CHAPTER 8
Adrian
We were having dinner in near silence—just the soft clink of cutlery, the occasional scrape of a chair, and Elena keeping her eyes firmly on her plate.
Every now and then, I glanced at her—hoping she’d look back, hoping she’d say something—but she didn’t.
She ate quietly, detached, like I wasn’t even sitting across from her.
Then she suddenly set down her fork and spoon.
“Did you already end things with her?” she asked, out of nowhere.
I froze, my hand still halfway lifting my glass. “God, of course, Elena. I ended it long before you ever saw those messages. After that, our contact was strictly about the loan. That’s it.”
She let out a quiet, bitter scoff. The sound barely carried, but it hit harder than shouting. She didn’t look at me, just breathed out a humorless laugh and wiped her mouth with a napkin.
But I could tell she wasn’t done. I set my utensils down and met her eyes.
“What else do you want to know?” I asked.
“What did she say when you ended it?” she pressed.
I swallowed. There was no right answer. Anything I said would hurt her, and saying nothing would hurt her too.
“She accepted it,” I said finally.
Her brows pulled together. “Just like that?”
I nodded once, slowly. Honestly, I didn’t know what she wanted to hear, whether she expected Phoebe to fight, to cry, to beg me to stay, or if she needed validation from the empty words I had written to Phoebe.
“And what about her debt?” she asked next, her tone sharpening.
I let out a slow breath. “She did ask to borrow more, but I refused. I’m not giving her anything beyond what we already agreed on.”
“How much did she borrow?”
I hesitated—just for a second—before answering. “Ten thousand.”
Elena’s eyes widened, disbelief flashing across her face. “Ten thousand?” she repeated, her voice rising. “You gave her ten thousand dollars?”
She let out a short, incredulous laugh, shaking her head. “God, Adrian...”
Then her expression hardened again. “When is she supposed to pay it back?” Her voice sharpened. “Or did you just give it to her for free for sleeping with you?”
I shook my head immediately, keeping my voice low and steady. “No, Elena. Of course not. She still owes me.”
I paused, choosing my words carefully. “She promised she’d pay it back by early next year. That’s what we agreed on. And she will.”
Her shoulders eased—only slightly, but enough to show she understood.
“And how exactly is she going to do that?”
“She’ll contact me. That’s the only way,” I said.
Elena let out a short breath, something close to a humorless laugh.
“So you two are still going to be in touch.”
I leaned forward, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “For God’s sake, Elena. I know I messed up, but I’m not stupid enough to repeat the same mistake. Hurting you once was already more than enough.”
She didn’t respond.
Seconds passed before she finally said, “Give me her number.”
My head snapped up. “What for?”
“Just give it to me. Why? I’m not allowed to ask?”
“It’s not that,” I said quickly. “It’s just... better if you don’t.”
She gave a cold, humorless laugh. “What? You’re afraid I’ll yell at her? Stop worrying about your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I said sharply, heat rising in my voice.
“Then why not give it to me?”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “Elena, no. You’re pregnant. I’m worried about you.”
She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Funny how your worry only shows up now.”
“Elena—”
“Where’s her number? If you won’t give it to me, I can ask Astrid.”
My jaw tightened. “Don’t drag other people into this.”
“Why not? Embarrassed?” she shot back. “Astrid already knows.”
I felt my patience snap. “Damn it, Elena. Why don’t you just tell everyone I cheated, then?”
Her voice broke as she screamed, “You did cheat!”
The words slammed into me like a punch.
She took a shaky breath before continuing. “You know what—” her voice wavered, and she paused, pressing a hand to her side as she tried to steady her breathing. “—I asked Astrid because I wanted to know... if she knew anything about you and Phoebe.”
She stopped again, inhaling slowly, her chest rising and falling with the effort. “And guess what? Will warned you from the start, and you ignored him.”
Her eyes were glassy now, tears gathering. “Why are you still protecting her, Adrian?”
“I’m not, Elena.” My voice came out low. “I’m not protecting her. I just don’t want her anywhere near us anymore. As far as I’m concerned, she’s out of the picture.”
“Yeah? Maybe you’re done with her.” Her voice trembled, but her stare didn’t waver. “But that doesn’t mean she’s done with me.”
Her words cut clean and deliberate, even through the shake in her breath.
“That’s why I want her number, Adrian. Because if there’s anything left unfinished on her side, it ends with me, not you.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
She held my gaze, unblinking. “Give me the number.”
I exhaled hard, the fight draining out of me. “Fine. If giving you her number makes you feel better... I’ll give it to you.”
I wasn’t surrendering because I agreed. I was surrendering because she was breaking, and I couldn’t stand the thought of pushing her any further.
— ? —
Elena
Her number was already in my phone.
Phoebe—the woman who helped tear my marriage apart.
Adrian sent it to me right after dinner, and now it sat there on my screen, staring back at me like an invitation I wasn’t sure I was ready to open. But the moment I had it, I froze.
I didn’t know what to do.
Should I send her a long message? Should I call her? Confront her voice to voice? What was I even supposed to say?
My mind couldn’t form anything coherent. Every thought tangled into another until all that was left was a mess of anger, confusion, and exhaustion.
“It’s late, Elena. You should try to sleep,” Adrian said quietly. He lay down beside me, close enough that I could feel his presence.
Then he pulled the blanket over his shoulders, as if sleep came easily for him. The irony was almost laughable. How convenient, how effortless for the person who caused the damage to close his eyes while the one he hurt lay awake drowning in the aftermath.
For the past few days, he had started sleeping in our bedroom again. At first, he hesitated, watching my reaction. I didn’t say anything when he silently asked—without words—if he still had the right to sleep there.
Ever since I stopped bringing up divorce, Adrian acted like forgiveness had quietly settled between us. Maybe I was close to giving it. Or maybe I just wanted to be close again.
But forgiveness and acceptance were not the same. And the truth was, I still hadn’t accepted it. The thought of him touching another woman, holding her, choosing her for even one night, it still sliced through me like glass every time it crossed my mind.
The pain hadn’t dulled. It hadn’t softened. It still hurt. Every single time.
— ? —
The next morning at the office, I stared at the blank screen on my laptop.
Phoebe’s number was still saved in my phone, tucked inside a contact I wished I’d never had a reason to create. And yet here I was, phone in hand, waiting for words I wasn’t sure I could even type.
At first, anger took over.
My fingers flew across the phone screen, typing a message so sharp, so vicious, it would have gutted her on the spot. I typed curses, accusations, every ugly thought she deserved to hear.
I stared at it.
And then, slowly, I pressed backspace. Every letter disappeared one by one, leaving nothing but the blinking cursor and the sound of my own breathing.
I wasn’t going to let her drag me down to her level. I wasn’t going to let her make me smaller than I was. So I started again. This time, the words were controlled, but not any less painful.
Why did you go after a married man?
Why did you keep contacting Adrian when you knew he had a wife?
Why did you think it was acceptable to insert yourself into someone else’s marriage?
My chest tightened as I typed the last line:
And you will return the money you took from him, through me.
I read the message twice. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even satisfying. But it was honest. Still, my finger hovered over the send button, suspended there as a strange heaviness crept into my chest.
Something didn’t feel right.
My pulse pounded in my ears as I stared at her name, sitting there so casually in my draft. Text felt... too small. Too safe. Too easy for her.
Before I could overthink it, I stood up quietly, pushing back my chair, and walked straight to the restroom where I could breathe without eyes on me. The moment the stall door clicked shut behind me, I pressed her number.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then—
“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered. Soft. Cautious. Completely unaware of the storm waiting on the other end.
My fingers tightened. “This is Adrian’s wife,” I said, skipping every formality. My voice came out colder than I expected, steadier than I felt.
Silence.
A sharp inhale, barely audible.
And then—
“Oh.”
I didn’t give her time to breathe. Time to prepare. Time to run.
Because this conversation was days overdue.