Page 24 of Undisputed Chaos
Those words, half apology, half condescension, still stung a year later.
They were his final dismissal wrapped in fake humility, a way to shift blame even as he'd stopped putting in any real effort long before our end.
The message felt like him throwing his hands up in defeat while somehow making it my fault for expecting more.
In the weeks after we'd broken up, I'd hoped, naively, desperately, that he'd regret losing me.
That he'd come searching with frantic calls and pleading texts, finally realizing what he had carelessly let slip away.
I'd imagined him showing up at my door, wanting and desperate, admitting he'd been wrong about everything.
But he never did. No desperate messages, no late-night calls, no signs that the man I thought loved me had even noticed I was gone. Just silence that stretched on until it became clear he'd moved on without a backward glance.
I'd been wary of Noah's passive-aggressive manipulation, his way of making me feel guilty for wanting more than the minimum he was willing to give.
But Adrian... Adrian terrified me in an entirely different way. He terrified me because he made me want to tear down all my walls, to be reckless and honest and completely, thoroughly consumed.
I found myself hoping, praying, that he would find me again. That this game of comments and likes was just the beginning of something I couldn't name yet.
Something that would finally make me feel alive.
CHAPTER FOUR
Adrian
Iwas already deep into my phone, fingers tapping through screens and codes like a pianist on a grand stage.
I knew who she was—Isla ‘Belleflower’ Hills, the pastel angel with a brush and a camera, painting her world in soft hues and light.
Her posts were a breath of fresh air in the chaos I thrived in, a curated escape that somehow pulled me in deeper than I expected.
I sprawled across my industrial mansion’s leather couch, laptop balanced on my chest, phone in hand, a second monitor pulled close enough to scroll through without sitting up.
Finding her had been laughably easy.
One name, one city, and ten minutes of code breaking through traffic cameras. The Uber had taken her to a trendy apartment building downtown, and from there, facial recognition did the rest.
@IslaBelleflower. 314k followers. Content creator, artist, "aesthetic living enthusiast."
I scrolled through her perfectly curated feed, something hungry curling in my chest.
Her entire profile was a masterclass in softness—vintage dresses, watercolor paintings, sunshine filtering through lace curtains.
It was the polar opposite of my blood-and-chaotic existence. Yet there was something in her eyes, something hiding beneath the filters and careful staging. A hunger that matched my own.
The same hunger I'd seen last night when she'd tilted her head back, baring her throat to me like an offering. When she'd whimpered my name and melted into my touch like she was made for it.
I found her makeup tutorials first.
Isla, sitting in perfect lighting, those delicate fingers working brushes across her eyelids. The first one I watched was about some peachy eyeshadow palette thing.
She narrated each step with a softness that felt intimate, like she was telling me a secret.
I downloaded three of those videos, studying the little dip of concentration between her brows and how her full lips parted slightly when she applied the makeup.
Sometimes she’d bite her lip, unconsciously submissive in a way that made my cock hungry. The same way she'd bitten it that night before kissing me, like she needed permission but was too desperate to wait for it.
I wanted to see those flushed cheeks up close again, wanted to watch her eyes go dark and hazy as I dragged my hands down her body, wanted to see her arch for me like she had against that pillar.
