2

“You didn’t pick up my calls.”

Adrian’s voice came from the doorway before I even turned, and I felt it before I saw him, that familiar presence that used to bring comfort, now pressing against my skin in a way that made me want to step away.

I kept my eyes on the table for a moment before looking up.

“I was resting.”

He walked in slowly, his gaze sweeping over me, stopping briefly on the brace around my hand, and for a moment, his expression softened like it always did when he wanted to play the part.

“You should have told me,” he said quietly, stepping closer, “I heard about your hand.”

I nodded once.

“I know.”

He reached for me, his fingers brushing my arm, light and familiar, but my body reacted before I could stop it, my shoulders tightening slightly, my breath catching as something deep inside me resisted the contact.

It felt wrong now.

Not painful, not harsh, just wrong.

I pulled my arm back gently, like it meant nothing, like I had simply adjusted my position, but I saw the brief flicker of confusion in his eyes.

“You’re tense,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

A short silence settled between us, and then he exhaled, like he was letting it go.

“We’re going to my parents’ place tonight,” he said, his tone shifting back to normal, like nothing had happened, “they want to see you.”

I looked at him.

His parents.

The house I grew up visiting because my mother worked there, the place where I learned early how to sit quietly, how to take less space, how to pretend I belonged when I didn’t.

“They insisted,” Adrian added, watching me carefully, “you know how they are.”

Yes.

I knew exactly how they were.

I should have refused, I should have said no, but I didn’t, because I needed to see it clearly, not just hear it through a half-open door, not just feel it as something breaking inside me.

I needed to sit in front of them and understand exactly what I had been to all of them.

“Alright,” I said.

He nodded, satisfied.

“Good.”

—

The house looked the same.

Large, quiet, perfect in a way that never included me.

The moment we stepped inside, his mother looked at me, her eyes moving slowly from my face to the brace on my hand, then back again, and her lips curved slightly in something that was not quite a smile.

“So you are here.”

I gave a small nod.

“Good evening.”

She did not reply, she simply turned to Adrian.

“You’re late.”

“Traffic,” he said.

Her gaze returned to me.

“And you,” she added, her tone light but cutting underneath, “I heard about your hand.”

My fingers twitched slightly inside the brace.

“I’m recovering.”

She hummed softly, like the answer did not matter.

“I suppose that means the mentorship is no longer an issue,” she said, and her eyes held mine just long enough for the meaning to settle, just long enough for me to understand that she had always seen it as something that should never have been mine.

No one said anything.

Not Adrian.

Not his father.

The silence felt deliberate.

I nodded once.

“Yes.”

“Good,” she replied, her lips curving faintly, “it would have been rather embarrassing if you had taken a position that requires steady hands.”

Then I saw her.

Selene.

She was already seated, relaxed, comfortable, like she had always belonged there, her laughter soft as she leaned toward Adrian’s father, her hand resting lightly on the arm of his chair like she had every right to be there.

She looked up when we entered, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before her lips curved into a small, knowing smile, then she looked away like I was nothing more than a passing detail.

Dinner began, or what looked like it.

I sat there while plates were served, the smell of the food rising around me, rich and heavy, and I recognized it immediately.

Seafood.

My stomach tightened slightly.

I had told Adrian about my allergy years ago, more than once, enough times that it should have been something he remembered without thinking.

I glanced at him.

He did not look at me. He was watching Selene.

“You should try this,” he said to her, his tone softer, warmer than anything he had said to me since he walked in, as he reached over to place food on her plate, his attention entirely on her, “you’ll like it.”

Selene smiled.

“You always remember what I like.”

“Of course,” he replied easily.

I lowered my gaze to my own plate.

Untouched,Useless.

There was nothing there I could eat, and no one noticed.

Not his mother.

Not his father.

Not even Adrian.

The conversation continued around me, smooth and effortless, as if I was not even part of it.

Then his mother spoke again.

“You must be struggling now,” she said lightly, her eyes on me, “without your work, I imagine your days are quite empty.”

I held her gaze.

“I’m managing.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Well, at least you have Adrian,” she continued, her voice soft but precise, “marrying into this family will give you stability, something you would not have been able to secure on your own.”

My fingers curled slightly against my lap.

His father added calmly, “you should focus on being a good wife now, that would suit you better than chasing things beyond your reach.”

Beyond my reach.

The words settled quietly.

Across the table, Selene laughed softly at something Adrian said, leaning closer to him, her shoulder brushing his arm, and he did not move away.

Instead, he adjusted slightly toward her.

Like it was natural.

His hand brushed mine under the table then, light and absent, like an afterthought.

My body reacted instantly, my breath catching as my skin seemed to pull away from the contact, and I slowly moved my hand back, resting it on my lap instead.

He noticed.

I saw the slight shift in his expression. But he said nothing.

My phone vibrated softly against my thigh.

I glanced down and I saw a message. It was from Mitchell.

“Are you comfortable with the wedding being in two weeks?”

Two weeks. Fast and Clean.

My fingers hovered for a second before I typed back.

“Yes.”

I locked the phone and placed it back down.

Across from me, Selene tilted her head slightly toward Adrian, her voice low.

“Can you come with me for a moment?”

He did not hesitate.

“Of course.”

They both stood, excusing themselves casually, like it was normal, like there was nothing to question, like I was not sitting right there watching them leave together.

I watched them go.

My chest felt heavy, my breath uneven, and I pushed my chair back slowly.

“I need some air,” I said quietly. No one bothered to stop me.

I walked out.

The night air hit my skin immediately, cool and sharp, and I inhaled deeply, trying to steady myself, trying to quiet the noise in my head.

Then I heard it, a soft sound. I turned slightly. And I saw them.

Adrian had her pressed against the wall, his hand gripping her waist, pulling her close as his lips moved against hers, slow and intimate, like he had all the time in the world.

Selene’s fingers were tangled in his shirt, her body pressed against his like she belonged there, like she always had.

I stopped breathing.

My fingers curled at my side, weak but trembling, and I stood there, unable to move, unable to look away.

He kissed her like I had never been kissed. Like she was a treasure to protect.

And at that moment, I understood it fully.

I had never been the one he chose.

I did not know when the tears started falling.

They came quietly, without permission, sliding down my face while I stood there watching him kiss her like nothing else in the world existed, like there had never been a place for me beside him.

My fingers trembled slightly at my side, weak, unsteady, and I pressed them against my dress, trying to ground myself, trying to stop the feeling spreading through my chest.

Years.

I had spent years loving him.

Years building lies in my heart that I thought was real.

I could still remember it clearly, the first time I realized I liked him, the way my chest used to feel tight whenever he looked at me, the way I used to wait for him, the way I held onto every word he said like it meant something.

And when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I had been so happy.

So stupidly happy.

I thought he felt the same.

I thought he had chosen me.

Now I stood there, watching him choose someone else without hesitation, without guilt, like I had never mattered in the first place.

My breath came out uneven, and I forced myself to look away, wiping my face quickly before turning back toward the house.

By the time I returned to the dining room, they were already seated again.

Nothing had changed.

Selene sat there calmly, her expression soft, composed, as if she had not just been wrapped in his arms moments ago, and Adrian looked just as steady, like there was nothing to hide.

No one questioned it.

No one noticed.

Or maybe they did, and they simply did not care.

I walked back to my seat quietly, my movements controlled, my face blank.

Dinner was over not long after, and the plates sat half empty across the table.

Mine was untouched.

His mother’s gaze shifted toward me.

“You’re not eating?” she asked, her tone light, but her eyes sharp.

“I’m allergic to seafood,” I replied calmly.

A brief pause followed.

Then she gave a small hum, like that was insignificant.

“You should have said something earlier,” she said, though there was no apology in her voice.

I glanced at Adrian.

He did not look at me.

He was pouring Selene a drink.

“I did,” I said quietly.

No one responded.

His mother turned slightly, looking around the table.

“There’s no one here to clear this up,” she said, her tone changing just enough to carry meaning.

Then her eyes settled on me.

“Well,” she continued, her lips curving faintly, “like mother, like daughter, I suppose you would know what to do.”

The words landed softly.

But they cut deep.

A quiet reminder.

A place I had tried to move past.

A place they would never let me forget.

My fingers tightened slightly against my lap, and for a moment, I did not move.

Then I stood.

“I’ll handle it.”

I began gathering the plates slowly, carefully, my injured hand aching with every small movement, the weight pressing against my fingers, sending sharp pulses up my arm.

I carried them into the kitchen one by one.

The sink filled quickly and I started cleaning.

My hands moved awkwardly, unsteady, my grip weak, and I had to adjust constantly just to keep from dropping anything.

The pain spread through my fingers, dull but persistent, and I clenched my jaw slightly, focusing on the task in front of me.

At least this was something I could still do.

A soft sound came from behind me.

Footsteps.

I did not turn immediately.

Then her voice came, light and almost playful.

“Evelyn.”

I looked over my shoulder.

Selene stood there, leaning lightly against the doorframe, her expression calm, her eyes watching me with quiet interest.

“I thought I should help,” she said, stepping inside.

I turned back to the sink.

“It’s fine.”

She moved closer anyway.

Too close.

Her presence filled the small space, her perfume faint but noticeable, and I felt it, the tension, the quiet pressure of her standing right behind me.

“You’ve always been so good at this,” she said softly.

I did not respond.

My fingers tightened slightly around the plate I was holding, the water running over it as I focused on not letting it slip.

“For someone who worked so hard to leave that life behind,” she continued, her voice almost thoughtful, “you still fit into it so easily.”

My breath slowed.

I said nothing.

Then suddenly, there was a sharp movement.

A quick shift.

A small, controlled gasp.

I turned instinctively.

Selene stumbled back slightly, her hand lifting, her expression twisting as she looked down at her wrist.

There was a thin line of red.

A cut.

Small.

But enough.

Her eyes widened, and she looked at me.

“You cut me,” she said, her voice soft, but carrying just enough shock.

The plate slipped slightly in my hand.

“I didn’t—”

Footsteps approached quickly.

Adrian’s voice came first.

“What happened?”

Selene looked up at him, her expression fragile now, her voice quiet.

“She didn’t mean to,” she said gently, holding her wrist like it hurt more than it should, “it was an accident.”

I stood there, my fingers trembling, my chest tight as I stared at her.

I had not touched her.

Not even close.

But she was already looking at me like I had.

And Adrian was already looking at me, anger brimming in his eyes. .

4

Adrian’s expression changed the moment he saw her wrist.

The softness disappeared, and something sharp replaced it, something I had never seen directed at me before, not like this, not so openly, not without restraint.

“Selene,” he said quickly as he stepped forward, his hand reaching for her, pulling her gently toward him, his body already shielding hers.

I was pushed aside.

Not roughly, not enough to draw attention, but enough.

Enough for me to feel it.

Enough for me to understand it.

“I’m fine,” Selene said softly, her voice trembling just enough, her fingers curling lightly around his sleeve as she leaned into him, her body small, fragile, like she needed him to hold her together.

“There’s blood,” Adrian replied, his tone tightening as he lifted her wrist carefully, his thumb brushing over the thin cut like it was something serious.

“It’s nothing,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly, her eyes lowering, her voice gentle, “Evelyn didn’t mean it.”

I stood there.

Still.

My fingers trembled slightly at my side, the plate slipping from my grip and settling into the sink with a soft sound that no one paid attention to.

Adrian’s parents had already entered the kitchen.

His mother’s gaze landed on me immediately, sharp and cold.

“What happened?” she asked.

Selene spoke before I could.

“It was an accident,” she said quickly, her voice soft, careful, like she was protecting me, “Evelyn was just washing the plates, and I think I got too close.”

His mother did not look convinced.

Her eyes moved over me slowly, then back to Selene’s wrist.

“Jealousy can make people careless,” she said calmly, but her words landed with weight.

“I’m not—” I started.

“You lost the mentorship,” she continued, cutting me off without even looking at me properly, “and now you lash out at the one who earned it.”

Earned it.

The word settled heavily.

His father’s voice followed, steady and firm.

“You should know your place, Evelyn, some positions were never meant for you, and forcing yourself into them only leads to embarrassment.”

My fingers curled slightly, weak, unsteady, my nails pressing into my palm.

“I didn’t cut her,” I said, my voice quiet but clear.

No one responded to that.

Adrian was still focused on Selene.

“I’m calling a doctor,” he said, his tone firm as he guided her toward the chair, his movements careful, attentive, like every small detail mattered.

Selene shook her head slightly.

“You don’t have to do that, it’s really not serious,” she said, but she did not pull her hand away.

“I’m not taking any chances,” Adrian replied immediately.

I watched him.

Watched the way his brows furrowed, the way his voice softened for her, the way his hand stayed around hers like he could not bear to let go.

I had never seen him like this.

Not for me.

Never for me.

The doctor arrived quickly, and the cut was treated within minutes, small, insignificant, something that did not require this much attention.

But Adrian stayed by her side the entire time.

When it was done, he finally looked at me.

Really looked at me.

And there was no softness left.

“You need to apologize,” he said.

The words hung in the air.

I felt them.

Heavy.

Cold.

“I didn’t do anything,” I replied.

Selene’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table, her expression hesitant, almost uncomfortable.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, her voice gentle, “she didn’t mean it, Adrian, you don’t have to make her apologize.”

Her eyes flickered toward me briefly.

Mockery and triumph so evident. Then she looked away.

“I said apologize,” Adrian repeated, his voice sharper now.

I shook my head slowly.

“No.”

The room went still.

I could feel the shift immediately.

His anger snapped into place.

“You’re really going to stand there and act like this?” he asked, his voice rising slightly, his gaze hard, unforgiving.

“I didn’t cut her,” I said again.

“That’s enough,” he snapped.

His eyes burned into mine, and for the first time, I saw it clearly.

Not irritation.

Not disappointment.

Anger.

Real anger.

“You’ve already ruined enough,” he continued, his voice cold now, each word sharp, “you lost the mentorship because of your own incompetence, and now you’re taking it out on her.”

My breath caught.

“Incompetence?” I repeated.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, his tone harsh, “you got exactly what you deserved with your hand, maybe this is what happens when someone tries to reach beyond their limits.”

I went still, Completely.

He looked at me like I was unpleasant.

Like I had disappointed him. Like I had failed him.

“You’re being wicked,” he added, his voice lower now, but no less cruel, “and I won’t tolerate that.”

I stared at him.

At the man I had loved for years.

At the man who had once held my hands so carefully, who had once told me they were precious.

And now he spoke about them like they meant nothing.

Like I meant nothing.

I had never seen him like this.

But he could be like this.

For her.

Only for her.

Before I could react, he stepped forward.

His hand grabbed mine.

My injured hand.

The pressure came suddenly, harsh, unyielding, his fingers wrapping around it tightly without hesitation, without care.

Pain shot through my arm instantly.

My breath broke as my body reacted, my knees weakening under me as the force pulled me down.

“Adrian—” I gasped, my voice shaking as I tried to pull back, but his grip only tightened.

“Apologize,” he said, his tone firm, leaving no room for refusal.

The pain spread through my hand, my fingers trembling violently, my chest rising and falling unevenly as I struggled to steady myself.

No one stopped him.

No one spoke.

I was on my knees.

Because of him.

Because of her.

Tears blurred my vision, hot and uncontrollable, sliding down my face as I clenched my jaw, trying to hold myself together.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally, the words tasting bitter in my mouth, my voice barely steady.

Selene looked at me, her expression soft, almost concerned.

“It’s really okay,” she said gently, her voice kind, forgiving, “you don’t have to—”

“I said I’m sorry,” I repeated.

Adrian released my hand.

The moment his grip loosened, I pulled it back to my chest, holding it close as the pain continued to pulse through it, my fingers shaking uncontrollably.

I pushed myself up slowly, my legs unsteady, my breath uneven as I wiped my face with the back of my hand.

The tears did not stop immediately.

But something else did. I looked at him.

Really looked at him,then I spoke quietly.

“This is the last time.”

My voice was soft,but it did not shake.

“The last tear I will ever shed for you.”