A Shift in Power
The car ride home was silent.
Adrian sat in the backseat with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the city lights flashing past the window. Celeste drove, unfazed, her expression neutral as she focused on the road.
The air between them was thick with something unspoken, but neither of them addressed it.
Celeste had expected Adrian to lash out, to demand why she acted indifferent back at the bar, why she didn't react when his friends humiliated her. But to her surprise, he remained silent.
That alone was proof that things were changing.
As they neared their home, Adrian finally broke the silence.
"You didn't have to come looking like that."
Celeste raised a brow, keeping her eyes on the road. "Like what?"
"Like..." He hesitated. His fingers tapped against his knee before he sighed. "Like you just rolled out of bed."
She smirked. "You called me at midnight to pick you up. Did you expect me to wear an evening gown?"
His jaw clenched.
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
Adrian exhaled through his nose, clearly irritated.
Celeste only smirked wider.
When they finally pulled into the driveway, she parked the car and unbuckled her seatbelt.
"I assume you'll be staying here tonight?" she asked nonchalantly.
Adrian frowned at her tone. "Where else would I go?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Emily's place, maybe?"
His eyes darkened. "Is that what you think?"
"I don't think anything, Adrian." She opened the car door and stepped out. "But I do know that you coming home tonight is surprising."
Adrian followed after her, his footsteps heavy against the pavement.
The moment they entered the house, he stopped short.
Something was... different.
Celeste slipped off her bunny slippers and stretched, sighing as she headed for the stairs.
Adrian, however, remained frozen at the entrance, his eyes scanning the living room.
The couple photo that used to hang on the wall? Gone.
The matching mugs she once forced him to use? Missing.
The ridiculous couple stuffed toys she always insisted on displaying? Nowhere in sight.
His stomach twisted.
She had erased them.
He turned to her retreating figure, his voice low.
"You cleaned up."
Celeste paused at the foot of the stairs, glancing over her shoulder.
"I decluttered," she corrected. "You never liked those things anyway."
Something about the way she said it—the finality in her voice—unnerved him.
His fingers twitched. "Celeste—"
But she was already walking up the stairs, her voice drifting back.
"Good night, Adrian."
And just like that, she disappeared into her room, leaving him standing there, surrounded by the remnants of what was once their home—only now, it felt like he no longer belonged in it.