The sun had begun to dip behind the rolling hills surrounding the province, casting long golden shadows across the narrow roads. Adrian Kingsley trudged along beside Isla, the weight of an apology bouncing around in his head like a trapped bird.
"Look," he began, running a hand through his hair, "about earlier… the coffee incident—"
She cut him off with a sharp look. "You don't need to apologize."
"I do," he insisted, stopping in his tracks and turning toward her. "I nearly flattened you with my car. That's not something you just… brush off."
Isla crossed her arms, eyebrow raised. "And yet, here I am. Brushing it off."
Adrian blinked. He hadn't expected her to be this… stubborn. "You're braver than I gave you credit for," he admitted, softening slightly. "But it doesn't change the fact that my driving nearly ruined your day—or your wardrobe."
She glanced down at the coffee-stained shirt, grimacing. "Well… it wasn't a good day anyway. And this? It's just a shirt. Nothing permanent."
He frowned. "Nothing permanent? Isla… it's stained. It's ruined."
She let out a small, exasperated laugh. "You sound like my father would. Always overreacting to minor inconveniences."
Adrian's heart skipped. "Your father?" he repeated cautiously. "He's… involved in this province?"
"No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "He's… elsewhere. Nevermind." She bit her lip, suddenly wary. "Anyway, you didn't come here to chat about ruined shirts, did you?"
Adrian hesitated. "You're right. I came here to… well, to follow my father's orders. To be honest, it wasn't exactly my idea."
"You mean to 'make a friend'?" she said, recalling the message he had mentioned the night before. "The one your father said I was supposed to be?"
He froze, caught off guard. "How do you know—?"
"Lucky guess," she said with a faint smirk, though her eyes narrowed. "I know the family wants the land. Everyone knows. Even the provincial rumors make it here."
Adrian blinked. "Everyone knows? Even in a place like this?"
She shrugged. "A province may be small, but people talk. Always."
Adrian ran a hand down his face, frustrated. "This is… more complicated than I expected."
Isla frowned, stepping closer, her curiosity piqued despite herself. "Complicated? How so?"
He looked at her, a serious weight in his eyes. "Because you're not just a 'target' or a checklist item for my father. You're… someone I can't ignore. And I don't usually say that."
Her pulse quickened. "You don't usually—say what?"
"That I notice people. That they matter," he said, voice dropping low, almost a whisper. "That their presence changes things—me, mostly."
Isla blinked. Heat rose to her cheeks. She wanted to argue, but the words lodged in her throat.
"You're different from the city boys," she finally said, trying to regain control. "You think everything's a game, but… I can tell there's something behind your eyes. Something you're not saying."
Adrian tilted his head, intrigued. "You think you know me already?"
"No," she admitted, "but I… feel it. Like you're hiding a storm."
He chuckled softly, a dangerous sound that made her stomach twist. "A storm? Maybe. Or maybe I'm just… careful."
They reached the small provincial café where the scent of roasted coffee beans mingled with the warm evening air. Adrian held the door open for her, stepping inside with the practiced charm of someone used to attention.
"First time in a provincial café?" Isla asked, eyeing his polished shoes and tailored jacket.
He smirked. "And it shows, doesn't it?"
"It does," she admitted, biting her lip. "You're… clearly out of your element."
"Out of my element?" he repeated, scanning the café. "Maybe. But out here, I can observe. I can learn. And I can… adapt."
Her eyes softened, just slightly. "Adaptation is good. You might survive here, yet."
He gave her a quick, sidelong glance. "Yet," he echoed. "We'll see about that."
A small bell rang at the café's entrance, and a local woman peeked over the counter. "You new here?" she asked, her voice warm but curious.
Adrian nodded, tone polite but distant. "Just visiting."
Isla noticed a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You don't do casual visits," she whispered.
"Correct," he said, lowering his voice. "Everything I do has purpose. Even this… accidental friendship."
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "Accidental friendship? I'd say it's deliberate chaos."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice to match hers. "Chaos is underrated."
Before Isla could respond, Lara joined them at a corner table, sliding a folder across to Isla. "I found the old property records you asked about," she said, smiling. Then her gaze shifted, and she whispered conspiratorially, "And I've been meaning to ask… who's your new friend?"
Isla hesitated, glance flicking to Adrian. "This… is Adrian Kingsley."
Lara's eyes widened slightly. "Kingsley?"
"Yes," Adrian said smoothly, but his eyes scanned the café subtly. There was always someone watching. Always.
Lara whispered, leaning in. "He's… intense."
Isla smirked faintly. "You haven't seen anything yet."
The trio pored over the documents, but the tension between Adrian and Isla remained electric. Every accidental touch, every shared glance, pulled them closer—even as unspoken walls lingered between them.
Then, a small folded note slid across the table from an empty corner, catching Isla's attention. She picked it up cautiously. Written in jagged, hurried handwriting were the words:
"Do not trust him. The land will cost more than money."
Her fingers trembled as she looked up at Adrian. "Someone… someone's warning me."
He took the note, scanning it carefully, jaw tight. "I wondered when this would happen." He looked around, sharp eyes catching the shadows outside the café window. "They're watching. And they're not subtle."
Isla's breath caught. "Who?"
Adrian shook his head. "I don't know yet. But I promise you one thing…" He paused, voice low, almost dangerous. "I'll make sure nothing happens to you. Not here, not in this province, not while I'm around."
Her heart thumped, a mix of fear and something else—something thrilling and impossible to name.
Outside, the shadows shifted, and a figure slipped silently between the market stalls, observing the new arrivals.
And inside the café, Adrian and Isla—two worlds colliding—sat at the edge of something neither of them fully understood. But one thing was certain: the storm had begun.