2 Divorce him
Adrian took the phone and glanced at the screen. A photo.
Theo. Kissing another woman.
The picture showed him in a secluded area, lips pressed against a blonde with short hair. She was short in height. Theo cupped her face with both hands, clearly lost in the moment. There were no crowds, no witnesses—only the two of them.
"The woman in the picture is clearly not Miss Donovan," Matthew said quietly. “It was hard to get this picture. He’s very careful. But after months of digging, we finally caught him.”
Adrian’s lips curled into a sneer. His jaw locked, and his fingers curled around the phone like a vice before he tossed it back to Matthew without a word and stormed out of that place.
Two days later, Adrian entered Max Mall—the crown jewel of the city’s luxury. The air inside smelled of fresh roses and expensive perfume. The marble floors gleamed under crystal chandeliers that hung like dripping diamonds from the ceiling. Glass elevators moved soundlessly between floors, their gold-trimmed doors opening to reveal stores that didn’t display prices, because if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it.
Designer boutiques lined both sides, each one dripping in wealth. Armani, Dior, Patek Philippe, and brands so exclusive they didn’t even advertise. Private lounges with velvet curtains were tucked into corners, meant for clients who wanted to spend millions in peace. Even the staff walked like models, dressed better than most CEOs.
Everything about Max Mall whispered money.
And when Adrian walked in, people looked . Because a man like him didn’t belong to luxury.
He was luxury.
His steps were sharp and unhurried, each one echoing quiet authority. There was a tension in his body, a storm beneath the suit. Eyes followed him. Whispers started. Some greeted him, others just stared—but Adrian didn’t slow down, didn’t blink. His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed, like he was on a mission. And God help anyone who got in his way.
He stepped into the elevator, one hand in his pocket, and exited on the eighth floor. As he entered a high-end boutique, five men in black trailed behind him.
As Adrian entered the shop, they immediately spread out, discreetly clearing the area around the changing room in seconds.
Sienna, inside one of the changing rooms, had just slipped into a white silk dress. It had a sheer cloak with delicate see-through panels around the waist, hugging her figure. The top was held by a strip of fabric around her chest, the skirt falling elegantly down.
Feeling the fit was slightly off, she turned her back to the curtain and said to the assistant standing in the corner, “Could you get a bigger size, please? This one’s a bit tight.”
"Of course, Mrs. Montgomery," the assistant replied politely before quietly stepping out to fetch another.
Sienna let the dress fall from her body, standing in her white lace lingerie as she waited.
But it wasn’t the assistant who returned.
Adrian stepped inside the changing room, silent as a shadow, drawing the curtain closed behind him. He held the dress in one hand, placing it into Sienna’s outstretched arms before his other hand slid around her waist, gripping it firmly, his fingers brushing against her bare skin.
A sharp breath escaped him, like someone tasting something forbidden after years.
It had been so long.
Sienna assumed the assistant was back. She slipped the dress over her head, and then tried to zip up the dress. But her fingers couldn’t reach.
That’s when another hand appeared—bigger, warmer—covering hers and taking over. The fingers caressed her skin in the process, trailing along her spine.
She sighed, thinking it was the assistant helping her.
Until she felt those fingers slide up her bare waist, wrap around her from behind. A firm grip at her waist. A warm breath near her ear.
Adrian stepped in closer, his fingers brushing her bare skin, dragging the zipper up with slow, agonizing precision, taking his time like he was memorizing her skin again.
His nose dipped down, inhaling her scent — one he’d craved for years. Then, his lips brushed close to her ear, voice low and husky.
“I still know your taste better than anyone else, love.”
Sienna’s body stiffened.
A bolt of electricity shot through her as she stiffened. She knew that voice. She’d know it anywhere. Even in her sleep.
She turned sharply.
And there he was.
Adrian.
Standing in front of her, his presence stealing all the air from the room.
Her eyes widened, heart slamming against her ribs.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice filled with shock.
Adrian stared at her with an unabashed hunger in his eyes.
The thin dress covering her did nothing to hide her body—if anything, it made her look even more delicate, like something he wanted to rip open with his bare hands. But he held back, barely. That restraint was costing him everything.
His gaze met hers, calm on the surface but burning underneath. "I missed you."
Sienna’s brows furrowed in shock. Of all the things he could’ve said, this was the last she ever expected to hear from the Adrian Vaughn.
But she wasn’t the na?ve fool she once was. Not anymore. She didn’t believe him—not for a second.
"Get out," she said coldly.
But instead, he stepped forward. His hand reached for her waist, his body leaning in for a kiss.
She slapped his chest—hard—forcing him to stumble back. Her jaw tightened with fury.
"Adrian Vaughn," she said in a deadly calm voice, a scoff escaping her lips. "What are you doing? Wasn’t I just a bed partner to you? So how can you miss someone like me?"
Adrian’s fists clenched at her words.
The moment she called herself a ‘bed partner’, something inside him twisted violently. The title sounded like poison coming from her lips. He hated it.
Still, he responded, firm and direct.
"I want you to come back to me."
“What the fuck? I’m married!” Sienna’s voice cut through the air. “Have you completely lost your mind?”
"Divorce him."
Sienna burst out laughing. The sound was bitter, full of disbelief. She placed a hand on the wall, leaning back against it as her eyes met his again.
“You’re insane,” she said, shaking her head. “What do you even think of yourself? That I’ll just throw away my marriage because you miss me? Who do you think you are?”
Adrian’s fingers twitched. He wasn’t used to this space between them.
They had spent five years together. For five years, they had been inseparable. Five years of constant touch, stolen kisses, shared nights. And now, standing so close to her yet feeling this far—it was torture.
“Sienna,” his voice dropped, low and husky as he slid a hand into his pocket and stepped closer, his gaze locking onto hers, filled with desperation. “Come back to me. Let’s be together again. Like before.”
“I said no.” Sienna looked at him like he was mad. “I’m married. To Theo Montgomery. You know that, don’t you? I won’t do anything that disrespects my husband. I will never leave him for anyone, especially not someone like you.”
The moment she said Theo’s name— called him husband —Adrian’s expression darkened.
His eyes, once stormy with frustration, turned cold and hard like stone. The muscle in his jaw flexed.
Then came a low scoff.
Without saying a word, he reached into the pocket of his tailored suit and pulled out his phone. His movements were calm—calm in the way only a man used to control could be.
"Husband?" His deep voice carried a dangerous edge, rough with sarcasm. He turned the screen toward her.
A photo. Theo. Kissing another woman—hand tangled in her hair, lips too familiar.
Sienna’s blood ran cold. Her breath caught. Her face lost all color.
For a split second, everything stopped.
And then her hand shot out, a reflexive move driven by panic and disbelief, but Adrian was faster. He pulled the phone out of reach, lifting it high above her head. She lunged again and stumbled, crashing into his chest.
His arm snapped around her waist instinctively, holding her there. His body was tense, muscles taut beneath the fabric of his shirt, heart hammering in sync with hers. He didn’t let go. His hand pressed into her back, searing hot through the dress.
He held her there, close against him, his body radiating heat and power.
His voice dropped, low and lethal near her ear.
"Your perfect husband is busy playing house with someone else. And you're still protecting him like it means something?"
Sienna’s jaw clenched. Her eyes, once wide with shock, now narrowed with fury.
"What I do or don’t do is none of your business," she bit out, voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "What’s it to you?"
Adrian’s jaw tensed, and a muscle ticked in his cheek. His patience was wearing thin.
She was still defending that bastard?
She still chose him?
His skin burned with jealousy and fury. ‘She used to only protect me.’ The thought burnt in his mind. ‘But now, she is shielding another man, that fucking bastard, in front of me?’
"Divorce him, and come back to me." He said, his voice hoarse now, thick with suppressed rage and something far more painful.
Sienna scoffed, disbelief etched on her face. "You threw me out, Adrian Vaughn! Like garbage! And now you want me back? What for? To warm your bed again?"
"No." The word left him immediately, firm and fast. His eyes softened—barely. "Come back as my woman. Not as a distraction. Not as a fling. As mine. My wife."
For the first time, her expression faltered. Shocked.
She stared at him, searching, looking for a lie, for manipulation.
There was no mockery in his eyes this time. Only sincerity. A hope?
Adrian Montgomery never begged. Never needed to. And yet, the look in his eyes wasn’t pride. It was something rawer. Almost vulnerable.
She pushed his arms off her body with sudden force and took two steps back.
"If it were two years ago," she said quietly, her voice shaking as a bitter smile tugged at her lips, "I would’ve believed you blindly. Might have even died from happiness just to hear those words from you."
Then, slowly, her smile changed. Cold. Disgusted.
“But do you really think I’m still that fool? The one who blindly believed every lie that left your mouth?”
Adrian’s gaze sharpened. She was slipping through his fingers again.
"You’re gambling your life over that fucking bastard?" he said, his voice deeper now, his tone dangerously calm. "That man isn’t worthy of your loyalty."
"And you were?" she snapped. "You made sure I knew my place, Adrian! I was only worth being one of your thousands of mistresses, right?"
His nostrils flared. He took a step forward.
"There was never a list," he said. Low. Controlled. "There was only you."
She blinked.
"I let them talk. I fed the press the stories, the rumors. I wanted you to hate me. I thought if you hated me enough, you’d stop mattering to me."
He took a cautious step toward her, his hand reaching for her, but she stepped back again and her brows furrowed. "What?"
Frustration etched deep lines into his face. He looked like a man on the verge of breaking. He ached to touch her—just the brush of skin, even her wrist. Being this close, yet still at a distance, was unbearable. He couldn’t breathe unless he was touching her. And she knew that. She had lived with it for five years.
Now she was torturing him.
He exhaled through his nose, eyes locked on hers. His voice dropped, the words carrying a weight heavier than guilt.
"I started those rumors. I was the one who didn’t realize how I felt about you. I was scared. I didn’t want to feel anything. So I sabotaged us."
Silence. Thick. Suffocating.
Sienna raised her brows in disbelief. “Feelings?”
Her voice came quieter, more guarded. "So now what? You expect me to melt because the great Adrian Vaughn feels something ?"