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.”

5

By the time I got home, it was already late, and the silence inside the house felt heavier than usual, like it had been waiting for me, like it already knew I was coming back alone.

Adrian had not come with me.

He had stood there in that kitchen, his attention still fixed on Selene, and told me to go home first because he needed to make sure she was alright, as if I was not the one who had just been forced to my knees, as if my pain was an event to be postponed.

I did not argue, I did not ask him to come with me, I just left.

Now, standing inside the quiet house, I placed my bag down slowly, my injured hand throbbing with every small movement, the dull ache spreading through my fingers as I flexed them slightly, trying to ignore it.

My stomach tightened and then growled softly, reminding me that I had not eaten anything all day, and the memory came back all at once, the dinner, the table, the food I could not touch, the way no one noticed.

I let out a slow breath and leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes for a second as the exhaustion settled deeper into my body.

Then the doorbell rang.

I frowned slightly and pushed myself off the wall, walking toward the door with slow steps, my hand still pressed lightly against my side.

When I opened it, a delivery rider stood there, holding out a bag.

“Delivery for Evelyn,” he said.

I hesitated for a second, then took it. “Thank you.”

I closed the door and walked back inside, placing the bag on the table before opening it, and the smell hit me immediately, warm, familiar, safe.

My favorite meal, the one I always ordered after long shifts, the one Adrian never remembered, the one I used to joke about because he always got it wrong.

My fingers paused slightly over the container.

Then my phone lit up.

A message.

Mitchell.

“I figured you had not eaten.”

I stared at the words for a moment, something quiet settling in my chest, something I did not want to name yet.

He had noticed, without being there, without being told.

I swallowed and typed back, “Thank you.”

I did not say more.

I sat down slowly and opened the food, my hands still unsteady, but I forced myself to eat, even though each bite felt heavy, like my body did not know what to do with it after everything that had happened.

The house remained quiet.

Adrian did not come back that night, he did not call, he did not send a message.

Time passed slowly, stretching in a way that made every minute feel longer, but I stopped waiting at some point without even realizing it.

The next day passed, then the one after that, and three days went by without a single word from him, no calls, no messages, no explanation, and I did not need to ask where he was because I already knew.

He was with her, taking care of her, staying by her side.

It still hurt, the knowledge sitting quietly inside me, heavy and uncomfortable, but I did not reach for my phone, I did not try to contact him, and I did not ask questions I already had answers to.

By the third day, the silence no longer felt surprising.

It felt expected.

When he finally came back, it was like nothing had happened.

He walked in, his expression calm and controlled, like the past few days had not existed, like I had not been left behind without a word.

“I’ve been busy,” he said, loosening his tie slightly as he stepped inside.

I watched him, but I did not respond.

He glanced at me briefly, then away.

“I heard you haven’t been going out much,” he added, like it was casual, like it mattered.

“I’ve been resting,” I replied.

A short silence followed, then he exhaled.

“About what happened that night,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, softer now, “I might have been too harsh.”

Might have been.

I looked at him, but he did not meet my eyes fully.

“I was worried about Selene,” he continued, like that explained everything, like that justified everything, “you know how things can get when emotions are high.”

My fingers curled slightly against my palm.

“I see,” I said.

He nodded once, like that was enough.

Then his expression changed slightly, something lighter entering his tone.

“Our anniversary is tomorrow,” he said, as if it had just occurred to him, “I’ll make it up to you.”

I stared at him for a moment, the words feeling distant, unreal, but I nodded anyway.

“Alright.”

The next evening, everything was set, the table, the food, the soft light filling the room.

I had prepared everything quietly and carefully, my movements slow but deliberate, my hand still aching but steady enough to manage.

For a moment, I stood there, looking at it, and it reminded me of something, a memory, a past version of myself who would have been excited, who would have checked the time again and again, who would have waited by the door.

Now, I just sat down.

And waited.

Adrian arrived late, but he did arrive.

He stepped inside and glanced around briefly.

“You prepared all this,” he said.

“Yes.”

He nodded once, loosening his tie again as he moved toward the table.

“Good.”

He sat down, and for a moment, it almost felt normal.

Then his phone rang.

The sound cut through the quiet immediately.

He glanced at the screen, and everything changed.

His expression shifted instantly, his posture straightening slightly, his attention pulled away from the table before he even answered.

“Selene,” he said, his voice already softer.

I watched him, watched the way his tone changed, watched the way he stood up without hesitation.

“What happened?” he asked, his brows drawing together as he listened, his concern immediate, real.

There was a pause, and then he turned slightly away from me.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

The call ended.

He did not look at me right away, he picked up his jacket instead.

“I need to go,” he said.

I sat there, my hands resting quietly on my lap, my fingers still, my expression calm.

“Now?” I asked.

“It’s important,” he replied quickly, already moving toward the door.

“For her,” I said.

He paused for a fraction of a second.

Then he nodded.

“Yes.”

That was all, no explanation, no hesitation, no apology.

He just opened the door and left.

6

The house felt too quiet after he left, but I did not sit there staring at the door like I used to.

I stood up slowly, my hand still resting against my side, then walked to the table and looked at what I had prepared, and this time I did not wait, I just sat down and ate.

The food was still warm, and for the first time in a long while, I was eating food I could actually taste, something I had chosen for myself instead of something placed in front of me without thought, though Adrian would not have noticed anyway, because he never did, not when it came to me.

I finished everything quietly, then cleared the table immediately, my movements steady and controlled, my injured hand aching with every small action but still responding, and by the time I was done, there was nothing left of that dinner, no trace that it had ever been meant for two people.

My phone buzzed softly against the table, and when I picked it up, a notification from social media lit up the screen.

I should have ignored it, but I didn’t, and my fingers moved before I could stop them.

Selene and Adrian were together, smiling and standing too close, her head resting lightly against his shoulder while his arm wrapped around her waist, his expression soft in a way I had never seen directed at me, and the caption said that some people deserve to be chosen, making it clear that this was not just a picture but a message, deliberate and meant to mock me.

My stomach turned slowly as I stared at it, my fingers tightening around the phone before I locked the screen and placed it back down.

He had always been like this, absent and careless, but only with me.

A memory surfaced quietly, my final exam day in medical school, when I had waited outside the hall for hours because he had promised he would come, because he had said it mattered and that I mattered, and I stayed there until the sun went down before realizing he was not coming, only to later hear that he had forgotten and had been with Selene instead.

I had smiled then and told him it was fine.

I had always told him it was fine.

Now I understood what that meant.

I picked up my phone again and made a decision.

—

“Can we move the engagement forward?” I asked softly, my voice steady even though my fingers tightened slightly around the phone.

Mitchell did not sound surprised. “How soon do you want it?”

“Today,” I replied after a brief pause.

There was a moment of silence, then his voice returned calm and certain. “I’ll take care of it, you don’t need to worry about anything.”

I let out a breath I did not realize I had been holding. “Thank you, Mitchell,” I said quietly, and this time the words felt real.

“You don’t have to thank me, Evelyn,” he replied, his tone softer, “just focus on what you need, I’ll handle the rest.”

I swallowed before adding, “There is something else I want to ask you.”

“Tell me.”

“Adrian planned our engagement tonight,” I said, my voice steady, “I want ours to be in the same hotel.”

There was no hesitation. “Alright, I’ll arrange that as well.”

My grip on the phone tightened slightly. “And Mitchell… I need your help with something important.”

“I’m listening.”

“I want evidence,” I said quietly, “about what Adrian did to my hand.”

His tone shifted, still calm but more serious. “I’ve already started looking into it, you’ll have everything you need.”

The tension inside me eased slightly. “And the specialist?”

“He’s ready whenever you are,” Mitchell replied, steady and reassuring, “we’ll begin your treatment before the wedding, and I’ll call you as soon as everything is set.”

I closed my eyes briefly. “Thank you… really.”

“You’re welcome,” he said softly, “and Evelyn… you’re not alone in this.”

The call ended.

—

The dress arrived not long after, along with the jewelry, and when I saw them, I paused because they were nothing like what I expected, the fabric smooth and rich, the cut elegant, every detail carefully chosen, while the jewelry shimmered under the light with a quiet brilliance that felt refined rather than excessive.

It was beautiful, not loud, not overwhelming, just right.

I stood in front of the mirror, my fingers brushing lightly over the fabric as I took in my reflection, and for a moment I barely recognized the woman looking back at me.

Mitchell was waiting when I stepped out, his gaze settling on me without lingering too long, just enough to take in what he needed.

“You look…” he paused slightly, then nodded, “you look right.”

A small breath left me. “Thank you,” I said softly, and this time there was warmth in it.

His attention shifted to my hand. “Is it hurting?”

“A little,” I admitted.

“We’ll fix it,” he said simply, his tone steady and certain.

I nodded slowly. “I trust you.”

He did not respond immediately, but something in his expression softened. “We’ll get it done.”

The engagement was quiet and controlled, with only a few people present, no noise, no unnecessary attention, just signatures, a ring, and a decision that felt final.

When it was done, I looked down at my hand, the ring sitting there, simple, perfect, mine.

Mitchell noticed. “If anything feels too fast, you can tell me, we don’t have to rush anything beyond what you’re ready for.”

I shook my head slightly. “No, this is… good,” I said, and I meant it.

He gave a small nod. “Alright.”

I hesitated before speaking again. “Can I ask one more thing?”

“Of course.”

“When we get there, can we keep this between us for now?” I said quietly.

He understood immediately. “You want to control when they find out.”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” he replied without question, “I’ll follow your lead.”

—

The hall was already full when we arrived, the lights bright, voices blending together, familiar faces turning as I stepped in.

Adrian was there.

So were his parents.

Selene stood beside him.

All of them.

Waiting.

Adrian turned the moment he saw me, relief flashing briefly before irritation settled in its place. “You’re late,” he said.

His mother’s gaze followed immediately. “Keeping people waiting is not a good habit,” she added coolly.

Selene’s eyes moved over me slowly, then shifted past me to Mitchell, and there was a pause as recognition flickered across her face, quickly followed by interest.

Adrian noticed, his gaze tracking hers before landing on Mitchell, and the air changed instantly, turning heavy and sharp as his expression hardened and something cold settled into his eyes.

“Mitchell,” he said slowly.

The name carried history, childhood, rivalry, and they had never gotten along, not then, not now.

“What are you doing here?” Adrian asked, his tone no longer polite.

Mitchell did not react, standing beside me calm and composed. “I was invited.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened, his gaze shifting between us before settling on me, anger and possession oozing.

“Why are you with him?” he asked, his voice low and sharp.

I met his gaze, and for the first time, I did not feel the need to explain anything.

Before I could answer, his eyes dropped.

To my hand.

To the ring.

Everything stilled and his expression changed instantly.

“What is that?” he asked, his voice tightening, his eyes fixed on my finger.

“Where did that ring come from?”