The next morning, the house was too quiet.
Hazel hadn't slept. Not really. Just drifted in and out of a restless haze, her pillow still damp from the tears she refused to admit she'd shed. When the sky finally turned from navy to pale gray, she slipped out of the guest room, barefoot, hair a tangled mess, face bare.
Adrian was in the kitchen.
Coffee brewed. Toast popped.
He stood by the window, dressed in his usual crisp white shirt and black slacks, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked like he hadn't slept either.
Hazel hesitated at the doorway.
He didn't turn.
Didn't speak.
Didn't even acknowledge her.
The silence between them felt louder than words.
Hazel's fingers curled around the edge of the doorframe. Her voice was hoarse. "Morning."
He nodded.
That was it.
Just a nod.
She swallowed. "I… I'll be out of your way in a bit. Just need to grab some things."
Another nod.
Still no words.
Hazel forced herself to move past him, pretending not to notice how his jaw clenched or how tightly he was gripping the handle of his mug. She opened a cabinet, reached for a glass, and filled it at the sink.
Her hand trembled.
She gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white.
The silence kept growing. Expanding. Suffocating.
Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.
"Is it true?" she asked, not looking at him. "The three-year deal?"
Adrian didn't answer.
Of course he wouldn't.
He hadn't said anything in days.
She turned, biting down the swell of emotion in her throat. "Was it all just… business?"
Still no answer.
"Was I just—" She broke off. "Is that why you never say anything? Because it's easier not to lie out loud?"
His fingers twitched around the mug.
But his lips stayed shut.
Hazel let out a bitter laugh. "God, you don't even deny it."
She grabbed her glass and walked out, fast.
Adrian didn't follow.
He never did.
Hazel found herself outside, sitting on the back patio in the early morning chill, wrapped in a shawl she didn't remember grabbing. Birds chirped faintly in the distance, the sun barely peeking over the rooftops.
She stared at her glass of water.
Everything suddenly felt fake.
The expensive silk pajamas.
The marble counters.
The rooftop views and luxury cars and private chefs.
None of it belonged to her.
None of it ever had.
It was Erin's world.
Erin's life.
Erin's marriage.
Hazel had just been borrowing it.
And somewhere along the way… she'd made the mistake of hoping it could be real.
Her chest tightened again.
This time, she didn't fight the tears.
They came slowly, quietly, like the kind that had been waiting all night for permission to fall.
She didn't sob. Didn't make a sound.
She just… let go.
Hours passed.
She showered. Changed. Pulled her hair into a loose braid.
Adrian was gone by the time she re-entered the main hall. His keys were missing. His car wasn't in the driveway.
Part of her was relieved.
Another part—deep down—hated how relieved she felt.
She sat in the living room, turned on the TV just for background noise, and opened her laptop.
Erin's emails blinked on the screen.
Dozens of unopened messages from stylists, agents, brand deals, social calendars.
Hazel ignored them all.
Instead, she clicked on a folder she hadn't dared open before.
It was titled: A.
Inside—photos.
Hundreds of them.
Erin and Adrian.
Erin smiling at the camera.
Adrian almost always looking away.
But in one photo—just one—he was staring at her.
Really staring.
Not with coldness.
But with something else.
Longing?
Pain?
Regret?
Hazel didn't know.
But she stared at that photo for a long time.
Then quietly closed the laptop.
Late that evening, the front door opened.
Hazel didn't move.
She was sitting on the floor of the master bedroom, sorting through drawers—trying to figure out what was hers and what wasn't.
Adrian entered.
They locked eyes.
She didn't stand.
He didn't speak.
But he slowly walked toward her.
Then… knelt.
On the carpet.
In front of her.
His eyes searched hers.
And for a moment—just one—Hazel saw something crack behind his stoic mask.
Not words.
But something deeper.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
His hand moved.
Paused.
Then gently touched the side of her face.
Hazel flinched.
But didn't pull away.
Her breath caught.
Still, no words.
Just the warmth of his hand.
The weight of his gaze.
And the overwhelming ache of everything unspoken between them.
To be continued…