Chapter 4
Isabella's POV
I was awakened by a gentle tapping sound.
Two soft knocks came from the car window, like some kind of restrained and polite greeting.
I opened my eyes groggily, my vision piercing through a thin layer of fog as I looked outside—
Last night's rain had finally stopped.
Gray-blue clouds pressed low against the sky, and the air was filled with the damp scent of earth and the faint sweetness of rotting leaves.
The asphalt surface of the parking lot glistened wetly, and in the depths of the thick fog, several tall buildings revealed vague outlines.
This was the deepest sleep I'd had in days.
No shrill call bells from the emergency department, no monotonous beeping of monitors, and no face of assistant doctor Clara with that perpetually sardonic smile.
Thinking back to last night when Julian had quietly brought her into my family's party, the two of them having their passionate encounter in my house's storage room.
She had sat on the sheepskin trunk my grandmother left behind, carrying on an affair with my fiancé while brazenly mocking my family's decline and downfall—
The absurd fragments had finally pieced together into complete truth.
Only when I was firmly pinned down in the late-night emergency room, facing those never-ending wounds and matters of life and death, could my fiancé and his assistant doctor share their private time without any scruples.
They could be entwined together from dusk onwards, while my bloodshot eyes and exhausted body were merely the best cover to facilitate them.
Naive me had always thought she deliberately scheduled me for a week of night shifts simply because she was upset that I accidentally bought the same bag as her!
"Good morning, Isabella."
Adrian's voice came through the car window, appropriately gentle.
I snapped back to reality with a start, my heart jumping uncontrollably.
Last night's absurd rainy evening, that impulsive "I do," now lay like an unexploded bomb in my heart, leaving me somewhat at a loss.
"Good, good morning, Adrian."
The awkwardness spread from my fingertips to my ears, and I didn't even know what expression to use when facing this man who was about to become my husband.
The car door was pulled open, and Lucas jumped in first.
He unceremoniously pressed his wet nose to my face, his tongue licking across the not-yet-dry traces on my cheeks, his tail wagging like a little propeller.
"Sorry, he's too enthusiastic."
Adrian got into the driver's seat, reaching out to rub Lucas's head. "I just took him for a walk. We still have an hour before the registry office opens, so we have time to clean ourselves up."
He paused, his gaze landing on a red brick building across the street.
"There's a backpacker hostel across the street that provides twenty-four-hour hot water. You can take a shower."
I instinctively looked up at the rearview mirror.
The woman in it was an absolute disaster.
Last night's rain and tears had completely ruined my makeup, eyeliner smudged into two gray marks stuck under my eyes, blonde hair messily plastered to my cheeks and neck.
My lipstick had long since disappeared, leaving only a trace of dark red pigment on my pale lips.
"You're right, Adrian. The way I look now," I laughed self-deprecatingly, "doesn't really seem like someone voluntarily about to marry a man."
"Thirsty?"
He pulled out a bottle of mineral water from the back seat. "Your throat sounds hoarse and terrible."
"Thank you."
I was indeed extremely thirsty.
But the moment I saw the logo on the glass bottle, I froze.
Elsenham Artesian Spring Water.
"Did you buy this?"
I gripped the cold bottle, my tone carrying a sharpness that surprised even myself.
Adrian didn't seem to think anything was wrong and nodded.
"Just kept a few bottles of drinking water in the car. Why, Isabella?"
An insurance broker with a monthly salary of just over four thousand pounds keeps Elsenham Artesian Spring Water—over thirty pounds per bottle—as regular drinking water in his car?
Perhaps realizing I had some doubts about the price of this water, Adrian withdrew his gaze and explained, "Oh, attending the Kensington family party for the first time, I hoped to maintain some appearances..."
"Adrian, we need to talk."
I didn't let him finish, a nameless anger surging up from the pit of my stomach, burning my eyes until they stung.
"I don't like this."
I placed the water bottle heavily back in Adrian's hand, my voice not loud, but each word landing clearly:
"Adrian, poverty and financial strain will indeed make us look awkward at certain moments. But this kind of meaningless vanity will only drag our lives deeper into the mud. Please don't doubt my words—if you had driven in through the side entrance yesterday and seen our family's courtyard, you would understand that what I just said is no exaggeration."
At last night's banquet hall, crystal chandeliers sparkled brilliantly, silver tableware was polished to a shine, and Mother wore that dress that had been altered three times, moving among guests with a dignified and proper smile.
But the collapsed colonnade in the east wing of the manor was still propped up with scaffolding, the construction debris piled in the backyard had been turned to mud by rain, and we couldn't even afford to clear it away.
I wasn't born understanding this suffocation.
In my childhood memories, Kensington Manor had once known true prosperity and dignity.
But ever since Father's failed investment left him bedridden after a stroke, Mother had continued to indulge in those hollow extravagances, forcibly dragging this family into an abyss of mounting debt.
I was very clear that even if Adrian and I completed this marriage transaction today.
The Hawthorne family trust fund might solve our urgent needs, but it would never fill the bottomless pit of her extravagant spending.
This new family we were about to form absolutely could not repeat the same mistakes.
Adrian was silent for a few seconds. Then he turned his head, his deep gray eyes looking directly at me, and said solemnly, "I'm sorry, Isabella. You're right."
His tone held no perfunctoriness, no excuses, as serious as signing a contract: "After we're married, I'll properly manage the household finances."
I hadn't expected him to apologize so readily, which instead made me feel somewhat guilty.
We had clearly agreed this was just a mutually beneficial transactional cooperation—how had I suddenly started bossing him around as if it were natural?
Had I just overstepped?
"Thank you for understanding, Adrian. Sorry, I'm just a bit..."
I lowered my head, rubbing my phone screen, only then suddenly realizing my phone had been turned off.
"You slept very soundly last night."
Adrian explained, "I was afraid phone calls would wake you, so I turned it off for you."
"Oh, thank you."
I pressed the power button, and the moment the screen lit up, countless voice messages flooded in like a breached dam.
Mother's voice was so shrill it nearly pierced through the speaker:
"Isabella! How could you leave such an occasion without even saying goodbye? How incredibly rude! Do you know how embarrassing this was for us!"
"Julian looked everywhere for you, and he's very unhappy. What on earth are you being so willful about? Stop acting like such a spoiled princess—if you anger Julian, we..."
"Robert said he saw you get into Adrian's car with his own eyes? My God, Isabella, what are you thinking? That worthless, penniless wastrel! As a well-bred lady of noble upbringing, you absolutely should not be mixing with that kind of person!"
My face flushed as I stole a glance at Adrian, quickly muting my phone.
"I'm sorry."
I apologized for my mother's indiscriminate humiliation of him.
"Don't worry about it," Adrian smiled. "However, all morning you've said nothing to me except 'thank you' and 'sorry.' Sure you don't want to say something else? We're about to get married, after all."
