November 29, 2020—Seattle, Washington—The Next Day #3
He had been in a lot of places that made him feel like he didn’t belong: war zones, military bases, foreign cities where he barely spoke the language. But nothing had ever made him feel as small as this place did.
The driveway alone was bigger than the street he lived on.
And God, the sheer perfection of it all.
The silence, the faultlessness. In the estate’s impeccably arranged domain, not a single blade of grass dared to be out of line, nor was there any imperfection to sully the pristine atmosphere.
He had encountered wealth in various forms, had witnessed opulence, yet this experience transcended all.
This was generational wealth, old money woven so deeply into a bloodline that it no longer felt like wealth; it felt like divinity.
His gut twisted.
This world—Logan’s world—wasn’t just wealth. It was an entirely different existence.
The kind where people didn’t ask for things, they simply expected them to appear. If Adrian measured his life in hundreds of shekels, equivalent to about a third of a dollar, those individuals spoke in hundreds of thousands and millions of dollars.
It was a place where money wasn’t just a luxury, it was a force, a weapon, a birthright.
It built empires, erased problems before they could even be spoken aloud.
It made sure people like Logan never had to fight for anything in their lives, because the world had already surrendered to them before they were even born.
And standing here, beneath the towering columns of the Vaughn estate, Adrian had never felt smaller.
A wave of shame crashed over him, so sharp it nearly stole his breath.
Shame for ever thinking he and Logan could be equals.
Shame for that tiny, secondhand-furnished apartment in Tel Aviv, the one he had so proudly called home.
The one where Logan had stayed with him, where they had spent the recent nights curled up on his sinking old couch, laughing, kissing, whispering dreams into the dark.
It felt ridiculous now.
He felt ridiculous.
Had Adrian really been fantasizing? Had he truly believed that Logan—the heir to this, a world of private jets and marble mansions, of polished sculptures and luxury cars—could ever belong with someone like him?
The poor boy from southern Israel?
And worse… had he actually taken Logan to his family home? To that tiny apartment with its creaky floors and peeling paint? Had he truly let himself believe that was enough?
What had he been thinking?
Now, more than ever, Adrian understood why Logan had left.
It had nothing to do with fear. It had been inevitable.
Adrian longed to transcend time, yearning to revisit those early weeks in Hawaii.
He envisioned himself advising his younger self to bury those ambitious dreams deep within, for there was simply no chance of fulfillment.
With a wry smile, he imagined encountering his younger self, chuckling at the naivety of that young man.
‘Do you truly believe you could get that guy? Not in a million years, my friend.’
Logan had nothing to gain from being with him. He could offer him nothing. No money, no status, no effortless security. Just a life of struggle, of working-class exhaustion, of a future that could never match the one he was destined for.
And suddenly, Adrian wanted to run.
He wanted to turn around and tell Logan to take him back to the airport. He could catch the next flight home, disappear before they even knocked on that godforsaken door.
Because they were crazy.
Both of them.
This was never going to work.
But before Adrian could step back, Logan moved.
A firm grip closed around his wrist, pulling him forward, forcing him to stop.
And before Adrian could say anything, before he could voice the panic clawing at his throat, Logan grabbed his face in both hands—big, warm, steady hands—his thumbs brushing over Adrian’s cheekbones as he bent down, pressing their foreheads together.
“Stop.”
Just one word. Steady. Commanding.
Adrian swallowed hard, trying to look away, but Logan wouldn’t let him.
“Look at me.”
Adrian did.
And all he could think as he gazed into those storm-colored eyes—eyes filled with a fire so raw, so certain, so unshakable—was that Logan could do so much better than him.
Logan, with his expensive suits and that effortless charm.
With his brilliant, wicked mind, his degrees from universities that Adrian could only dream of attending.
With a last name that carried weight in exclusive circles where Adrian had never set foot.
With a wonderful sense of humor and a caring heart.
With his magnetic smile and kind eyes that sparkled like the most beautiful star in existence.
With his fiery personality that was laced with persistence, courage, and bravery.
Logan, who had every possible door open to him.
And yet, here he was. Holding Adrian’s face like he was something precious. As if he were the only thing that mattered.
And then Logan spoke, his voice thick with conviction, with love, with devotion.
“I chose you, Adrian. Don’t you dare think for a second that you don’t belong with me.”
How had he known, from a single gaze, exactly what was going on in Adrian’s mind? How did he recognize it so quickly and accurately? Was Adrian that obvious, or was Logan just that perceptive?
Adrian squeezed his eyes shut, his breath shaky, his heart breaking open.
But Logan wasn’t done.
“I don’t care about this place. I don’t care about the money, or the house, or what my father thinks. I care about you.” His voice dropped lower, softer. “And now that I finally have you, I will never, never, Adrian, let you go.”
Adrian’s chest ached.
Logan had no idea just how much Adrian wanted to believe him.
And yet, as Logan’s grip tightened around him, as the fire in his eyes blazed like the molten heart of the sun sinking into the horizon, Adrian knew—
Maybe, just maybe, he could.
Because standing before him, beneath the weight of years lost and the ache of time slipping between their fingers like sand, was his Logan.
Not the man in tailored suits and polished shoes, not the heir to empires built on steel and saltwater trade, not the son of wealth and expectation.
No.
This was the same Logan who had once slept beside him in cabins with roofs that leaked like broken seashells, who had curled against him on too-small motel beds where the sheets smelled of strangers and dreams half-lived.
The same Logan who had eaten food from questionable diners, who had worn the same sun-bleached shirt for days on end, shrugging with that lazy smirk, saying, “I wore it for like ten minutes, then it’s off, it’s basically clean.”
The Logan who had walked endless trails with him, their feet bruised and their spirits wild, who had jumped into roaring waters with him, letting the ocean pull them under, letting the waves roll over their heads like the sky’s embrace, because they knew, together, they would always rise.
This—this—was the Logan who had claimed Adrian’s heart, flowing with the inevitability of the tide caressing the shore.
The house, the wealth, the legacy, it was just background noise, a distant hum, a mirage shimmering on the horizon.
What mattered was here, now.
The man in front of him.
The man he had always loved.
So when Logan raised his hand to knock, his fingers trembling ever so slightly, Adrian stayed beside him.
The heavy mahogany door swung open, and there they stood.
Logan’s mother, Samantha, was dressed in casual yet elegant loungewear, the kind of effortless luxury that looked simple but made a statement.
Her diamond earrings and necklace caught the soft light, and her hair was styled.
She had clearly been expecting them, and the late hour did not seem to bother her.
His father, Robert, stood beside her, dressed in dark jeans and a crisp white shirt, appearing more casual than what Logan was accustomed to seeing him wear.
It was obvious he was preparing to leave; his tailored suit was probably waiting somewhere, perfectly pressed, alongside a private jet ready to fly him across the world.
Logan wondered if the man ever slept, if there was even a second of his life he didn’t devote to work. Or if, even now, standing here at the doorway of his own home, he was thinking about profit margins and shipping routes.
The moment his father’s gaze locked onto him, Logan felt the shift.
“Logan.” Robert’s voice carried the weight of both distress and fury, his sharp blue eyes narrowing. “Nice to see you. Now, where the hell have you been?!”
Samantha let out a quiet sigh and placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “Robert, not now.” Her voice was even, controlled, as though she had spent years smoothing over the cracks in this family. She turned back to Logan with a warm, if slightly cautious, smile.
“Come on in, Logan,” she said, stepping aside to let them through. “And who is this lovely guest you’ve brought with you? You look so familiar…”
Her gaze landed on Adrian, studying him with mild curiosity.
Adrian stiffened. Logan felt it immediately, the tension coiling in his frame.
“I’m Adrian,” he said cautiously, his voice measured. After a brief pause, he added, “I think we crossed paths at Logan’s… hum… ahh… wedding.”
At the word wedding, Logan caught the subtle recoil in his tone. The syllables dragged against Adrian’s throat, his vocal cords tightening and stretching around them, an instrument straining to reach a note beyond its range.