Semua Bab His Darkest Temptation: Bab 11 - Bab 20

The scent of old leather and Adrian’s unsettling cologne still clung to Isabella’s skin like smoke, hours after their conversation had ended. His voice haunted her—low, steady, almost too calm. “My next move… is to show you everything.” But she didn’t trust “everything” from Adrian Blackwood. His truths always came wrapped in riddles, softened with charm, and sharpened with intent. No, she’d find her answers.The Society didn’t sleep, not really. It just quieted after midnight, like a predator watching from the shadows. Isabella had waited for this moment—two hours spent cross-referencing schematics she’d discreetly copied from a broken printer tray. Every corridor, every camera blind spot had been mapped. Her target was deep in the lower levels: the tech room—the digital heart of the Echo Protocol.She dressed in black, loose, silent fabrics. Her tablet glowed faintly on the bed, displaying the route: red lines for motion sensors, yellow for camera sweeps. In her bag: her journal, a

The meditation room offered no comfort.Isabella stepped inside, barely registering the sleek lines and soft lighting designed to calm the senses. The walls were a soothing grey, the air scented faintly with something botanical and clean, but none of it touched the storm inside her.She was still reeling.From the tech room. From the files. From the photo of her mother. From Adrian.Every moment with him felt like a contradiction—his tears, his confessions, his cold control. The man she was supposed to expose was turning into something else entirely. And that terrified her more than any file or surveillance feed ever could.The room was arranged for a group session. Ten participants, seated apart in symmetrical pods. Usually, this was a space for solitary introspection. Today, it had a new directive: a group trust exercise.She hated the sound of it already.A staff member greeted them all with a practiced smile. “Welcome. Today’s exercise is about connection. You will pair off. Choos

The photo felt like it was burning through Isabella’s fingers, branding her with every lie she’d been fed since arriving here. Her mother’s vacant eyes, that sterile room, the words Chapter One scrawled like the title of a cruel joke—it all screamed of manipulation.And now, her anger wasn’t quiet or strategic. It was sharp. Raging. Personal.She didn’t sneak through the halls this time. No calculated steps, no concern for who saw her. Her fury beat louder than her boots on the floor, pushing past the false calm of the Retreat. The polite nods of the staff meant nothing now. They were all part of it—or pretending not to be.Adrian’s office loomed at the end of the corridor, heavy doors shut like always. She didn’t knock.She shoved them open hard.They slammed into the walls with a jarring crack.Adrian looked up from his desk, where papers were spread and the chessboard still sat mid-play. The light in the room was low—intentional, theatrical, like always—but he didn’t flinch at the

The therapist in Isabella had always been able to compartmentalize. Observe. Assess. Protect.But ever since Adrian Blackwood had let his voice crack, everything had changed.She had watched him unravel in front of her—grip tightening, mask slipping, words falling into pieces. And underneath all that power and precision, she hadn’t found the predator she expected. She’d found something far more dangerous.A man she could feel for.She left the observation room shaken, the echo of his voice trailing her down the corridor: “How do you stop the echoes when they’re part of your foundation?”She hadn’t answered. Couldn’t.Now, instead of returning to her suite, she found herself walking—no clear direction, just an instinctive pull—until her steps brought her to the garden terrace.The dusk sky stretched wide, heavy with purples and deep streaks of orange. It looked bruised, bleeding out the last light of the day. The air was cold, edged with salt, and the faint, rich scent of damp earth.S

The corridor behind the mirror room was suffocating. Gone was the sterile elegance of the Society’s curated spaces. Here, the walls were crude stone, the air thick with dust and dampness. The sharp contrast grounded Isabella more than she expected. There was no illusion here. Only the bones of the place.Adrian walked ahead of her, flashlight in hand, the beam bobbing with his swift steps. He didn’t speak, didn’t glance back. But his hand hadn’t left her arm since they fled. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was tight, urgent.“What just happened?” Isabella asked. Her voice was low, breathless. Her chest still burned from the weight of what almost was—what had been building in that mirrored prison. And how fast it had all collapsed.Adrian didn’t slow. “A breach. Someone is inside the surveillance network. Watching us. I don’t know who.”“But they knew,” she pressed. “About the Mirror Room. About my mother. About you.”“Yes,” he said simply.That was all she got.They stopped in a narrow