“What the hell—Phoebe, what did we—fuck!”
She sat up, clutching the sheet. “Adrian, calm down.”
“Calm down?” I snapped. “I’m married—Elena, God—what have I done?”
I pressed both hands into my hair, pulling. My pulse hammered so hard I felt it in my teeth.
Phoebe watched me quietly, then said, “It doesn’t have to ruin your life.”
“This is ruining my life!” I snapped.
She flinched but continued, “Just... help me finish paying it off. That’s all I need. I won’t tell anyone.”
I stared at her, nausea rising so fast I had to brace myself against the wall just to stay upright. “Phoebe, this can’t happen again,” I whispered. “Ever.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. Last night—last night was a mistake.”
“Okay,” she said gently. “Then let’s pretend it never happened.”
Pretend.
As if something like that could simply be undone.
God, if only I could.
After Boston, I limited my contact with her, keeping everything strictly related to the debt.
There was a promissory note between us, and that was the only reason I continued sending her money. I made sure everything was documented, keeping every message and every transfer as proof of the arrangement.
But I began to notice things that didn’t add up. The numbers she’d given me—the debts she claimed she was trying to clear—didn’t match what I was actually sending. The six months we’d agreed on, it should have been enough.
Somehow it wasn’t.
Every time I transferred the money, it barely settled before another message came in—another request, another story. It became less about the debt and more about making sure I wouldn’t say no.
She would start bringing up what had happened between us—whatever it was she kept trying to turn into something more—especially that night when I crossed the line.
That was when I decided I needed to pull away completely. I wasn’t going to send her anything beyond what we had originally agreed on.
And I was going to tell Elena everything. I would face her, beg for forgiveness, or do whatever it took. Because no matter how badly I had failed her, I knew I couldn’t lose her. Elena was the one thing I refused to let slip away.
I chose to wait until after she gave birth. I didn’t want to burden her, or risk stressing her when she was so close to the end of her pregnancy. I told myself I was protecting her, but the truth was I was scared. Scared of hurting her, scared of what she would see when she looked at me, and scared of losing the life we had built.
But the truth didn’t wait. It didn’t stay buried.
In the end, Elena found out first because of my own stupidity, leaving those messages where she could find them.
CHAPTER 2
Elena
By morning, my eyes burned, my body felt hollow, and the space beside me on the bed was untouched. Adrian hadn’t slept here; he’d stayed in the living room or somewhere else in the house. I hadn’t asked him to leave, but he knew I needed distance. He knew being near me would only make the anger pulse harder.
The pain didn’t soften overnight. It didn’t ease just because the sun came up. My chest felt tight, as if something heavy was pressing down on me out of nowhere. I rested a hand over my stomach, hoping my baby was okay even when her mother was falling apart.
A soft knock came at the door before it opened, and Adrian stepped inside. Our eyes met, and something had changed. I looked at him with disgust, while he looked at me with guilt carved into every inch of his face. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept all night.
