Chapter 12
Isabella's POV
I stood there stunned for a full half minute, displaying tremendous shock at this unexpected windfall.
Because in my impression, that landlord was notoriously rigid and stingy, usually calculating even the small change for lawn trimming down to the last penny.
Originally, I thought I'd be lucky if he didn't demand compensation for breach of contract from the early termination.
It seems that sometimes you really can't judge people by appearances alone—beneath this shrewd and mean exterior, perhaps there's also a sincere and kind heart.
Just like Adrian standing before me—everyone on the outside thinks the youngest son of the Hawthorne family is an idle, good-for-nothing playboy. But I have a very strong premonition:
Perhaps the life ahead with him won't be so bad after all?
At D-leave restaurant, we were received by a British gentleman manager in his fifties.
He wore an impeccably tailored tailcoat and led us with elegant gestures.
Although I'd prepared myself mentally, when I stepped into the private room, I still felt a twinge of unease.
The décor here was luxurious yet understated, but what truly shocked me was that those seemingly casually placed porcelain pieces were all extremely valuable and rare imports.
But strangely, at this moment, aside from us, the entire restaurant was completely empty.
"Are there no other guests today?"
I asked in a lowered voice.
Adrian pulled out a chair for me to sit down and explained softly, "A friend helped arrange this. They weren't supposed to be open today, so the entire venue is exclusively for us."
I took a deep breath, my gaze sweeping around. "What about the head chef?"
"In the back," Adrian smiled as he poured me a glass of warm water.
Just then, his phone suddenly vibrated.
He glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing slightly, and gave me an apologetic gesture. "It's work-related. Isabella, I'm sorry. I'll step out to take this call."
As luck would have it, not two minutes after he left, my phone rang as well.
Seeing the word "Mother" on the caller ID, I knew what had to come couldn't be avoided.
"Tell me this isn't true! Isabella, have you lost your mind? You actually married Adrian Hawthorne?"
"If Julian hadn't come to me in a fury, we'd still be in the dark. My God, I thought last night you were just upset about him and that woman, going out to clear your head. How could you make such an absurd decision without a word?"
"You need to retract that marriage notice immediately! We absolutely will not allow you to marry that useless playboy from the Hawthorne family!"
The roar from the receiver was shrill and piercing, completely devoid of any trace of the dignity and elegance befitting a countess.
What hurt me wasn't her current loss of composure, but the sense of entitlement revealed between her words—
Faced with Julian's betrayal, they never once thought to stand up for me. Their first reaction was actually to have me swallow this grievance?
"Did you go to the storage room to clean up the traces that woman left under her ass? Mother."
I bit my teeth, sneering sarcastically.
"Isabella! How can you speak such vulgar words! Listen, that woman poses no threat to you at all! What you should be doing now is taking the initiative to win Julian's heart back. Just like before—he'll get bored with someone else in a few days."
In that moment, my heart went completely cold.
"So you've known all along that he's been messing around outside more than once, and you never told me? I'm going to marry Adrian! I'd rather have a despised playboy than a hypocritical, arrogant false gentleman!"
"What do you know!"
My mother's tone became even more severe. "If you're with Julian, at least he can still subsidize you and our family on a daily basis! Now you're with this man who can't even support himself—"
"Which eye of yours has seen me needing Julian's subsidies? Every month I send you over a thousand pounds on time. After paying my own rent, I'm left with less than four hundred for living expenses! Have you ever really cared about how tight things are for me?"
The moment I hung up, I was trembling with anger.
Fortunately, the first course was served at just the right time.
It was an exquisite appetizer styled like a forest after rain, emanating a faint fragrance of truffle and lime intertwined. The instant that aroma entered my nostrils, the wonderful healing power of fine food smoothed out the wrinkles in my heart.
But I just looked at it quietly without touching my fork, stubbornly waiting for Adrian to return.
It wasn't until both the appetizer and main course had been successively served that the door to the private room was gently pushed open.
Seeing my untouched plate, a flash of apology crossed Adrian's eyes. "Sorry, did you wait long? I should have come to tell you not to wait for me."
"It's fine." I looked up, unable to help asking, "Are you always this busy?"
"It's the nature of the work, can't be helped."
He smiled helplessly, his gaze particularly earnest.
That evening, I voluntarily slept in the guest bedroom.
Vaguely, I heard Adrian using his computer in the living room, occasionally interspersed with a few phone calls.
Sometimes he'd speak directly, but other times he'd deliberately go out to the yard to answer, as if he didn't want me to hear too much.
But I was simply too exhausted.
Whether it was the consecutive week of night shifts plus last night curled up in the car, or the mental exhaustion from intense and conflicting emotions, everything left me with absolutely no energy to think about anything other than sleep.
Weekday mornings were always exceptionally busy.
Even though the new apartment was only a less-than-ten-minute walk from the hospital, I still nearly arrived late.
London rain is always so damned capricious.
I walked quickly to the time clock, about to press my fingerprint.
But Clara, as if she'd timed it perfectly, moved over leisurely and blocked the sensor area completely with her body.
She pretended to adjust her work badge while chatting with a nearby nurse about last night's TV drama.
"Beep—"
Just in that instant when she blocked me, the red numbers on the time clock jumped mercilessly.
Late.
I stopped my movement, frowning as I stared at her. "What are you trying to do?"
Clara turned around, her face immediately arranging itself into an expression of utmost innocence. "Oh! Darling, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."
"But it doesn't matter anyway. After all, you still have to work the night shift tonight. Being one minute late in the morning—HR shouldn't be that petty about it, right? If you get docked pay again, you won't have money to fix the surveillance in that broken storage room of yours."
I was about to say something when the HR manager happened to push the door open.
"Miss Smith, please come in for a moment."
She was calling Clara.
My friend, nurse Sophie Johnson, came up and spoke to me in a lowered voice.
"Isabella, you shouldn't be too polite with someone like her. I don't know what she's so smug about. Yesterday the hospital's new director came to talk to the dean—I heard it was about administrative system reforms. People like her probably don't have many days left to be so arrogant."
But I held no optimism whatsoever. "Julian will definitely cover for her."
"Excuse me?" Sophie paused, looking completely puzzled. "Why would your fiancé cover for her?"
I smiled. "Because last night, the two of them completed a high-difficulty sex session in the storage room at my house during the party."
