“I just want someone whose reports don’t need ten revisions,” I said.
He chuckled. “Good luck with that.”
I rolled my eyes, then checked my watch. “Let’s head back,” I said.
He nodded and called the waiter, and a moment later, the bill was brought over. I reached for it instinctively. “I’ll get it,” I said.
But Harley took it from my hand. “I’ve got this one.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll pay. You’re the one leaving, remember?” I replied.
“Exactly,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So this one’s on me. You can get the next one.”
I paused, then met his eyes. “There won’t be a next time, Harley.”
The smile on his face stilled, just for a moment. His gaze lingered on me a second longer, as if weighing something he chose not to say, before he looked away and handed his black card to the waiter.
“Right,” he said quietly.
A few moments later, we stepped out of the café, Harley holding the door open and letting me go first.
We walked along the sidewalk at an even pace—not too fast, not too slow—until I noticed the change, the way his steps began to slow, the way his breath caught for just a second.
“Elena—” he began, then stopped.
I turned to look at him. For a moment, we held each other’s gaze briefly before he looked ahead again, as if weighing something too heavy to say out loud.
I knew what he wanted to say. And maybe he knew that I knew.
I took a quiet breath. “Let’s head back to the office,” I said gently, as if nothing had happened. “There’s still a lot of work to do.”
He looked at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, before his mouth curved into a thin, practiced smile.
“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”
We walked on side by side, without touching, without looking at each other.
And I was grateful for what we chose not to say.
CHAPTER 33
Elena
The house was still mine.
I woke up in the same bedroom, walked down the same stairs every morning, and placed my keys in the small ceramic bowl by the door the way I had done for years. Nothing had changed in any visible way. And maybe that was what unsettled me the most—because inside, almost everything had.
Adrian didn’t live here anymore.
After I filed for divorce, he moved into an apartment nearby. A few months later, the apartment became a small house—still in the same area, still close enough to reach within minutes.
“So I can stay close to Haille,” he said at the time.
I hadn’t questioned it. I never did. His devotion to Haille was the one thing that had never wavered.
Haille had been confused at first. “Daddy go other house?” she asked one night, sitting on the living room floor with her stuffed bunny tucked under her arm.
I closed the book in my hands and leaned closer to her. “Daddy doesn’t live here anymore,” I explained gently. “Daddy has his own house now.”
