Chapter 3

Adell POV:

New York. The city of endless possibilities, of towering ambition, of harsh realities. It had been eight years since I' d last called it home, since I' d last lived under my mother' s meticulously curated roof. The air, crisp with the promise of autumn, felt different here. Cleaner. Sharper. Like a freshly honed knife, ready to cut away the dead weight of my past.

My mother' s driver met me at Teterboro Airport, a familiar, stoic presence from my childhood. He simply nodded, took my single suitcase, and led me to the waiting Bentley. No questions, no judgments. Just efficient, quiet service, just as I remembered.

The penthouse, still on Fifth Avenue, still exuded that aura of old money and unyielding tradition. But this time, it felt less like a cage and more like a fortress. As I stepped inside, the familiar scent of expensive lilies and polished wood filled my senses. My mother, Christian White, stood in the grand foyer, her silver hair perfectly coiffed, her expression unreadable.

"Adell," she said, her voice softer than I remembered, yet still carrying that underlying steel. She didn't embrace me, but her eyes, usually so guarded, held a flicker of something I hadn't seen in years: concern. "You look... tired."

I nodded, the understatement almost laughable. "I am."

She led me to the sitting room, where a pot of Earl Grey tea was already brewing. "Tell me everything," she commanded, not unkindly.

I recounted the story, the viral post, the club, the words. Every agonizing detail. As I spoke, her expression hardened, a familiar mask of aristocratic disapproval settling over her features. But there was also a flash of pain in her eyes, a reflection of my own.

"I warned you, Adell," she said, her voice low. "I told you he was a dreamer. Dreamers chase their own desires, never truly seeing the sacrifices made for them." She paused, her gaze direct, unwavering. "I also warned you against being a mere companion on someone else's journey. You tried to build him up, to be his savior. But you lost yourself in the process."

I swallowed, the tea suddenly tasting bitter. She was right. Every word.

"And now, my hearing has returned," I added, almost as an afterthought. "Just in time to hear him call me a burden." The irony was a cruel twist of the knife.

My mother closed her eyes for a moment, a rare display of emotion. "A miracle, perhaps. Or a cruel twist of fate. But it is a gift, Adell. A chance to truly hear, not just the world, but yourself." She opened her eyes, her gaze piercing. "You said you would accept my arrangement."

"I did," I affirmed, my voice stronger now. "I will. No more romantic illusions. I want stability, respect. A partner, not a project."

She nodded, a faint smile touching her lips. "Good. Javier Thomas. Do you remember him?"

Javier. The name sent a faint flicker through my memory. A quiet, intelligent boy from college, always serious, always kind. He had admired me, I knew. But I had been too busy chasing a rock star.

"I remember," I said, a strange mix of apprehension and curiosity stirring within me.

My mother continued, her tone softening slightly. "He's become a highly respected cardiovascular surgeon. Built his own practice. No drama, no scandals. Just quiet competence. He's still unmarried. And he specifically requested an introduction to you."

He requested me? After all these years? The thought was strangely comforting.

A maid appeared, discreetly placing an iPad on the coffee table. My mother gestured to it. "While you were... away, Emiliano's troubles have begun. The public is not taking kindly to his latest escapade."

I watched as she scrolled through news articles. "Emiliano Reed's Reputation Tarnished," "Fiancée Adell Boone Goes Silent," "Fans Demand Answers." The comments section, once filled with adoration, now seethed with anger. My story, amplified by the internet, was turning the tide. The "deaf fiancée" was now being seen as a victim, not a burden.

"What Emiliano did is abhorrent," my mother stated, her voice tight with disapproval. "But this public backlash, it's a double-edged sword. It will destroy him, but it will also ensure you are not forgotten. You will be seen as the wronged party, the one who deserves better."

A grim satisfaction settled in my chest. I didn't want him destroyed, not truly. But I also didn't want him to escape the consequences of his actions. I finally understood my mother's pragmatic approach to life. It wasn't about love, but about survival. About rebuilding.

"I need to rest," I said, rubbing my temples. The weight of the world, of all these new decisions, felt heavy.

My mother nodded. "Of course. Your old room is ready. And Adell... welcome home." Her words were not an invitation; they were an affirmation.

As I walked up the familiar grand staircase, the silence of the penthouse was a stark contrast to the thumping chaos of the club. It was a healing silence, a silence that promised peace, not neglect. I was home. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be.

The quiet strength of my mother, her unwavering support, was a balm to my battered soul. I knew this path wouldn't be easy, but it felt right. It felt like walking towards the light, away from the darkness he had plunged me into.

I entered my old bedroom, a sanctuary of soft pastels and antique furniture. The bed, with its crisp white sheets, looked inviting. I sank onto it, pulling a soft throw blanket around me. The last vestiges of tears finally dried. My future, once so inextricably linked to Emiliano, was now completely unbound. It was terrifying, and exhilarating.

I closed my eyes, picturing Javier Thomas. A doctor. Stable. Kind. It was a stark contrast to the life I had just left. And for the first time, I felt a flicker of hope that wasn't tied to a grand, empty promise, but to something quiet, steady, and real.

The noise of the city hummed softly outside, a constant, reassuring presence. No more staged celebrations. No more hidden betrayals. Just the quiet rebuilding of a life. And this time, I would build it for myself.

The past was a closed book, burned to ashes in the fire of his betrayal. And I, Adell Boone, was ready to write a new story. A better one.

Emiliano POV:

The silence in the loft was deafening, a constant reminder of Adell' s absence. Days had turned into a week, then two. My calls went unanswered. My texts, unread. My manager was still on my case, demanding I "fix this PR nightmare." But how could I fix anything when the one person who knew how to fix me was gone?

Keisha, bless her shallow heart, was no help. She flitted around my loft, trying to be cheerful, trying to distract me. "Emi, baby, let's go out! Everyone's talking about us, we should give them a show!" she' d coo, oblivious to the fact that "everyone" was now mostly tearing me apart online.

I pushed her away. "Just... leave me alone, Keisha." She pouted, her eyes wide and innocent, but her presence was like sandpaper to my raw nerves. I couldn't stand the way she looked at me, as if I were some prize she had won. What had I ever seen in her? A fleeting thrill, a desperate escape from the suffocating gratitude I felt for Adell.

I spent my days pacing the loft, staring at her empty side of the bed, feeling the gaping hole she left behind. My phone was a constant source of agony. News articles and social media posts chronicled my downfall. "Emiliano Reed: From Rock Star to Wreckage," "The Cost of Betrayal: Fans Abandon Reed." My album sales had plummeted. Concert dates were being canceled. My label was furious.

The silence grew louder, echoing the emptiness in my chest. I tried to write, but the music wouldn't come. My guitar felt heavy, lifeless. Every chord I struck sounded hollow, mocking. Adell had been my muse, my inspiration. Without her, I was just a tired man with a broken heart and a rapidly crumbling career.

I remembered her quiet strength, the way she could calm my frantic energy with a single glance. Her loyalty, her unwavering belief in me, had been the foundation of my success. And I had thrown it all away for a cheap thrill, for a fleeting ego boost.

I needed her. I needed her quiet presence, her steady hand. I needed her forgiveness. But how could I possibly earn it? I had called her a burden. I had practically signed my love out of existence. The memory of my words, clear as a bell in my mind, felt like a branding iron on my soul.

I picked up the scattered pieces of my shattered phone. It was useless. Just like me. I needed to find her. I had to. Even if it meant crawling on my hands and knees, begging for a second chance. Because without Adell, I was nothing.

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