Page 49 of Undisputed Chaos
I glanced at the clock—barely 10 AM, too early for packagedeliveries. Wrapping my fluffy robe around myself, I padded to the door and peered through the peephole.
A woman stood outside… A tall, strong woman dressed in security gear? She was holding a small white box tied with a subtle silver ribbon. No logo, no markings. Just pristine elegance.
"Delivery for Isla Hills," she said when I opened the door, extending the box with a smile.
"Thank you," I murmured, accepting the package. It was light, barely weighing anything at all.
Back in my bedroom, I sat cross-legged on my bed and carefully untied the silver bow, my heart fluttering with anticipation. Somehow, I knew exactly who’d sent this.
The box opened with a whisper, revealing a bed of tissue paper and nestled in its center, a single pale ribbon.
I lifted it with careful fingers, the material so fine it nearly disappeared in the morning light. It was delicate, about an inch wide, perfectly in line with my aesthetic.
As I turned it over, I noticed something on the inner side.
A name embroidered in cursive blue thread.
My breath hitched.
Adrian.
There was no note, no explanation needed. The ribbon spoke for itself—a claim, a request, a test all in one.
I ran it through my fingers, feeling its cool smoothness against my skin.
The news about Bailey and Tracy faded to background noise. This was what mattered. This silk whisper that carried Adrian's name, his intention, his desire to mark me as his.
Noah had given me jewelry a few times—all things I’d like, but somehow casual and unromantic.
This ribbon was subtle, nearly invisible unless you knew to look for it. A private, intimate signal between Adrian and me.
I stood and moved to my mirror, holding the ribbon against mythroat. In the morning light, my reflection looked bare: No makeup, hair messy from sleep, eyes wide with something like wonder.
I was seeing myself as Adrian might see me in those quiet moments after our late-night calls, vulnerable and present.
Slowly, I wrapped the ribbon around my neck, tying it in a small, perfect bow at the side.
The silk settled against my skin like a whisper, the embroidered "Adrian" hidden against my pulse where only I would know it existed.
The pale color contrasted gently with my skin, elegant and delicate, a silent declaration.
I touched the ribbon gently, feeling the subtle pressure against my throat as I swallowed.
My phone chimed, reminding me about the sponsored content I needed to film today. I'd nearly forgotten—it was a makeup tutorial featuring the new vintage palette a brand had sent me last week.
They were expecting the video soon, and I’d planned on also doing a livestream tomorrow to show the PR packages I’d received.
I moved through my morning routine in a dreamy daze—making coffee, showering, and selecting my outfit.
I chose pieces that would complement the delicate ribbon: a cream-colored top with pearl buttons, high-waisted baggy jeans, and soft pink ballet flats.
Throughout it all, I was repeatedly reaching up to touch the ribbon, checking it was still there, feeling the smooth silk against my fingertips.
This wasn't just about wearing his mark. It was about acknowledging the truth I'd been sure about since that night in the club:
I wanted Adrian. Not just his body or his attention, but all of him. The wildness and the gentleness. The danger and the care. I wanted to dive headfirst into whatever storm awaited us.
As I set up my ring light and camera, a question crossed my mind… Was I really going to wear his ribbon in a video that thousands would see?
