I should've known better that coming here was a big, amateur mistake. But no room for regrets because at least I get to see Arabella for the last time. So I sit at the dining table, savoring the picture-perfect American dream unfolding before me as a beautiful woman my heart has ever met serves me food like a family man I'll never get to be.

It's an elusive haven; I was raised too differently to imagine such a scenario even in my wildest dreams. But today, right now, it occurs to me that I may like the feeling it evokes, even an ounce of it regardless of how foreign it is. So I keep looking at her, even when she doesn't look back, and when she does look back, my muscles tauten as retribution.

An inextinguishable fire burns through Arabella's eyes, and the more I look, the more I ignite. I want to glance the other way, or maybe... just at her and nowhere else, to just be with her. But there can't be us with all the lies and secrets and the dreadful past that connects us vicariously in one way or another—the only hidden truth she's crafted to never find out.

Arabella and me, we're bound to blood lust which ought to be prevented while we still can. She and I were never meant to cross paths no matter how many times I tried to ignore the fact. It's okay to be hurting now than later, for if she knows who I truly am, the things I've done, she'll hate herself more than she'd do me. I do want to protect her against my world, but more than that, I must protect her against me.

"So," Camilla breaks the silence, "I guess you're leaving today?" She looks at me while taking a bowl of deliciously-looking potatoes.

Everything looks exquisite. Truthfully, my little rebel knows her way around the kitchen.

"In two hours," I reply. "I'm afraid you're gonna be on a long sabbatical this time. Rest yourself and enjoy the summer; you deserve a break."

She puts the bowl down. Arabella doesn't; she keeps shoving the green salsa into her sister's plate absentmindedly, seemingly cold and distant and lost, her face blanched and ashen.

"Enough, Ara. I hate salads," Isla pleads. But Arabella doesn't respond. "Ara, I don't want that!" she repeats.

A furrow deepens on my face. Can she hear anything?

"Ara?" Camilla calls loudly and catches Arabella's attention at last. "That's too much even for me, have mercy on the little missy."

Looking at the plate, Arabella snaps instantly, "Sorry." She grabs another plate and repairs the damage.

I study her for a firm, short while but say nothing. Although I know she's a strong and assiduous person, I still am curious, and concerned, about what's going on inside that enraged head of hers. She can be vengeful and inflexible, but how long will it take for her to be the old Arabella full of life? The time before she met me.

"How long will it take, my sabbatical?" Camilla asks, derailing the long train of thoughts I've been hopped on since I walked into these walls.

"As long as it rakes," I reply simply, and it's the first time I'm giving her no explanation about my trip.

Shocked, Camilla presses her lips together and falls back in her seat. She knows I'm onto dangerous bidding, and I believe Arabella knows too given the way she stands up abruptly and gives me a silent gaze that speaks volumes.

"Enjoy your dinner. I'm not feeling too well," she says curtly.

"What—Ara?" Camilla scrambles out of her chair.

"It's okay, Cam. I'll eat later. Excuse me." With that, Arabella walks away.

When I finish a last bite of my food, a painful reminder of everything sweet I'm gonna lose in my life, which, with all honesty, was never mine to begin with, I follow Arabella upstairs to where I assume to be her room. It's where she headed to.

With a simple knock on the door, I invite myself in without waiting for her approval. Swiftly, she turns around; she's been standing near the small window, her arms folded across her chest, but fell loosely to her sides upon seeing me.

"Are you okay, Arabella?" I ask with caution; I know in retrospect she can't stand my presence here.

"I do not think it's any of your concern, Mister Castle," she deadpans, and I keep standing by the door, watching her as if I'm targeting my mark for a good last kill. Focused. "This is my bedroom and I believe you're not welcome here, so do yourself a favor and get out." She scornfully points her index at the door.

To avoid building ourselves an audience, I close the door behind me and draw myself in, which infuriates Arabella.

"Why did you come here? You could've told Camilla about your office affairs over the phone, Adrian!" She ambles toward me with a smirk of recognition.

Even in a pair of denim shorts and an old white wife beater with a pink sports bra showing underneath, she's still gorgeous. Behind the anger-infested look thrown my way, lies a very soft-hearted woman I've brutally wounded.

I should burn in hell.

"Answer me, dammit!" She strides closer, her eyes filled with menace. "You could've sent Isla's gift via Mario or a courier, but why the fuck did you choose to come here two hours before your flight, huh? Just to hurt me? To see how miserably I am after you—"

"I'm leaving and I don't know for how long, " I interrupt her, closing the distance between us. "I wanted to see you even from a distance."

And just this once, I want to inhale her scent that overpowers my senses. Even if it's for the last time, I want to hold her so close, so tightly, and feel the warmth I never knew existed until I first held her in my arms. If I was a cold stone wall, then she showed me that I could crumble with the strength of whatever emotion we shared.

The same emotion I must carve out now.

"Where are you going, Adrian? And why?" Her voice becomes a smooth whisper, like a gentle, liberating breeze in the scorching hell life had locked me into.

She looks worried. Petrified.

"Berlin. To finish a very important business," I reply, staring at nothing but her glowing eyes full of light that's slowly fading to darkness.

How dark can it get, though? I feel like she won't stop pursuing the dusky road just to reach my hell hole.

Will she?

"Business, huh?" She scoffs. "You mean another mark to eliminate? How many more this time? I'm very curious."

Indeed, she's very curious. What's worse, she is not bothered by any of it; me taking lives doesn't seem to frighten Arabella at all. I'm constantly debating whether it's a good sign or not.

"I know you're angry at me, Arabella, but—"

"No, I'm furious! So furious I could kill you Right now." Her chest shores on when she inhales deeply. "But don't think you're too indispensable, Adrian, because you're not. I'm gonna live my life with or without you in it, and still, I won't stop making you suffer for leaving me!" she declares with a hint of pure vengeance.

I sigh heavily.

"Maybe there'll be a day that you'll thank me for leaving you, Arabella," I say gently, my head falling to one side as a small smile lifts the corner of my mouth.

As they say, karma has a way of surprising us when we least expect and the past is the ghost that can't be willed away by mere needs and wants.

The back of my hand reaches her cheek; I don't learn it until I'm tucking her hair behind her ear, and her warm breath hitches through her heaving chest.

I stare at her so intently with a painful frown between my eyebrows. Reckless desire pulses through my bloodstream. Her lips pull me in like a moth to a flame, yet I'm aware they're more dangerous than the trigger of a loaded gun.

I set my hand around her waist, drawing her closer to me until her breasts crush helplessly on my chest. But before I could so much as brush my lips against her soft ones, Arabella opens her eyes and holds my hand that was holding the base of her neck.

I stay still, patiently, waiting for her mercy. But her intentions are cruel; I can feel it. Slowly, she draws my hand toward her lips, not missing a blink of my eyes, and kisses my calloused knuckles twice or thrice, holding me in place with her bedroom eyes.

I fail to read her thoughts, but through her own words, she whispers next to my lips, "You want me, Adrian. You need me, my love. And even if you want not to, you do love me as much as I love you. You can leave me over and over again, but you can never hide from me because" — lowering her gaze, she presses her other hand on my chest and smiles so surely — "I live right here. In your cold beating heart, I stubbornly reside. And I'll stay... right here... forever." She then sets me free by stepping away from me.

And yeah, it was a stupid mistake coming here.

Arabella may be spiraling, which is dangerous for both of us, but I am deflating, and that is more dangerous for her as my only weakness the Pentagon has eyes for.

It's confirmed now. They know all about Arabella and her family, but how deep my connection with her goes is still a mystery they're dying to solve.

"Take care, Arabella," I tell her, "and all the best on your new job; I'm sure you'll do well."

With that, I head toward the door, and only stop when she calls my name while running to me. That kiss she denied me, she gives it back tenfold. I hold her so close, let her ease our pain for just the shortest minute of my life that leaves my head spinning with desire and need.

Her lips melt in mine, but like a punishment, she pulls back just when I try to savor this moment a blood-spilling monster like me doesn't deserve.

Breathless, she says, "It's for the last time you said. There. Think of it and get hurt." She catches a breath, and a knot runs over her throat before she adds, "Take care, Adrian. And... please stay alive," with tears glowing in her eyes.

I nod stiffly and leave.

Mario revs the engine as I look through the windshield at Arabella's bedroom window. Lights are still on, it's dark outside, and she's still standing right there; I see the silhouette of her behind the white binders.

It breaks me. And although I was trained to survive through any hell, I wish the Pentagon had a manual about this sickly emotion that for once seems more powerful than me. Arabella thinks it's love, but I'm not so sure it is.

I did love once but was never this strong. I could handle it. I did.

But this one, I don't know what it is.

"Are you okay, boss?" Mario asks. He rarely asks such trivial questions. Getting no response, he clears his throat and adds, "My apology. I—"

"Put a few men you can trust to guard the house, especially at night. They should be a hundred percent discreet," I state.

"Roger that. Anything specific to report?"

I exhale through my nose. "Not really. I just want them safe," I reply.

And she's only safe where I'm not.

_______

A/N: Okay, we need to kick Adrian's ass. Who agrees? But no, I'm sure Arabella can handle him. To get a bigger glimpse of what this book is all about, please read the story description. This chapter had some clues, but brace yourselves for the rollercoaster of emotions.