The Edge of Something Dangerous
The tension in the car was suffocating. Celeste could hear the soft hum of the engine, the faint tapping of Adrian's fingers on the steering wheel as he gripped it too tightly.
She hated how this felt—like she was the reckless child and he was the stern father dragging her home after a tantrum.
Her gaze burned into the side of his face. "You don't get to act like this."
Adrian scoffed, eyes still on the road. "Like what?"
"Like you suddenly have a say in what I do."
His jaw clenched. "Maybe I always had a say. You just never noticed."
Celeste let out a sharp laugh, one with no humor.
"Oh, trust me, I noticed. I noticed how you treated me like I didn't exist. How I was nothing but a name on your marriage license.
And now, when I finally decide I'm done, you—" She turned to him, eyes flashing.
"What? You suddenly remember I'm your wife? "
Adrian's fingers flexed against the wheel, his jaw locking.
Celeste scoffed. "Spare me, Adrian. I spent three years being invisible to you.
Three years watching you act like I was a ghost in your life—except, of course, when you needed to act to the world that you were a 'loyal' husband.
" She shook her head, voice sharp. "That's the only reason people still think you're taken, isn't it?
Because no matter how much you ignored me, you never once took off that damn ring. "
Adrian didn't react, but his grip on the wheel was suffocating.
She turned away, scoffing bitterly. "I was nothing to you. And you are nothing to me now."
The car jerked violently.
Adrian swerved to the side of the road and slammed the brakes so hard that Celeste's body jerked forward.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. "What the hell—"
Adrian turned to her fully now, his gaze pinning her in place. "Do you really think I didn't notice, Celeste?" His voice was lower, rougher. "The way you started dressing differently? The way you suddenly became so busy—like you were trying to replace me before even leaving?"
Celeste swallowed, but she refused to let herself waver. "I was preparing for my own life, Adrian. One that doesn't revolve around you."
"Get out," Adrian said, voice eerily calm.
Celeste blinked, her breath catching. "What?"
"You heard me," he bit out. "You don't want to be in this car? Fine. Find your own way home."
She gaped at him. His grip on the wheel was iron-tight, his knuckles white, his entire body coiled with tension.
But his eyes—
They weren't cold. They were burning.
With frustration. With anger. With something else she couldn't name.
Her fingers twitched on her lap. "Are you serious?"
Adrian stared ahead, jaw locked. "Dead serious."
Celeste's blood boiled. "You absolute—" She stopped herself, seething. "Fine. I don't need you."
She shoved the door open and stepped out, the sharp cold instantly biting at her skin.
Slamming the door shut, she turned on her heel and started walking, muttering curses under her breath. "Unbelievable. Insufferable. Jackass—"
A strong grip clamped around her wrist.
Celeste gasped as Adrian yanked her back toward the car.
"You're not going anywhere," he growled.
Celeste's heart pounded.
Adrian wasn't letting her walk away.
But Celeste was done with this game.
She twisted against his grip. "Let go."
Adrian's hold didn't budge. "Get back inside."
"I'd rather walk barefoot on broken glass."
Adrian exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience snapping. "Celeste—"
She swung her foot back and clocked him—hard—right in the shin.
Adrian let out a sharp grunt, stumbling slightly. "Son of a—"
Celeste gasped. She hadn't actually expected it to work.
Adrian clutched his leg, wincing as he bent forward.
For a moment, she just stood there. Then—
She laughed.
Loud.
Ugly.
Unrestrained.
Adrian shot her a glare, but the fact that he was limping slightly just made it funnier.
"Did you seriously just kick me?" he demanded.
Celeste wiped a tear from her eye. "I did. And I'd do it again."
Adrian exhaled, muttering something under his breath. "You are impossible."
"And you are an arrogant—"
Celeste didn't finish. She just turned on her heel and marched away.
She made it two blocks before her feet started to protest. Damn heels. She should have kicked Adrian harder just for making her suffer like this.
Shivering, she finally stopped at a bus stop, hugging herself for warmth.
Her toes ached. Her dress wasn't made for late-night walks in the cold. And worst of all—
Her phone was still in Adrian's car.
"Great," she muttered. "I hope he drives straight into a pothole."
She sighed, burying her face in her hands. She wasn't going to cry. She refused. But her eyes burned, and she was too damn tired for this.
Then—
Headlights.
A sleek black car pulled up right in front of her.
Celeste didn't even lift her head. She already knew.
The driver's door opened.
Adrian stepped out, his coat already in his hands.
She clenched her jaw as he draped it over her shoulders, the warmth seeping into her frozen skin.
She wanted to shove it off. Wanted to tell him to go to hell.
Instead, she gritted her teeth. "Took you long enough."
Adrian said nothing.
Celeste turned, glaring. "What, were you actually debating if you'd come back for me?"
Adrian sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I couldn't drive fast."
She narrowed her eyes. "And why is that?"
He shot her a look. "Because you kicked me in the damn groin, Celeste."
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
Celeste burst out laughing.
She tried to stop. She really did. But the thought of Adrian Sinclair—cold, ruthless, untouchable—driving with his legs pressed together, probably wincing every time he hit a bump—
She bent over, wheezing.
Adrian scowled. "It's not funny."
Celeste only laughed harder.
Adrian sighed, exasperated, then without warning, grabbed her wrist and pulled her up to her feet.
She barely had time to react before he yanked her toward the car, opened the door, and all but shoved her inside.
Celeste huffed, crossing her arms. "I hate you."
Adrian shut the door, walked around, and slid into the driver's seat.
Before he started the car, his voice—low and quiet—filled the space.
"I'm sorry."
Celeste froze.
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't said with grand gestures or desperation.
It was just two words. Simple.
But the way Adrian said them—
She turned her head, watching as his grip tightened around the wheel. His brows furrowed slightly, his lips pressing together like he hadn't meant to say it but couldn't take it back.
Her chest ached.
She hated him.
She hated that he made her feel things even now.
Swallowing hard, she looked away. "Whatever," she muttered.
Adrian said nothing.
And as the car rolled forward, the silence between them felt heavier than ever.