Chapter 142: The beach - previous - has been corrected

Chapter 142: The beach - previous Chapter has been corrected

Several hours later, the private jet touched down smoothly on the runway in Anapa.

The moment the plane’s engines cut off and the cabin doors opened, a warm, humid sea breeze drifted inside, carrying the distinct, heavy scent of salt water and coastal air.

Isabella stood up from her leather seat in the cabin, her legs feeling somewhat stiff from the flight.

The moment her feet touched the floor, a fresh wave of sharp, icy nervousness hit her stomach like a physical punch.

They were here. This was no longer a distant plan discussed over the phone. Russia. The clinic. The operation.

She took a slow, unsteady breath, her hands trembling slightly at her sides.

Before her anxiety could spiral out of control, a large, warm hand closed over hers.

Aaron’s fingers wrapped around her cold hand, firm and steady. He didn’t say anything, nor did he offer pity. He simply held her hand, anchoring her to the ground with his overwhelming strength.

The intense warmth of his skin seeped into her cold fingers, instantly cutting through the icy panic rising in her chest.

Isabella wanted to pull away out of sheer pride, but her body betrayed her. She held onto his hand tightly, allowing him to lead her down the stairs of the jet and into the back of a waiting dark sedan.

"Do you think Finn and Freya would be home by the time we arrive?" Isabella asked as the car pulled away from the airfield.

"You won’t be seeing them yet."

"What? Why?"

"Because," Aaron replied smoothly from beside her. "the estate is nearly three hours away from the specialized medical center here in Anapa. The examinations start early tomorrow morning, and I have no intention of dragging you through hours of city traffic every day. We are staying at one of my private properties near the coast."

Isabella eyebrows lifted slightly. "Another property? How many houses do you actually own?"

"Enough to ensure I never have to sleep in a mediocre room," he answered calmly.

Isabella rolled her eyes, a small, sarcastic scoff slipping from her lips. "Of course. Heaven forbid the great Aaron Kazarov suffers the tragedy of a four-star room. You are absurdly rich for your own good."

Aaron chuckled, leaning closer to her, so close that his breath tickled her ears. "Are you complaining, little bird? I can easily book us a small, cramped room with squeaky bed springs if you prefer a more rustic experience. Though, I should warn you, we would have to share the mattress."

Isabella’s cheeks flushed again, and she quickly shoved his face away. "Stay on your side of the car!"

Aaron merely laughed, thoroughly enjoying the way her sharp spirit returned the moment he pushed her buttons.

Twenty minutes later, the car pulled into the underground garage of a massive, sleek building. Aaron guided Isabella out of the vehicle and into a private elevator that swept them straight up to the top floor.

When the elevator doors slid open, the sound of the ocean grew slightly clearer, a soft, distant roar echoing through the wide space. They stepped into a sprawling, ultra-modern penthouse.

"We’ll rest here for an hour," Aaron said, guiding her toward a soft, plush sofa in the center of the living area. "The staff will help you shower, freshen up, and change into something comfortable."

"Comfortable?" Isabella asked, sitting down carefully on the edge of the cushions. "Are we going somewhere else tonight? I thought we were staying in."

"We are going out," Aaron said vaguely, his voice carrying a tiny hint of amusement.

"Where?"

"You’ll see when we get there."

"Aaron, I am blind," she reminded him with a dry, irritated tone. "I can’t ’see’ anything."

"Then you should stop asking questions," he countered smoothly, walking toward his bedroom. "Go Change."

Isabella huffed loudly, muttering a series of unpleasant insults under her breath as she used her cane to navigate toward the bedroom with the help of a young woman.

An hour later, Isabella was escorted back into the living room. She was wearing a simple pair of cream skirt, a comfortable white blouse, and a light leather jacket to protect against the chilly coastal night air. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders in short loose waves.

Aaron was waiting for her near the front door. He was dressed casually in a black fitted shirt, dark trousers, and a heavy leather jacket that made his wide shoulders look even more intimidating.

He didn’t say a word as she approached. He simply took her arm, guiding her back into the private elevator. But instead of going down to the main lobby, the elevator carried them down into the quiet, dimly lit lower level of the garage.

When the doors opened, Isabella heard the distinct, sharp metallic click of a helmet being picked up.

"What is that sound?" she asked, her brows pulling together in confusion.

Aaron didn’t answer right away. He stepped up directly in front of her, his large hands reaching out to slip a heavy, hard-shelled motorcycle helmet over her head.

He adjusted it carefully, making sure her hair wasn’t trapped, before bringing his hands down to fasten the strap beneath her chin.

His fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of her throat, making her shiver softly.

’Snap.’

The strap clicked securely into place. Aaron gently tapped the front of the plastic visor twice with his knuckles.

"A motorcycle?" Isabella gasped, her hands flying up to touch the smooth surface of the helmet. "Aaron, are you insane?! You expect me to ride a motorcycle when I can’t even see where we’re going?!"

"Hold on tight to me, and you won’t fall," Aaron said simply, his hands gripping her waist to lift her smoothly onto the passenger seat of a massive, heavy touring bike.

"Aaron, no! Take this off—"

"Quiet, Isabella," he commanded softly, straddling the bike in front of her. His massive back completely blocked the cool air in front of her. "Now hold on tight."

Isabella gritted her teeth, cursing him violently in her head, but as the powerful engine roared to life beneath them with a deep, thunderous vibration that rattled her bones, panic won over pride.

She instantly reached forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Aaron’s broad waist, pressing her chest flush against his back.

Aaron smiled beneath his helmet. He slammed his foot down, and the motorcycle shot out of the underground garage and into the cool night.

At first, Isabella held onto him so tightly her fingers cramped. The wind rushed past them in a wild, deafening howl, and the sheer speed made her stomach drop.

But as the minutes ticked by, the heavy, chaotic noise of the city began to fade away.

The air grew cleaner, sharper, and heavily saturated with the scent of salty water and damp earth.

The bike slowed down, turning onto a smooth, quiet coastal road where the only sound was the steady, low purr of the engine and the rhythmic crashing of water nearby.

Slowly, Isabella relaxed her tight grip on his jacket. She lifted her head slightly, letting the cool wind wash over her face.

The sensation of flying through the dark night, completely trusting the man in front of her, felt terrifying and strangely liberating all at once.

After twenty minutes of smooth riding, the motorcycle came to a complete stop. Aaron cut the engine. Total silence filled the air, save for the deep, rhythmic, roaring surge of water expanding and contracting nearby.

Aaron dismounted first. He reached up, unlatched her helmet, and carefully lifted it off her head, setting it aside on the seat.

He took her hands, helping her step down from the bike.

Isabella took one step forward, expecting the hard, smooth surface of asphalt or concrete. Instead, her shoe sank slightly into something soft, cold, and shifting.

She froze mid-step, her foot hovering.

She slid her shoe forward slightly, feeling the grainy texture shift beneath her weight.

Then she paused. The air here was heavy and wet. The wind carried a sharp, bitter saltiness that coated her lips.

And right in front of her, the massive, booming sound of crashing waves rolled in, followed by the soft, dragging hiss of water pulling back over millions of tiny stones and sand.

Her unseeing green eyes widened in realization.

"Is that...?" she whispered softly, her voice carrying a rare, fragile sense of wonder.

"Yes," Aaron said softly from right beside her.

"You brought me to a beach?"

"Apparently."

Isabella stood entirely still on the shifting sand, her breath catching in her throat. A tiny, genuine smile threatened to break across her face before she caught herself, her brows pulling together as a sudden, sharp realization hit her mind.

She turned her head toward the sound of his breathing. "Why?"

Aaron stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, looking down at her upturned face. "Because you like beaches."

The words hit her like a sudden splash of cold water. Isabella’s breath hitched.

"How do you know that?" she asked, her voice dropping into a tense whisper. "I never told you that. I’ve never mentioned beaches to you once since we met."

Aaron didn’t blink. "It’s a secret."

And just like that, the fragile warmth in Isabella’s chest shattered into cold, sharp pieces.

Frustration, hot and bitter, rushed through her veins. It wasn’t really about the beach. It was the fact that Aaron kept doing this. He always knew things about her that she had never shared.

He knew her favorite foods, he knew what made her comfortable, he knew details about her father’s past, he knew what she needed before she even asked for it. He possessed a terrifying, complete map of her entire life.

And yet, she knew virtually nothing about him.