Watch Me
Adrian had just finished eating when the door to his hospital room swung open again.
"Adrian!"
Celeste looked up from her phone, already sighing inwardly.
Emily.
Of course.
She entered like she owned the place—flawless as always, with her sleek curls perfectly in place, dressed like she'd just stepped off a runway.
She carried a fruit basket and a dazzling smile, but the moment she spotted Celeste beside Adrian's bed, something in her expression faltered. Just for a second.
Celeste didn't move. Her arms were crossed, eyes unreadable.
Emily pretended not to notice her.
"Adrian, darling, how are you feeling?" Emily asked, sitting on the edge of his bed without hesitation. "You scared us all. I rushed over as soon as I heard."
Adrian's eyes briefly flicked toward Celeste, then back to Emily. "I'm fine."
"Thank God," Emily exhaled dramatically. "But really, you need to stop worrying us like this."
Celeste let out a quiet scoff, barely audible—but Adrian heard it. He glanced at her again, something soft flickering in his eyes.
Emily, seemingly oblivious, pulled out an apple and a small knife from the basket and began peeling it. Carefully. Gracefully. Like she belonged there.
Celeste clenched her jaw.
She'd been by Adrian's side the entire night—feeding him, making sure he was okay, adjusting his pillows, staying awake in case he needed anything. And now Emily was playing doting visitor, like she had any right?
Celeste refused to compete. Let her peel her apple.
Then the nurse entered the room with a clipboard and a tray of medication.
"Mrs. Sinclair?" she called out.
Celeste instinctively sat up straighter. "Yes?"
"Yes!" Emily echoed at the same time, her voice bright and confident.
A pause.
The nurse blinked in confusion, her gaze bouncing between the two women. "Um... sorry—who should I speak to about the update on Mr. Sinclair's condition?"
Emily stood quickly, brushing down her dress. "That would be me."
Celeste, surprised, stayed quiet for a moment. She wasn't even sure why. Maybe because deep down, she thought Emily might be right. The divorce papers were submitted. It was only a matter of time before it was finalized.
Maybe she really had no place here anymore.
Maybe she should just leave.
Celeste rose from her chair, her fingers curling at her sides. She took a hesitant step back, ready to walk away.
But before she could make it to the door, a warm hand wrapped around her wrist.
She froze.
"She's my wife," Adrian said, his voice calm but firm, eyes locked on the nurse. "You can tell her."
The entire room seemed to go still.
Celeste slowly turned toward him, shocked.
Emily's expression dropped, just for a moment—lips parting in disbelief, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
The nurse, relieved, nodded. "Alright, Mrs. Sinclair." She turned to Celeste and handed her the medication. "Here's his chart, and this is the dosage for later today."
Celeste barely heard her. She could still feel Adrian's grip on her wrist, steady and grounding.
She swallowed hard, feeling something unfamiliar stir in her chest. Something warm. Something dangerous.
Butterflies.
He had called her his wife. In front of everyone.
Even though the papers were supposedly in process.
Even though she thought he'd already let her go.
She slowly sat back down in the chair, feeling Adrian's eyes on her the whole time.
Emily was still standing stiffly beside the bed, holding the apple like it was a weapon. Her face had gone pale.
"You know I was only trying to help," she said softly, trying to recover.
Adrian didn't even look at her. "Thank you, Emily. But Celeste has it handled."
That was the final blow.
Emily stood frozen for a second, then gave a tight nod. "Of course."
She turned without another word, her heels clicking angrily against the floor. When the door slammed behind her, the silence left behind was deafening.
Celeste stared at the floor, her heart still pounding.
"...You didn't have to do that," she said quietly.
Adrian leaned his head back against the pillows. "Do what?"
"Call me your wife. In front of her. The nurse. Everyone."
"You are my wife," he said simply.
Celeste didn't respond. She couldn't. Her throat was too tight, her chest too full.
Adrian watched her for a moment, then added, "Besides... she was getting on my nerves."
Despite herself, Celeste let out a small laugh.
"You're impossible," she murmured.
"That's fair," he replied. "But I meant what I said. You're the only one who belongs here. With me."
Her heart squeezed again.
She hated that he could still do this to her. That even after everything—the pain, the betrayal, the silence—he could still make her feel like she mattered.
Still make her feel like his.
And she wasn't sure whether to run or stay.
But for now, she stayed.
Adrian reached out, brushing her fingers with his, tentative but steady.
"Thank you," he said softly.
"For what?"
"For not leaving."
Celeste looked at him, really looked.
His eyes weren't just tired—they were vulnerable.
She bit her bottom lip. "I'm only here because you got yourself hit by a car."
"Then I should get hit more often."
She shot him a glare, but he grinned anyway.
"Sinclair," she warned.
Adrian smirked. "Just saying. If it means you'll keep showing up."
Her cheeks flushed. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're here," he whispered.
And for the first time in a long time, Celeste didn't have the strength—or the will—to deny it.