Chapter 4

Adell POV:

The world, once a monochrome blur of sound and silence, was now a symphony of details. Every rustle of leaves, every distant siren, every whispered conversation reached my ears with startling clarity. It was a beautiful, overwhelming cacophony, a constant reminder of the gift I' d received, ironically, just before the deepest wound.

Keisha Duke, bless her social media-addicted heart, continued to chronicle her life online. Her posts, once a source of searing pain, now felt distant, almost comical. "Emi's so stressed, you guys. Being a rock star is tough!" she'd caption a selfie of her pouting next to a visibly haggard Emiliano. She was still trying to cling to his fading glory, still oblivious to the public's shift in sentiment.

The comments section, once her playground, had turned into a battleground. "Where's his fiancée, Adell? Didn't she save his life?" "This girl is a homewrecker. So trashy." "Emiliano, you really messed up this time." The internet, a cruel mistress, had turned against them. For once, I was grateful for its fickle nature.

My mother watched the unfolding drama with a quiet satisfaction. "The public always loves a wronged woman, Adell," she'd noted, sipping her tea. "And a man who betrays that woman for a younger, less deserving one? Their downfall is inevitable." Her words, as always, were brutally pragmatic.

I felt a strange detachment watching Emiliano's public spiral. A part of me, the old Adell, still whispered a faint tremor of concern. But the new Adell, the one who could now hear every nuanced inflection, every cruel word, was cold and resolute. He had made his bed.

I hadn't seen Emiliano since that night in the club. I hadn't wanted to. My mother' s security detail ensured he couldn' t get near the penthouse. Even if he could, I wouldn't let him. The door was closed. Locked.

One evening, as I was going through old boxes in my room, sorting through the remnants of a past life, I found a small, intricately carved wooden bird. It was a gift from Emiliano, years ago, when he was still struggling. "For my little bird," he'd said, "who will one day fly free." The irony was breathtaking. I clutched it, my knuckles white.

The wedding dress, still hanging in a protective bag in a spare closet, felt like a shroud. I pulled it out, the expensive silk cool beneath my fingers. All the plans, the dreams, the hopes I' d poured into it. I looked at the delicate lace, the shimmering pearls. And then, with a sudden, fierce surge of anger, I ripped it. The sound of tearing fabric was a satisfying release. Again and again, until the dress was nothing but shredded remnants, lying in a heap on the floor like a defeated ghost.

I gathered all his gifts, all the symbols of our shared life-the expensive jewelry, the signed albums, the framed photos. I didn't smash them, didn't burn them. That would be too dramatic, too much like the old Adell. Instead, I calmly boxed them up, labeling the box "Emiliano Reed - Return to Sender." They would be sent back to his manager, a clean, decisive severance.

The night wore on, the city lights twinkling outside my window. I hadn't slept properly in weeks. My body was exhausted, but my mind raced, processing, analyzing, healing. The hurt was still there, a dull ache, but it was no longer a gaping wound consuming me. It was a scar, slowly, painfully forming.

I thought about Javier Thomas. The arranged introduction. A stable doctor. It was so far removed from the rock-and-roll dream I had once embraced. But perhaps, after the earthquake, a quiet, solid foundation was exactly what I needed. No grand promises. No empty words. Just quiet support. Respect. Those were the things I craved now, the things I had foolishly overlooked in my pursuit of passion.

My eyes fell on a news article on my mother's iPad, left open on the bedside table. "Keisha Duke's Latest Meltdown: Attacks Fans, Defends Emiliano." The comments section exploded, now turning viciously against Keisha as well. Emiliano's fall was complete, and he was dragging her down with him.

I felt no pity. Only a sense of cold, hard justice. They had both sown the wind; now they would reap the whirlwind. My future, once so inextricably linked to his, was now entirely my own. And for the first time in a long time, the prospect didn't terrify me. It invigorated me.

The sun began to peek over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of rose and gold. A new day. A new life. And I was ready for it. My heart, though bruised, was beating steadily. I was no longer waiting for a man to define me. I was defining myself.

"It's over," I whispered to the rising sun, the words no longer laced with pain, but with a quiet, fierce determination. "And I am finally free."

Emiliano POV:

The loft was a disaster zone. Empty whiskey bottles littered the floor. My guitar lay abandoned in a corner, its strings silent, gathering dust. My manager' s calls went straight to voicemail. I didn' t care. Nothing mattered anymore. Not the canceled tour, not the plummeting album sales, not the furious record label. Nothing but Adell.

She was gone. Completely. Her number blocked, my messages unread. Even through my manager, I couldn't reach her. Her mother's formidable security detail was a wall I couldn't breach. It was like she had vanished into thin air, taking my soul with her.

Keisha, bless her, finally left, ranting about my "moods" and the "toxic energy" of the loft. Good riddance. She was a shallow reflection, a pale imitation of what I thought I wanted. She was nothing. Adell was everything.

I saw the news, the social media storm. My face, once plastered on billboards in triumphant poses, was now photoshopped with devil horns, "cheater" emblazoned across my forehead. Adell, the "deaf fiancée," was a tragic heroine. And I was the villain.

The irony was not lost on me. I had once reveled in the adoration, the fame. Now, it was a poisoned chalice. My music, once my escape, was now my torment. Every song I' d written, every lyric, echoed her name, her sacrifice, my betrayal.

I remembered the studio fire. The scorching heat, the falling speaker. Adell pushing me away, taking the blow herself. Her ear, crushed. The silence that had become her constant companion. And my promise. "I owe you everything, Adell. My life, my music, my future."

Those words, once so sincere, had become a cage. I had resented the debt, the constant reminder of her sacrifice. I had wanted to be free. And now I was. Free to be a lonely, broken man, watching his empire crumble around him.

I had loved her. I knew that now, with a clarity that was both agonizing and undeniable. Not just for her loyalty, her support, her unwavering belief in me. But for her. For her quiet strength, her gentle spirit, her beautiful, understanding eyes. I had been a fool. A selfish, arrogant fool.

I needed to find her. I needed to apologize, to humble myself, to beg for her forgiveness. I would do anything. Give up everything. Just to have her back. My career, my fame, my music-they were nothing without Adell. She was my heart. And I had shattered it.

The silence in the loft pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating. It was my punishment. The silence of a life without Adell. And it was deafening.

---