5. Call Me

“And you smell funny,” Freya added.

“Funny?” Adam echoed, easing down onto the bed beside her.

“Not like your usual smell. Like… flowers. But not our wipes. Different.”

Adam laughed, helpless. “You sound like a wife interrogating her husband.”

His chest tightened. ‘I hope no one ever breaks your heart, Freya. Not like… not like your father once did to someone very precious.’

She frowned, but leaned into him anyway. “Read me the story.”

He did. His voice softer than usual. His hand stroking her hair as her lids finally grew too heavy to fight.

He stayed until both twins breathed evenly, curled beneath their blankets. His heart ached with love. And guilt. 

When he finally rose, slipping from their room with practiced care, he paused at the door.

What are you doing, Adam?

But he knew.

He returned to Imogen’s suite.

Only… it was empty.

No sign of her. Only a note on the nightstand, penned in graceful, elegant script.

Sorry. I had to return to London. My grandmother’s unwell.

Call me. Here’s my number. — Imogen

Adam stood there, staring at the neat handwriting, the number scrawled below.

Too late.

He felt… something slip through his fingers.

But he knew who he was. What he’d done. What he deserved.

A man like him didn’t get happy endings. 

Still… thank you, Imogen.

Thank you for fixing me, if only for a night.

But this? This should end here.

For both their sakes.

***

Elizabeth Warren’s Mansion. London.

“Grandmother, please. You need to go to the hospital.”

“No.”

Elizabeth Warren’s voice was weak, but her glare remained sharp. For a woman who had ruled her empire with an iron fist, even illness couldn’t dim the steel in her eyes.

Dr. Selena William exchanged a glance with Imogen over the rim of her reading glasses. “She’s stubborn,” she murmured, placing the stethoscope back around her neck. “But she’s stable for now. If her blood pressure spikes again, though—”

“She won’t listen to me,” Imogen sighed, pressing her palm over her face. “Thank God you were free tonight.”

“I thought I retired from house calls,” Selena teased softly, closing her medical bag. “But for you? Always.”

Elizabeth waved a dismissive hand. “Enough fussing. I want to hear about your little party.”

Imogen groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Seriously? Can’t we focus on your health for once?”

“You’ll tell me anyway,” Elizabeth said, reclining back against her pillows like a queen demanding court gossip. “So spare me the suspense.”

Imogen forced a smile, leaning in to adjust her grandmother’s blanket. “Later. After you rest. I want you well. That’s all that matters right now.”

Imogen excused herself to take a shower.

Left alone, Elizabeth and Selena exchanged a glance.

“Was I wrong… for wanting my granddaughter to be happy?” Elizabeth asked quietly, regret lining her voice. “I arranged her engagement to Alan because I thought he was a good man. Turns out he’s nothing but trash, charming me just to get closer to our family’s money.”

Selena remained silent.

She knew more than Elizabeth did.

Imogen’s pain wasn’t just about a betrayal by a loser like Alan Lewis.

No one seemed to realize that.

Everyone only wanted Imogen to be happy.

But why… did they all insist on forcing it in their own selfish ways?

It had been that way before.

It was still that way now.

Elizabeth Warren, marrying her granddaughter off to a gold-digger.

At least… she’d insisted Imogen sign that prenup.

And the man had paid the price.

Leonardo Warren?

He was the worst of them all.

Selena shivered.

There wasn’t a man alive more selfish, more entitled, than Leo.

***

When Imogen returned to her grandmother’s bedroom, she found Selena already gathering her things, ready to leave.

Her grandmother was asleep.

Imogen lingered a moment, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her grandmother’s chest. Relief softened the tightness in her stomach.

Selena touched her arm lightly. “Let’s give her space. Come on.”

They stepped out quietly, leaving Elizabeth to rest.

In the hallway, Selena’s professional mask slipped into something softer. “I thought you’d text me some juicy scandal, not drag me into emergency care.”

Imogen laughed under her breath. “You love me. Admit it.”

“Unfortunately, yes. Which is why I’m about to ask you something ridiculous.” Selena arched a brow. “Tell me. What kind of man did you meet at that masquerade?”

Imogen blinked. “You just diagnosed my grandmother’s health crisis. And that’s where your mind goes?”

Selena smirked. “Exactly. Life is short. Spill.”

With a sigh, Imogen leaned against the cool marble wall, folding her arms. “Fine. He was… strange.”

Selena perked up immediately. “Strange how? Married? Poor? Wearing socks with sandals?”

Imogen rolled her eyes. “No. Attractive. Extremely.”

Selena’s grin widened. “Go on.”

“He saved me. Twice, actually. Once from Alan’s cousin running her mouth. The other… from some drunk asshole who thought I was advertising availability.”

Selena’s brow knit. “That’s not strange. That’s chivalrous. And hot.”

Imogen’s fingers toyed with the edge of her sleeve, mind drifting. “He’s… confusing. Said he was broken. That he couldn’t… function.”

Selena blinked. “Wait. He said what?”

“Erectile dysfunction. Psychological, he claimed.”

Selena laughed outright. “And yet… here you are, flushed like a schoolgirl. Did he kiss you or did you test the theory more… directly?”

Imogen’s face warmed. “Let’s say I was persuasive.”

“Persuasive?” Selena’s eyes gleamed. “So…?”

“He wasn’t lying about his past condition. But he wasn’t broken anymore.”

Selena laughed louder, shaking her head. “Then he’s either a liar or you’re his cure.”

Imogen smiled despite herself. “He said as much. That I… fixed something.”

Selena leaned in, conspiratorial. “And? Did you leave him your number like a responsible modern woman?”

Imogen pulled her phone from her clutch, staring at the blank screen. “I did. I left my number on my nightstand.”

Selena’s smirk turned wicked. “You’re waiting for him to call, aren’t you?”

“…Maybe. I hope Adam will call me soon.”

“Yes, yes he will call—” Selena’s playful expression faltered. “Adam?”

Imogen nodded.

“Adam who?” Selena asked.

“I… didn’t ask.”

Selena’s mouth parted in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“I was… distracted.” Imogen winced. “He’s ridiculously good-looking. And I was… not exactly in my right mind.”

Selena pressed a hand to her forehead, half in exasperation, half in amusement. “Imogen Warren. Billionaire heiress. CEO. And still you let your hormones outwit your brain.”

“I never said I was perfect.” Imogen chuckled weakly, scrolling through her untouched call log. “What if he doesn’t call?”