CHAPTER 192: GIRLS’ DAY OUT: PERMISSION TO WANDER

Instead of heading straight out, I turned down a side corridor on the executive floor — a space reserved for owners and foreign investors who needed a discreet place to change, shower, or disappear.

"Let’s clean up," I told Cam, jerking my chin toward one of the private washrooms.

The wipes had done their job, but I could still see it—dark in the creases of my knuckles, ghosting the lines in my palms.

Inside, I stripped the gloves and shirt I’d worn over my clothes, tossing them into the black disposal bag. Cameron did the same, though slower, like the fabric might bite him if he moved too fast.

"You missed a spot," I said, nodding at the thin streak along his cuff.

He glanced down, swore under his breath, and scrubbed at it with the heel of his hand.

We washed up in silence. The water ran pink, then clear. I dried my hands, grabbed my jacket, and headed for the exit.

We hit the garage. The air smelled like cold steel and rubber—clean. Easier to breathe.

"So... I’ll, uh—"

"You’re following me home," I said, already unlocking the car.

He blinked. "Uh... why?"

I didn’t answer.

He blinked, then tried again with a half-laugh that didn’t land. "You aren’t... done with me, are you? I thought you said we were square." He lowered his voice, slipping into a whining drawl he used to annoy me on purpose. "Because if there’s a lecture, can we at least do snacks? I process better with carbs."

I looked at him.

He put both hands up. "Kidding. Mostly."

"Get in the car, Cam. Drive." I slid in, the leather seat cool against my back.

Cameron let out an exaggerated sigh, loud enough to echo faintly in the cavernous garage. "You’re seriously not going to tell me what this is about, are you?" he grumbled, but he was already shuffling towards the driver side, muttering something under his breath about ’unpaid emotional damages’ as we pulled into evening traffic. I didn’t bother asking what he meant. My mind was already past this place—moving toward where I actually wanted to be.

I checked the time. 6:24 PM.

I’d promised her dinner.

******

ISABELLA’S POV

The silence settled like a heavy curtain once the door clicked shut. I blinked, still reeling from the flurry of emotions Adrien had left in his wake. That dark, validating smile. The black card. The private kiss. I’m so happy to have someone like him by my side.

Aria was still staring at the card like it was a ticket to heaven. Then her gaze snapped to me.

"Alright," she said, clapping her hands together like a general rallying the troops. "First order of business—shower. You look like you’ve been through a true crime documentary."

I gave her a look. "Wow. That’s...specific."

She ignored me, stepping forward to grab my arm. "Second—have you eaten? Like...anything? Because if you faint on me mid-activity, I’m leaving you where you fall."

I rolled my eyes, but she was already moving, her energy impossible to resist. "I already ate," I told her, my stomach still pleasantly full from breakfast.

"Good. Because we’ve got a lot to do today, and I do not negotiate on fun," she said, grinning wickedly. "Step one," she said, tugging me gently toward the hall, "we explore this place. You’ve been here a million times, but how many rooms have you actually seen?"

"I’ve seen a few, okay?" I countered, letting her pull me along. "Adrien has a study, a massive living room, a kitchen the size of my dad’s whole house..."

"Yeah, but have you seen the hidden rooms?" Aria whispered conspiratorially, her eyes gleaming.

My eyebrows rose. "Hidden rooms?"

"Duh! Every rich person mansion has at least one secret passage or a panic room disguise as a wine cellar. It’s in the rulebook." she said, like she isn’t wealthy too. Aria’s family owned half a luxury hotel chain and a private island, but she always pretended to be an expert on the eccentricities of the ultra-rich, as if her own life wasn’t already a master class in it.

I laughed. "Okay you have a point, but do we have his permission to open... everything?"

Aria rolled her eyes. "Mr. handsome and nice butler can be our guide. He lives here. He knows what’s allowed. Trust me, we’re not getting expelled today."

Thomas appeared promptly, bowing just enough to remind us he was watching. "Miss Miller, Miss Smith," he said, voice calm but firm. "I assume you intend to tour the premises?"

Aria beamed. "Precisely, Thomas! And we’re hoping you can shed some light on the mansion’s... less obvious features." She winked, clearly referring to her "hidden rooms" theory.

Thomas’s expression remained perfectly neutral, but I could have sworn there was a flicker of something, perhaps a well-concealed sigh, in his eyes. "Very well. Master Adrien left specific instructions for your comfort and amusement, Miss Smith. And Miss Miller," he added, turning slightly to me, "you are, of course, free to explore as you wish."

"He did, did he?" Aria murmured, nudging me. "See? I told you he’s a keeper."

I just smiled, a warmth spreading through me at the thought of Adrien anticipating Aria’s antics.

"Where would you like to begin?" Thomas asked, already gesturing down a wide, richly carpeted corridor that I hadn’t noticed before. It branched off from the main hall, leading deeper into the mansion than I’d ever ventured.

"Somewhere exciting!" Aria declared, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Something with... secrets!"

Thomas inclined his head. "Indeed. Follow me, then."

And so, Thomas took the lead, pointing out hidden nooks and secret hallways as Aria and I wandered behind him, running commentary bouncing between us like popcorn.

"Is this the wine cellar or the dungeon?" I whispered, leaning against the archway.

"Both," Aria whispered back with mock solemnity. "Perfect for brooding photos."

"Perfect for a horror movie," I shot back, but my heart raced with the thrill of adventure.

Thomas chuckled, the sound echoing through the stone passageway. "Neither, actually. This leads to a storage room for Adrien’s extensive book collection. Some of the volumes date back centuries."

I straightened up, intrigued despite myself. "Adrien reads all that?" I asked, looking at Thomas in surprise.

He nodded once. "If you’d care to follow me this way, Miss Miller, Miss Smith. There are several other areas of interest."

He led us through a labyrinth of hallways, past a sprawling, state-of-the-art gym with equipment I’d only ever seen in magazines, and a silent, vast theatre room with tiered seating and a screen that took up an entire wall. Aria gasped dramatically at each new discovery, pulling out her phone to snap photos.

"Oh my god, I’m living for this. Adrien has a gym? Does he even lift? He’s already built like a Greek god," she exclaimed, posing dramatically beside a set of impossibly heavy-looking dumbbells.

"He probably just stares at them and they get intimidated into making him buff," I quipped, shaking my head. I actually haven’t heard him talk about gym or seen him gym!!!

We raided the kitchen next, piling snacks we didn’t need—because yes, breakfast had happened—but somehow cheese and chocolate tasted better when stolen from your boyfriend’s kitchen. Thomas hovered nearby, keeping us polite but letting us indulge.

By the time we reached the wardrobe, Thomas’ patience was wearing thin—but he still waited politely as we rifled through Adrien’s suits and coats, trying on ridiculous combos, snapping selfies with every "CEO boyfriend aesthetic" pose. Aria even managed to drape a fur-lined coat over my head while I was mid-laugh, making me look like a tiny, overwhelmed bear.

"Alright, alright, that’s enough ’power dressing’ for one day," I finally said, pulling off a blazer that was three sizes too big and probably worth more than my scooter. "Thomas is going to send us to the dungeon if we wrinkle one more cuff."

Thomas merely cleared his throat, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "I assure you, Miss Miller, that would not be necessary. Mr. Walton’s wardrobe is quite resilient, and I am merely ensuring you are both comfortable."

"See? He loves us!" Aria declared, striking a pose in what looked suspiciously like a custom-made tuxedo jacket. "But Isabella’s right. Time for phase two of the fun offensive!" Her eyes twinkled, then landed on the black card in her hand, which she’d been clutching like a talisman all morning.