Page 108 of The Beast's Broken Angel

“She should be.”

Isabelle let out a soft, derisive laugh. “Please. You’re terrifying, sure. But Noah isn’t. And I see how he looks at you. That tells me everything I need to know.”

Noah tensed beside her. I saw it. Felt it.

She turned to him, gathering her sketchbook with sharpmovements. “And you. Stop looking like you’re about to argue. He saved your life. You saved his soul, or whatever’s left of it. You chose him, Noah. And he’s punishing you for it because he’s too scared to admit it goes both ways.”

The words dropped like bricks.

Noah’s knuckles went white on the edge of the table. My throat locked.

Before either of us could respond, the door creaked open again. Sophia entered, elegant as always, carrying a light jacket.

“Isabelle,” she said gently. “The garden’s ready.”

That was all. A prompt. No judgment. No smile.

“Try not to emotionally implode while I’m gone,” Isabelle muttered as she rolled past us. “Or do. At this point, a dramatic argument might do you both some good.”

She wheeled herself out without a backward glance. Sophia followed with a final, unreadable look in our direction, and then the door closed behind them.

Silence.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Noah said, but he wouldn’t look at me.

“Is she wrong?”

He finally met my gaze. And for a second, I saw it—everything he wasn’t saying.

“You gave me a reason,” I said, stepping closer. “When I asked what Harrison would want with you. You said you'd do anything for your sister. That family came first. But that wasn’t why you saved me.”

Noah stood there, too still. The silence was louder than a scream.

“No,” he said softly. “It wasn’t.”

“Then why?”

His voice cracked a little. “You already know.”

I did. Christ, I did.

I crossed the space between us before I could stop myself, backing him up against the wall in one clean motion. Not with anger. With need. Desperation. Clarity.

“I should hate you,” I said, my voice low. “You took my revenge. My choice. Everything I waited decades for.”

“I know.” His hands rose to my chest—tentative, but there. “I’d do it again.”

“I know.” I swallowed hard. “That’s what terrifies me.”

“Adrian.” Just my name, but weighted with everything we couldn't say. Wouldn't say. Not yet.

I kissed him instead of speaking, pouring twenty years of loneliness and rage and need into the contact. He responded instantly, desperately, like he'd been drowning and I was air. Maybe we both were drowning. Maybe we always had been.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I rested my forehead against his. “This doesn't change anything. Harrison still dies. The war still comes.”

“I know.” Noah's hands fisted in my shirt, holding on like I might disappear. “But you'll let me keep you alive through it?”

“You going to drug me again if I say no?”