Chapter 2
Perhaps it was the abrupt arrival of the very murderer they had just been discussing that sent a chill through the room. The young woman seated beside Adrian flinched visibly.
She took a step back, then instinctively clung to his arm, startled.
I said nothing. My gaze held steady, my expression calm.
Adrian was quick to recover. Shoving the woman aside, he crossed the room for me in a few swift strides, the motion tinged with unease.
"I thought the experiment wasn't finished," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "What made you decide to come home early?"
Trained by years in courtrooms, he composed himself with practiced ease.
His voice was calm, almost fond, as if none of what I'd overheard had ever passed his lips.
Around us, the others scrambled to their feet, offering greetings, calling my name with strained cheer.
"She's a friend of Gideon's," Adrian added quickly, gesturing to the woman behind him.
He had once sworn—solemnly, without prompting—that no matter what, he would never bring another woman into our home in my absence.
But then again, I hadn't planned to come home tonight. My return was an accident of timing. Perhaps that's what made it feel like fate.
The crowd, flushed with guilt, dispersed in short order.
That night in bed, Adrian moved closer, wrapping an arm around me.
He seemed genuinely pleased I'd returned, his voice low with affection. "When did you get in?
"I knew you couldn't bear to let me spend my birthday alone. Don't tell me… you were outside for ages, planning some big surprise?"
He was probing—fishing to see how much I'd heard.
I gently pushed him away and turned to face him.
Under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, his expression was everything I remembered: sincere, loving, as though the man I'd overheard hours ago had never existed.
My chest ached. I lowered my voice. "I had a nightmare again last night. The same one."
Adrian immediately gathered me back into his arms, his palm rubbing soothing circles against my back. "It's over, sweetheart. That's all in the past. Let's never think about it again."
But I continued, as if I hadn't heard him. "In the dream, the night before our wedding… Jovan's father came to get revenge.
"But you showed up just in time. Nothing happened."
Jovan Kingsley—my ex-husband.
His hand on my back went still.
A crack flickered across his expression, one he masked quickly with a look of sorrow.
"Don't," he whispered. "Don't say any more, Claire.
"If I'd only gotten there sooner—if I could've stopped it from happening…
"I would've given anything. My life, even."
His lips trembled; his eyes reddened with unshed tears. "But life doesn't deal with what-ifs."
He looked so broken at that moment, as if the regret were genuine.
As if the anguish came from somewhere real.
And for a second, I remembered the way he had once stood in court for me.
How he had faced down the weight of public scorn to defend me. How he had given me a second chance when no one else would.
He had dragged me out of hell—and now, it seemed, led me straight back into it.
I wanted to confront him. To scream. To ask him why. The words reached the back of my throat—only to dissolve into a sigh.
"If you ever grow tired of me," I said quietly, "if you ever stop loving me… promise you'll tell me. I'll leave."
His eyes turned glassy as he crushed me in a trembling embrace.
"Don't say that," he murmured. "Claire, don't say something so foolish. I told you, didn't I? I will always believe in you. For the rest of my life."
I didn't respond. My body remained stiff in his arms.
Still, he held me tighter, coaxing me with the same familiar warmth. "What happened... None of it was your fault. I'll always be your shelter, your home."
I felt the wet warmth of a tear slide against my neck.
But why? Why cry now?
He could have told me the truth. I'd already said I'd leave.
Even in my darkest days—when depression drowned me, when grief bent me out of shape—I had never hurt Adrian. Never laid a hand on him.
Because even then, I couldn't forget: he had once been the only person who pulled me back from the edge.
The light clicked off.
Darkness rushed in, heavy and suffocating.
And those memories—memories I had spent so long trying to bury—rose again, silent and merciless, crashing back into me like a tide I could no longer hold back.