She pushed herself up from the edge of the bed, already turning toward the door, as if the conversation had reached its end.
I didn’t let her. I caught her wrist, stopping her before she could take another step, and pulled her back toward me. The movement was sudden. She lost her balance and fell back onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her as I followed her down.
Before she could react, I kissed her—hard.
If this was what she needed, proof, reassurance, something physical to push back against the distance between us, then I would give it to her again and again, as many times as it took.
For a moment she froze. Her hands fisted briefly in my shirt before she kissed me back. Her lips moved with the same urgency, the same heat, the kiss stretching on and consuming everything we could no longer say out loud.
And still, even with her body close, even with her mouth answering mine, I felt it.
She was here, but some part of her was still far away.
CHAPTER 16
Elena
I straightened my clothes and got up from the bed. Adrian was already sitting at the edge of it, his posture calm, but his eyes never left me.
I could still feel the heat of his kiss on my lips. Honestly, I was caught off guard when he pulled me and kissed me like that. It felt as if the frustration inside him had finally boiled over, and he needed to prove something physically because words no longer worked.
And the truth was, I didn’t understand him today. He was the one who suddenly said he had to leave for the project, the one who couldn’t come to my office event, yet somehow he was the one who looked offended by it. As if I should be sad. As if his presence or absence still held the same weight it used to. Meanwhile, I no longer cared. Whether he came or not didn’t make any difference.
“I’m going to check on Haille,” I said, before stopping myself when something crossed my mind. “By the way, take Haille out tomorrow. You’re leaving for two weeks. She deserves time with you before that.”
Our eyes locked. “I won’t be going with you. I have a salon appointment tomorrow.”
He didn’t respond, not a word, not even a hum.
I exhaled and walked toward the door, leaving him behind with his unreadable thoughts. But before my hand touched the doorknob, his voice cut through the quiet.
“Elena...”
There was a hesitation in it this time—faint, but enough to make me turn.
He lowered his gaze for a moment, as if choosing between silence and vulnerability, then looked back up.
“Do you love me?”
The question fell between us like a weight—not a plea, not hope—but a man grasping for a reason not to fall apart completely.
I paused. Then drew a breath, steadying myself.
“I’m here because I love you,” I said quietly. “And that should be enough.”
I saw it then—the flicker in his eyes. Relief and devastation tangled together before he forced his expression still. He looked away briefly, jaw tightening, as if swallowing the answer he truly wanted.
Because deep down, we both knew—love alone was no longer enough to save us.
—?—
I was never someonewho put much thought into my appearance. As long as I looked presentable and neat, that was usually enough for me. But after I stopped breastfeeding Haille—sometime after she turned one, when my milk supply slowly dwindled—I found myself paying closer attention to how I looked.
I started working out at home whenever I could, wanting to ease my body back into itself after giving birth. I scheduled monthly beauty treatments, visited the salon more often, and took better care of my skin and hair. There was something quietly reassuring about taking time for myself, about doing things simply because they made me feel better.
Jessica let out a playful whistle as she approached my desk, setting the coffee I’d texted her about beside my keyboard.
“Ooo, look at you,” she teased. “Freshly dyed hair.”
