accused you," Isabella continued, her voice breaking. "I... I just want to forget it ever happened. Please, Mr. Frost. Let's end it here. If we ever meet again, let's pretend we're strangers."
She clutched her purse and turned toward the door, her heart hammering against her ribs. The thought of leaving that room—leaving behind the humiliation, the guilt, and the man who had just turned her world upside down—was the only thing keeping her steady.
But she had barely taken two steps when a strong hand caught her wrist.
The force of the pull made her lose balance, and before she could react, she found herself falling against a firm chest. Her palms pressed against his shirt, and she could feel the warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric.
Her breath hitched. Her heart seemed to stop.
Adrian's scent—subtle, cold, intoxicating—filled her senses. His grip was unyielding, his gaze fixed on her face, so close that she could see the storm in his eyes.
"Strangers?" he repeated softly, his deep voice brushing against her skin like a dangerous whisper. "Do you really think we can pretend to be strangers after what happened last night?"
Isabella's throat tightened. "Please, Adrian," she said, trying to pull her hand free. "I don't want any more trouble. I just want to leave."
His lips curved into a faint, unreadable smile. "Leave? After giving yourself to me?"
Her eyes widened, fury replacing her fear. "Don't twist this! You know it wasn't like that!"
"I know exactly what it was," he said, his voice low, his tone unreadable. "Fate doesn't make mistakes, Isabella. You entered my room. You came to me. Maybe this is how it was meant to be."
She shook her head, trying to step back, but his hand was still wrapped firmly around her wrist. "You're delusional if you think I'll accept this," she snapped.
Adrian's smirk faded, replaced by something darker—hurt, possessiveness, and an edge of desperation. His eyes softened for a brief second before hardening again. "You think I can let you walk away now? After waiting three years… after last night?"
His words sent a chill down her spine. The sincerity in his voice frightened her more than his strength.
"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she said coldly, forcing herself to look straight into his eyes. "Let me go, Mr. Frost. We'll pretend this never happened."
Adrian exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. "No," he said at last.
The single word made her heart skip.
Before she could ask what he meant, his next words left her speechless.
"Marry me."
The room fell silent. Isabella blinked, thinking she'd misheard him. "What?" she whispered, stunned.
Adrian's gaze didn't waver. "You heard me," he said evenly. "Marry me, Isabella."
Her lips parted in disbelief. "You've lost your mind."
"Maybe," he admitted softly, stepping closer. "But I can't let you walk out of my life again. You've been mine from the day I met you, Isabella. Last night just proved it."
"Adrian, stop it!" she cried, tears welling in her eyes. "You think marriage can fix what happened? It can't. I made a mistake, and you were dragged into it. Don't make it worse."
But Adrian wasn't listening. His voice was calm but resolute, the same tone he used in boardrooms when closing deals that would shake entire markets. "We'll go to the civil office," he said simply. "Right now."
"Adrian, no!"
"Yes," he said firmly. "You'll be my wife before the day ends."
And before she could resist further, he had already called his assistant to arrange everything. Within an hour, Isabella found herself sitting beside him in the back seat of his sleek black car, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, her mind numb.
Outside the window, the city passed in a blur. She couldn't believe this was happening. Her eighteenth birthday had been the beginning of her nightmare, and now, barely twenty-four hours later, she was being dragged into a marriage she never agreed to.
At the civil office, everything happened too quickly—signatures, witnesses, papers stamped and filed. Adrian's calmness contrasted sharply with her trembling hands. When the registrar finally declared them husband and wife, Isabella felt nothing but emptiness.
As they stepped outside, a cool breeze brushed against her face. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she turned to him. Her voice was soft, but her eyes held quiet strength. "You got what you wanted, Mr. Frost," she said. "But don't expect me to accept it."
Adrian's eyes darkened, but he said nothing.
"I will never forgive you for forcing this on me," she continued, tears glistening in her eyes. "And no matter what you think, this… whatever this is, will never make me yours."
Before he could respond, she turned and walked toward the waiting car that would take her home.
Adrian stood there on the courthouse steps, watching her disappear into the distance. His fists clenched by his sides, his jaw tight. The cold wind tugged at his coat, but he didn't move.
A small, bitter smile curved on his lips.
"You can run all you want, Isabella Grace," he murmured to himself. "But you'll never escape what's already written in our fate."