Chapter 5

Adell POV:

I woke with a gasp, my body drenched in sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs. The dream, a vivid, horrifying replay of that night at Club Pulse, still clung to me. Emiliano's sneering face, Keisha's triumphant smirk, and his words-"Like doing a favor for a charity case"-ringing in my ears with brutal clarity. It was a fresh wound every time, even weeks later.

I sat up, trying to catch my breath in the cool luxury of my old bedroom. The digital clock on the bedside table glowed 5:30 AM. He was probably just getting home now, if he hadn't stayed with Keisha again. The thought made a cold knot form in my stomach. Old habits died hard, even after you cut the ties.

A faint clatter from downstairs stirred me. He wouldn't... could he? No, my mother' s security was impenetrable. Still, a tremor of unease snaked through me. I padded to the window, peering out at the quiet, tree-lined street.

Then I saw him. Emiliano. Standing at the wrought-iron gate of our penthouse, a brown paper bag in his hand. He looked... different. His usually impeccable hair was messy, his clothes rumpled. He seemed smaller, defeated. My heart gave a strange lurch.

He saw me then, or perhaps sensed my presence. He looked up, his eyes wide and pleading. He held up the bag. I knew what it was. His famous breakfast burritos from that greasy taco truck we used to frequent in our struggling days. He' d make them for me sometimes, a rare treat. A peace offering.

I felt a surge of something akin to pity, quickly followed by a cold, hard resolve. He was trying to rekindle something that was already ash. I gestured dismissively, then pointed to the driveway, indicating he should leave it with the security guard. He hesitated, his shoulders slumping, then placed the bag on the guard' s stand and turned to walk away. His steps were slow, heavy. Not the confident stride of the rock star I once knew.

I watched him go, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside me. Had I ever truly loved that man? Or had I loved the idea of him? The potential. The project. The version of him I had tried so hard to build.

My phone vibrated. A news alert. "Emiliano Reed's Controversial New Single: 'Burden' " My blood ran cold. He had written a song. About me. About my hearing loss. About our relationship. The audacity. The sheer, unadulterated cruelty. I slammed the phone face down on the nightstand, my hands shaking.

The security guard brought the bag up to my room. It felt heavy, a symbol of his lingering presence. I opened it. Inside, wrapped in foil, were two burritos. And a small, folded note.

"Adell," it read, his familiar handwriting cramped and uneven. "Please. I know I messed up. Terribly. But I need you. I can't do this without you. Please, just talk to me. I'll make it right. I promise."

I stared at the note, then at the burritos. My favorite, once. Now they tasted like ashes in my mouth. He thought a breakfast burrito and a pathetic note could erase eight years of sacrifice and a lifetime of betrayal. He thought he could buy me back with cheap nostalgia.

My hearing, now fully restored, tingled with a sharp awareness. It was a gift, yes, but also a curse. It meant I could hear every nuance of his deceit, every false ring in his voice, even in my memory. He couldn't hide anything from me anymore.

I walked to the kitchen, opened the trash bin, and dropped the burritos and the note inside. The smell of the food, once comforting, now made me gag. I felt nothing but a profound emptiness. He thought he could still manipulate my emotions, still pull me back. He was wrong. The old Adell, the one who would have crumbled, was gone.

I looked at my reflection in the polished granite countertop. My eyes, though still tired, held a new strength, a fierce independence. I was free. And I was never going back.

The sun was fully up now, casting long shadows across the city. It was a new day, and I would face it, not as Adell Reed, but as Adell Boone. A woman who had been broken, but was now rebuilding herself, brick by painful brick. And this time, the foundation would be solid, built on self-respect, not on sand.

The thought of Javier Thomas, his quiet competence, his respectful admiration, brought a strange sense of comfort. A different kind of song was beginning to play in my life, a softer, more harmonious melody. And I was ready to listen.

Adell POV:

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the penthouse kitchen, a comforting scent that slowly nudged me awake. It had been weeks since Emiliano' s desperate breakfast burrito delivery, weeks since I' d last seen his defeated face at my mother' s gate. The trash had long been emptied, the memory of his pathetic attempt at reconciliation fading into the background of my newly structured life.

My mother had wasted no time. My schedule was now a meticulous tapestry of business meetings, charity galas, and polite social engagements. And, of course, the introductions. Tonight was the first. Javier Thomas.

I was in my walk-in closet, selecting an outfit for the evening, when my phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number. My mother had given me a new phone, a clean slate, free from the ghosts of my past. I hesitated, then answered.

"Adell Boone?" A clipped, official voice. "This is Officer Miller from the NYPD. We have your vehicle in impound. It was involved in an accident. You need to come down to the precinct."

My vehicle? My vintage convertible, a gift from my father on my eighteenth birthday, a car I cherished and rarely drove, was tucked safely in my mother' s underground garage. My blood ran cold. "There must be a mistake," I said, my voice tight. "My car is here."

"The registration matches, ma'am. A black '67 convertible. Damage to the front fender. And... a Keisha Duke was involved. She claims to have been driving it." The name hit me like a physical blow. Keisha. That little snake.

"Where is she?" I demanded, a surge of adrenaline coursing through me. "Is she hurt?"

"She's fine. Just a few scrapes. She's giving her statement now. Precinct 19."

I slammed the phone down. My vintage convertible. My father' s last gift. That woman. I grabbed my keys, my carefully constructed calm shattering into a thousand pieces. This was too much. This was my car. My past. And she had dared to touch it, to wreck it.

The taxi ride to the precinct was a blur. My mind raced, envisioning the crumpled metal, the broken glass. My beautiful car, desecrated. And Keisha Duke, smug and unharmed.

I burst through the double doors of the precinct, the sterile air thick with the smell of stale coffee and desperation. My eyes immediately landed on her. Keisha, sitting on a bench, a scraped knee, a Band-Aid on her cheek, talking to a uniformed officer. She had the audacity to be pouting.

"It wasn't my fault!" she whined, her voice carrying across the waiting room. "The car is so old, it just... lost control. And Emiliano said I could drive it! He said it was practically mine."

My blood boiled. "Practically yours?" I snarled, my voice raw with fury. Keisha looked up, her eyes widening in surprise. The officer turned, his brow furrowed.

"Oh, look who it is," Keisha sneered, a flicker of defiance returning to her eyes. "The deaf fiancée. Did you finally get a hearing aid? Or did your mommy have to pay for an interpreter?"

The rage that consumed me was primal, visceral. My hands clenched into fists. I didn' t think. I just moved. With a guttural cry, I lunged at her, my hand connecting with her cheek with a resounding smack. The sound cracked through the hushed precinct. Keisha shrieked, tumbling off the bench and onto the floor.

"You touch my car, you selfish little tramp!" I screamed, my voice shaking with uncontrolled fury. "That car was my father's! It was his last gift!" I lunged again, my fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her head back.

"Hey! Break it up!" The officer rushed forward, pulling me off her. Other officers moved in, their faces grim.

Keisha lay on the floor, whimpering, clutching her head. "She's crazy! She attacked me!"

"She wrecked my car! And she thinks she can just lay claim to my life, to my past, to my husband!" The word hung in the air, raw and exposed.

"Easy, ma'am, calm down!" the officer said, trying to restrain me.

"That's Emiliano Reed's fiancée," I heard a bystander whisper. "The one from the news."

"Yeah, but she just beat up his new girlfriend!" another hissed, pulling out a phone. "This is wild!"

"Emiliano's gonna kill her for this," someone else muttered, a chill running down my spine. "He's super protective, remember that time he laid out that paparazzi for getting too close to Adell?" The words sent a fresh wave of fear and anger through me. He was protective? Of me? The man who called me a charity case?

I struggled against the officer' s grip, my eyes fixed on Keisha, who was now scrambling to her feet, tears streaming down her face, but her eyes still holding that hateful, entitled glare. I lunged again, fueled by a desperate need to make her feel a fraction of the pain she had inflicted on me.

Suddenly, a massive force slammed into my side. I cried out as I was sent sprawling, hitting the hard floor with a sickening thud. My head cracked against the polished concrete, and a searing pain exploded behind my eyes. The world went dark, then swam back into focus, distorted and muffled. My left ear, the one that had miraculously healed, now rang with a high-pitched whine, followed by a dull, cottony silence. It was gone. My hearing was gone. Again.

Through the fog, I heard shouts, muffled and garbled. "Emiliano!" Keisha shrieked, her voice faint, distant.

Emiliano. He was here. He had seen. He had pushed me.

"Keisha, baby, are you alright?" His voice, still muffled, filled with a frantic concern I had longed for, but never received. For her. Not for me.

My eyes slowly focused. Emiliano stood over Keisha, cradling her in his arms, his back to me. His face was a mask of furious concern. He looked up then, his eyes finding mine, wide with shock, then dawning recognition.

"Adell?" he gasped, his voice barely a whisper, distorted to me like a broken record. His face paled, the concern for Keisha now replaced by a chilling fear. The fear of being caught, of facing the truth.

The world seemed to tilt. My body ached, my head throbbed, and the silence in my left ear was a gaping void. But the pain, the betrayal, it was all too clear. He had pushed me. He had chosen her. Again. And this time, he had taken my hearing with him.

The bitter irony was a punch to the gut. My hearing had returned just to hear his betrayal, and now, in his defense of his mistress, it was taken from me again. This was the true cost of loving Emiliano Reed.

My eyes burned, but I refused to cry. Not here. Not in front of them. My heart ached, not for him, but for the naive girl I had once been.

This was the end. The absolute, undeniable end.

Emiliano POV:

The world stopped spinning the moment my eyes met Adell' s. Her face, tear-streaked and bruised, was a mask of pain and disbelief. My heart hammered against my ribs, a chaotic drum of fear and regret. "Adell?" I choked out, the name a whisper, raw and desperate.

I had been furious, seeing this woman lunge at Keisha, my new girlfriend. My first instinct was to protect Keisha, to push Adell away. But then I saw her eyes, the familiar glint of a strength I hadn't recognized in years. And the way she fell, hitting the floor with a sickening thud. My stomach churned.

I rushed to her, ignoring Keisha' s whimpers. "Adell, baby, what did you do?" My hands, usually so steady on a guitar, trembled as I reached for her. She recoiled, a sharp, involuntary movement that felt like a slap. She pushed herself up, slowly, painfully, her eyes never leaving mine. Her gaze was cold, distant, a look I had never seen directed at me.

"Adell, are you okay?" I stammered, my voice thick with a fear I couldn't articulate. The officers, the bystanders, their murmurs faded into a dull drone. All I could see was Adell, her proud posture despite the visible pain, the way she refused my touch.

"What is she doing here?" a bystander whispered, loud enough for me to hear. "She attacked that girl! The poor thing."

"Yeah, but that' s Emiliano' s fiancée, right? The one he cheated on?"

"Looks like she finally snapped. Can't blame her, really."

The whispers, the accusations, swirled around me. I felt a surge of anger, directed not at Adell, but at the prying eyes, the judging voices. "Silence!" I roared, my voice echoing through the precinct. "Anyone spreading rumors or lies about Adell will face legal action!" My words were meant to protect her, to salvage what little dignity she had left. But she just looked at me, her eyes devoid of any recognition, any warmth.

"Adell, let's go home," I pleaded, reaching for her again. "I can explain everything. Please. Just come home with me." My voice cracked. "We'll talk. I promise."

Her gaze hardened, fixing on Keisha, who was now being helped up by an officer. "How did she get my car?" Adell signed, her movements sharp, precise. Her voice, when it came, was a low, dangerous growl. "Emiliano, tell me. How did she get my car?"

My mind raced. The vintage convertible. I had let Keisha borrow it a few times, a little perk, a gesture of my freedom. I had never thought... I had never considered...

A flicker of annoyance, quickly replaced by a wave of guilt, washed over me. "It's just a car, Adell," I snapped, my voice impatient. "I'll buy you a new one. Ten new ones. Better ones."

Keisha, seeing a chance, chimed in. "It was just a little fender bender, Emi! Nothing serious. It's Adell who's the problem! She's always been so dramatic! So... fragile!"

My anger flared, turning on Keisha. "Shut up, Keisha!" I hissed, my voice tight. "You and your reckless driving! This is all your fault! You think you can just take whatever you want? You think you can just drive my... our... things without a care? You're so irresponsible, so thoughtless!"

Keisha blanched, her eyes wide with shock. She recoiled, her face crumpling. "Emi, what are you saying? You said I could drive it! You said it was fine!"

I ignored her, my gaze fixed on Adell. My jaw was clenched, but I forced my voice to be calm, to be reasonable. "Adell, please. This is a misunderstanding. We can fix this. Just come home. Our wedding is in two weeks. We can't let this ruin everything." I tried to touch her arm again, but she pulled back, her eyes burning with a cold fire.

"Our wedding?" she scoffed, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. "There is no 'our wedding,' Emiliano. There is no 'us.' It's over. I just told you."

My patience snapped. The cultivated calm I had tried to maintain shattered. "What is wrong with you, Adell?" I roared, my voice echoing in the precinct. "Are you deaf? I said, we're getting married! We've been together for eight years! I owe you!" The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, fueled by panic and rage. "I kept you safe, kept you comfortable! I gave you everything! Do you know how much I resented being tied down? How much I hated having to scream every word, having to sign every sentence? It was exhausting, Adell! Suffocating!"

My voice grew louder, more frantic. "I needed to breathe! I needed someone who could hear me, who could laugh with me, who didn't make me feel like I was constantly paying off a debt! You turned our relationship into a burden, Adell! A charity case! All your quiet sacrifices, your 'brave angel' act-it was all a cage! I needed freedom! I needed passion! I needed to be desired, not just tolerated!"

I stared at her, my chest heaving, the words hanging in the air, thick and poisonous. Keisha gaped at me, her face pale. The officers looked uncomfortable. Adell, however, remained still, her face a mask of shock, then a slow, dawning horror.

Her eyes, once so loving, now drilled into me, cold and piercing. "Are you deaf, Emiliano?" she countered, her voice resonating with a power that shook me to my core. "Or are you just a coward?" Her voice, clear and sharp, was perfectly audible. And it hit me like a physical blow.

My stomach dropped. The world tilted. She could hear. She could hear. And she had heard every single, ugly word. Every cruel, resentful confession.

"How... how long?" I stammered, my voice barely a whisper, my mind reeling. "How long could you hear?" My empire was burning, and I, the rock star, was nothing but a fool standing in the ashes.

Adell POV:

Emiliano's face, pale and horrified, twisted into a grotesque mask of realization. His eyes, wide with sudden terror, darted between my steady gaze and his trembling hands. The air around us became heavy, stifling, as if the very atoms were holding their breath. He knew. He knew I had heard him. Every ugly, hateful word.

"How long? How long could you hear?" he stammered, his voice a ragged whisper. The question felt like a desperate plea, a futile attempt to undo the damage.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Long enough," I stated, my voice clear and steady, the sound resonating with a strength I hadn't known I possessed. "Long enough to hear you call me a burden. Long enough to hear you describe our eight years together as a charity case. Long enough to hear you complain about having to 'scream every word, sign every sentence.' " The words, once so painful to hear, now felt like weapons in my hand.

He flinched as if struck. His eyes, once so captivating, now held a raw, animal fear. It was the fear of a beast caught in its own trap.

I remembered his promises, whispered in hospital rooms, signed with tender devotion. "My brave girl," "I owe you everything," "You are my muse, my guardian angel." I remembered the starry-eyed musician, the one who swore his success would be our success. The one who had knelt by my bed, his tears mirroring my own, pledging a lifetime of gratitude and love.

All lies. All empty, hollow words from a man who had secretly resented every single sacrifice I had made for him. He had not seen a partner; he had seen a prop, a story, a convenient narrative for his rise to fame.

"You have no conscience, Emiliano," I spat, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Eight years of my life. My youth. My hearing, twice now. All poured into you, into your dreams. And you stand there, claiming I turned our relationship into a cage? That I made you feel like you were paying a debt?" My voice rose, trembling with a fury that had been simmering for weeks, for months, for years. "You didn't pay a debt, Emiliano. You exploited it! You romanticized my sacrifice for your public image, while secretly despising the very person who made it!"

The precinct was eerily silent, every eye on us. The officers stood rigid, their expressions unreadable. Keisha, forgotten on the floor, whimpered softly, but her sounds were swallowed by the magnitude of my rage.

Emiliano tried to reach for me again, his hand outstretched, his face contorted in a desperate plea. "Adell, please!"

I recoiled violently, taking two quick steps back, as if he were a venomous snake. The thought of his touch, once a comfort, now sent shivers of disgust down my spine. He was no longer the man I loved; he was a stranger, a monstrous caricature of my deepest fears. My stomach lurched, and a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm me. My head throbbed where it had hit the floor, and the emptiness in my left ear was a dull, constant ache.

"Are you deaf, Emiliano?" I repeated, my voice cutting through the silence like a sharp blade. "Because I just heard you say you needed 'freedom.' You needed 'passion.' You needed 'someone who could scream your name, not just sign it.' " I mimicked his words, the mockery dripping from my tone. "And who would that be, Emiliano? The child you've been parading around like a trophy? The one who wrecked my father's car, the last tangible piece of him I had?"

My gaze flickered to Keisha, who was now scrambling to her feet, her face red with a mixture of shame and anger. "You poisoned everything, Emiliano! You took our history, our struggles, our quiet moments, and you twisted them into something ugly, something you resented! You didn't just break my heart; you desecrated our entire past!"

A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. The murmurs began again, louder this time, filled with a new kind of outrage. "He really said that?" "What a monster!" "Poor Adell!"

Keisha, unable to bear the public condemnation, erupted. "She's just jealous, Emi! She's old! She's always been so boring! You deserve better than some charity project!" She lunged at me, her small hands clawing.

Without a second thought, I slapped her again. Harder this time. The sound was a sharp, satisfying crack. Keisha staggered back, her eyes wide with shock, clutching her burning cheek.

"I am not old, you naive child!" I hissed, my voice low and dangerous. "I am experienced. And I am wise enough to know that a man who abandons loyalty for fleeting passion will abandon passion for the next fleeting thing that catches his empty eye! Enjoy your 'freedom,' Keisha. Enjoy being his next burden."

I didn't spare Emiliano another glance. He stood frozen, his face ashen, his mouth agape. The image of him, defeated and exposed, would be etched in my mind forever. But it no longer held any power over me.

I turned my back on them both, my spine ramrod straight, despite the throbbing pain in my head. I walked out of the precinct, not looking back, not shedding another tear. The city air, cool and sharp, felt like a cleansing balm on my skin. I was done. Done with the drama, done with the lies, done with him. This time, there was no returning. There was only moving forward.

Adell POV:

The taxi was an oasis of quiet after the echoing chaos of the precinct. The world outside, a blur of New York' s relentless energy, felt distant, muted. My head throbbed, a relentless drumbeat against my skull. My left ear, once again, was a numb void, a cruel reminder of the cost of my love, my rage, my mistakes.

"You look a mess, miss," the taxi driver, a kind, older man, said, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. "You need a doctor? Maybe a hospital?"

I shook my head, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through me. "No. Just... the airport. Teterboro." I needed to leave. To escape this city, this nightmare, this man.

Emiliano's words, his cruel, cutting words, replayed in my mind. "Burden," "charity case," "suffocating." Each one a fresh blow, even now. The man I had loved, saved, built up, had harbored such venom, such resentment. It was a cold, hard truth, laid bare.

But with the pain came a strange clarity. A sense of profound finality. There was no going back. Not with him. The door was not just closed; it was welded shut, the hinges burned to ash. The eight years I had given him, the sacrifices, the unwavering belief-they were not just wasted; they had been actively scorned.

And yet, paradoxically, I felt a lightness, a sense of liberation. The heavy weight of his expectations, his unspoken resentment, had been lifted. The chains of my misplaced loyalty had snapped. I was free. Free to rebuild, free to redefine myself, free to choose a path that didn't revolve around a man who had proven himself unworthy of my love.

The familiar hum of the private jet was a comforting presence. My mother's driver was waiting, his face impassive as he took in my disheveled appearance, the faint bruise already forming on my cheek. He said nothing, simply opened the door to the waiting car.

"Your mother is very concerned, Adell," he said, his voice unusually gentle, as we drove towards the penthouse. "She's been quite unwell, these past few weeks."

My heart lurched. Unwell? My mother, Christian White, was a force of nature, a woman who rarely showed weakness. "What's wrong?" I asked, a fresh wave of anxiety washing over me.

He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Just stress, ma'am. Worrying about you." He paused. "She always said, 'Never accompany a man on his journey to the top, Adell, if you are not prepared for him to forget you when he gets there.' She saw this coming, you know. She just wanted to protect you. She always has."

His words hit me. My mother, the pragmatic matriarch, had been trying to shield me all along. I had dismissed her as cold, as manipulative, as someone who valued status over love. But she had seen the danger. She had understood the true nature of men like Emiliano. My stubbornness, my naive belief in a fairytale, had blinded me.

"I know," I whispered, grief and regret tightening my throat. "I was a fool."

The Bentley swept through the grand gates of the Fifth Avenue penthouse. Lights were on in every window, a beacon in the cool night. As I stepped out of the car, my mother appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a silk dressing gown, her face etched with a worry that softened her usually formidable features.

"Adell!" she cried, her voice surprisingly fragile. She rushed towards me, and for the first time in well over a decade, she embraced me tightly. Her arms, usually so stiff, wrapped around me with fierce protectiveness. I buried my face in her shoulder, the dam finally breaking. Weeks of suppressed pain, of silent tears, flowed freely.

"Oh, my darling girl," she murmured, stroking my hair. "I knew it. I just knew it."

She led me inside, insisting on a hot bath and a warm meal. Later, as I sat wrapped in a plush robe, sipping herbal tea, she listened patiently as I recounted the full, brutal truth. My voice, now clear and steady, laid bare the extent of Emiliano's betrayal, and the agonizing irony of my hearing returning just in time to hear him destroy me.

When I finished, she simply held my hand, her grip firm. "Your father, Adell," she began, her voice soft, "he was a dreamer too. Not a musician, but an artist. He loved me, in his way. But his art always came first. I was an accessory, a muse, just as you were to Emiliano." She paused, her gaze distant. "He left me, eventually. For his art. For the freedom he felt I stifled."

A raw, unfamiliar pain twisted in my chest. My mother, the unshakeable Christian White, had known this heartbreak too. Her stoicism hadn't been coldness; it had been a shield, built from her own wounds.

"That's why I tried to protect you," she continued, her eyes meeting mine. "I didn't want you to make the same mistakes I did. To give so much of yourself, only to be discarded when you no longer served their purpose."

I squeezed her hand. "I understand now, Mother. I really do." My past stubbornness, my youthful rebellion, now felt like a foolish tantrum. My mother' s love, once perceived as controlling, was now a beacon of unwavering support.

"So," she said, a hint of her old steel returning to her voice, "Javier Thomas. He's always been interested in you. A genuinely good man. And he's still waiting."

A faint smile touched my lips. Javier. The stable, kind doctor. The antithesis of everything Emiliano had been. "I'm ready," I said, a sense of peace settling over me. "I'm ready to meet him. Ready to build something real."

The city outside hummed with a different kind of energy now. Not the chaotic, destructive energy of my past, but the steady, hopeful rhythm of a new beginning. I was home. And for the first time in a very long time, I felt like I truly belonged. The future, once a terrifying void, now sparkled with possibility. This time, I would write my own symphony, a melody of self-worth, respect, and, perhaps, a love that would last.

Adell POV:

The world was finally settling. Weeks had passed since my return to New York, since the raw, public unraveling of my life with Emiliano. My mother, with her formidable efficiency, had orchestrated a sanctuary around me. The penthouse was a haven, its quiet luxury a stark contrast to the chaotic echoes of my past.

Keisha Duke, however, refused to fade quietly. Her social media presence, once a source of torment, had become a morbid fascination. Her posts, once triumphant, now reeked of desperation. "Emi's so busy, you guys," she'd type, followed by a selfie of her alone in the loft, a forced smile on her face. "But he'll be back soon! We're planning something huge!"

She was clearly crying for help, for attention, for him. "Emiliano's under attack from these haters! It's so unfair!" she'd whimper in a video, her eyes wide with a manufactured innocence. The comments section, however, had turned into a relentless tide of condemnation.

"Where's Adell, the one he cheated on?" a top comment read. "Everyone knows he used her for years!"

"This Keisha girl is pure trash. Go get your own man!"

"Isn't that the 'deaf fiancée' from his early days? My God, he really did her dirty."

"She saved his life, and he repaid her by humiliating her. What a scumbag."

The tide had truly turned. Keisha, unable to withstand the onslaught, retaliated with a fiery post. "You don't understand our love! Love is about passion, about taking what you want! If you truly love someone, you fight for them! You don't just sit there, waiting to be rescued!" She was clearly lashing out, fueled by her own insecurity and the rapidly diminishing attention.

The internet, however, was merciless. "Love is about respect, not theft!" a user shot back. "You fought for a stolen man, honey. That's not love; that's predatory."

"This girl has zero moral compass. What kind of example is this setting?"

"Karma's a bitch, Keisha. Hope you enjoy the ride down."

Keisha, visibly shaken, posted a final, desperate plea for Emiliano to "do something" about the online harassment. But there was no response from him. And then, her posts stopped. Her entire account vanished, as if erased from existence. She had been swallowed by the very digital world she had so eagerly tried to conquer.

I felt a strange sense of closure, not triumph. Her downfall was not my victory. It was merely the inevitable consequence of her own choices. And Emiliano's.

My mother, ever vigilant, watched the news reports. "Emiliano Reed's career is in tatters, Adell," she announced one morning, looking up from her tablet. "His comeback single, 'Burden,' has been universally panned. Radio stations are refusing to play it. His concert promoter has canceled the entire tour."

I felt a flicker of something in my chest, a memory of the ambitious young man I had once loved. But it was quickly extinguished by the cold, hard facts. He had made his choices. And now, he was facing the consequences.

The phone in my hand vibrated. It was a message from Javier Thomas. A simple, polite text confirming our dinner date for that evening. A different kind of man. A different kind of future.

I walked to the window, looking out at the sprawling cityscape. The sun glinted off the glass towers, a future bright with possibility. My past, with all its pain and betrayal, was a fading shadow. I was no longer the "deaf fiancée," the victim. I was Adell Boone, a woman rebuilding her life, brick by painful brick. And this time, it would be a life built on strength, on self-respect, and on a love that was real, not a burden.

The world was changing. And so was I. The stage was set for a new act, a new song. And this time, I would be the lead singer, composing my own melody,

not just the quiet, forgotten muse.

Emiliano POV:

The loft, once a vibrant hub of creativity and hedonism, was now a suffocating tomb. Empty. Cold. The air reeked of desperation and stale ambition. My reflection in the darkened window showed a gaunt stranger, hollow-eyed and unshaven. My once-iconic hair was a tangled mess. My clothes hung loose on a frame that had shed too many pounds.

My latest single, "Burden," a desperate, misguided attempt to reclaim my narrative, had backfired spectacularly. It was universally reviled, a testament to my own cruelty, not my artistry. The label had dropped me. My manager refused to answer my calls. My world had imploded.

My phone, the one I hadn't shattered in my rage, pinged with an incessant stream of messages from Keisha. "Emi, baby, where are you? The trolls are out of control! I need you!" "Emi, please, my account got deleted! I have nowhere to go!" "I'm scared, Emi! Please, come find me!"

I scrolled through her frantic texts, a flicker of irritation, then a dull void. Her pleas, once so captivating in their vulnerability, now sounded shrill, pathetic. She was a child, clinging to a sinking ship. I had seen her for what she was: a fleeting, shallow distraction. A symbol of the "freedom" I had so foolishly craved. And now, she was just another burden.

I closed her chat. Forever.

My fingers hovered over Adell's old number, the one I knew was blocked. I had tried everything. Contacting her old friends, her family. All roads led to dead ends. Her mother's security was impenetrable. It was like Adell had simply evaporated, leaving behind a gaping, aching hole in my chest.

I remembered her face in the precinct, bruised and defiant. Her voice, clear and sharp, cutting through my lies, my self-pity. "Are you deaf, Emiliano? Or are you just a coward?" Her words had been a prophecy. I was a coward. And now, I was truly deaf to the melody of my own life.

I still had a key to her old apartment, the small, charming place we shared before the loft. A desperate hope flickered within me. Maybe she had gone back there. Maybe she was waiting, giving me a chance to grovel, to beg. I had to try.

I drove through the city, the once-familiar streets now feeling alien, hostile. The apartment building stood silent, dark. I let myself in, my heart pounding in anticipation. The air was still, cold. Empty. No sign of her. Just dust motes dancing in the faint light. My hope, fragile as gossamer, shattered.

I sank to the floor, my head in my hands. What had I done? I had thrown away the one person who truly loved me, truly believed in me, truly saw me. The one who had given me everything, even her hearing.

I remembered the quiet nights, her head resting on my chest, listening to my heartbeat, to my dreams. Her gentle touch, her understanding smile. The comfort of her silent presence. I had taken it all for granted, had seen it as an obligation, a weight around my neck. Now, I yearned for that weight, for the anchor she had provided.

I needed her. I needed her quiet strength, her steady hand. I needed her forgiveness. But she was gone. Irretrievably gone. Like a melody lost to the wind, never to be heard again.

A notification popped up on my phone. An old calendar reminder. Adell's birthday. Dinner at Per Se. My stomach clenched. I had canceled that dinner, citing "studio emergencies." The lie tasted like bile in my mouth.

I had planned to surprise her with a ring, a diamond Adell had picked out herself, a symbol of our future. I' d wanted to get down on one knee, to reaffirm my commitment. Now, the ring sat in a velvet box in my bedside drawer, a mocking testament to a future that would never come.

The upcoming ceremony. Our wedding. It was still two weeks away. A phantom date etched on my calendar. I had promised my manager I would attend, that Adell would be there, that we would "manage" this crisis. A desperate, delusional hope.

But even without her, I would go. I would show up. I would wait. I would cling to the faint possibility that she might reconsider, that she might see my regret, my despair. I would tell her I would be faithful. I would give up all my "freedom." I would return to her, humble and contrite.

I would do anything. Everything. If only she would come back.

I would make things right. I would. I had to. Because without Adell, I was nothing but a broken record, playing a song no one wanted to hear.

I would wait for her. I would apologize. I would rebuild. Because the thought of a life without her... that was the true burden.

Adell POV:

The world felt soft, bathed in the gentle glow of a new dawn. It was the morning of my wedding day. Not to Emiliano, the man who had shattered my heart, but to Javier Thomas, the man who had quietly, patiently, and respectfully put the pieces back together.

The preparations were simple, intimate. My mother, once so insistent on lavish display, had understood my need for quiet dignity. Only our closest family and friends were invited. The grand ballroom of my mother' s estate had been transformed into a verdant oasis, filled with white roses and soft candlelight. Javier, with his characteristic thoughtfulness, had personally overseen every detail, ensuring everything was exactly as I wished, even anticipating my unspoken desires.

"You look beautiful, Adell," my mother murmured, her eyes moist as she fastened the last pearl button on my gown. My wedding dress, a simple yet elegant silk creation, was a stark contrast to the elaborate gown I had once meticulously planned for a different wedding, to a different man. This dress felt like me. Real. Unadorned.

As I walked towards the aisle, my heart beat a steady, joyful rhythm. My father, a loving memory, would have been proud. My mother, her hand gripping mine, smiled, a rare, genuine smile that reached her eyes. Javier waited, his strong, kind face alight with a warmth that enveloped me.

The ceremony was brief, filled with genuine affection. As Javier gently slipped the ring onto my finger, his eyes, dark and deep, held a promise of unwavering devotion. It was a promise built not on grand pronouncements, but on consistent, thoughtful actions.

My gaze, almost unconsciously, drifted towards the edge of the rose garden, where the ancient oak trees cast long, shifting shadows. And there he was.

Emiliano.

He stood apart from the small gathering, almost swallowed by the shadows, yet starkly visible. His figure was thinner, his shoulders slumped. He wore a simple, dark suit, a stark contrast to the flamboyant stage presence I once knew. His hair, usually styled with careful precision, was slightly disheveled.

He looked different. Haunted. A ghost of the man I had loved. A ghost of the man he once was. He reminded me, almost painfully, of the struggling musician I had met all those years ago, before the fame, before the ego, before the betrayal. The vulnerability in his posture was a stark echo of those early days.

He was staring at me, his eyes wide and unblinking. I couldn't read his expression. There was raw pain, yes, and perhaps regret. But also something else, something I couldn't quite decipher. A desperate longing? A quiet acceptance?

A tear tracked slowly down his cheek, catching the light. He raised a hand, brushing it away with a rough gesture. Then, he seemed to swallow hard, and his lips moved. I couldn't hear the words, but I knew what he was saying. I knew the silent, desperate apology he was forming. The fervent, final blessing.

He nodded once, a slow, solemn bow of his head, directed solely at me. And then he turned, melting back into the shadows of the oak trees, disappearing as silently as he had appeared. He was gone.

The ceremony concluded, and a wave of warmth and joy washed over me. Javier' s hand tightened in mine, drawing me back to the present, to our shared future. I looked at him, my heart overflowing with a quiet gratitude. This was true love. Not the passionate, volatile kind, but the steady, enduring kind.

Emiliano was truly gone now. He never reappeared. No one saw him again. He vanished from the public eye, his name slowly fading from the gossip columns and the music charts. His spectacular rise had been matched only by his equally spectacular fall.

Years passed. My daughter, Lily, a vibrant, curious child with Javier' s kind eyes and my stubborn spirit, tugged on my hand. We were at a small, peaceful monastery nestled in the mountains, a place of quiet contemplation and ancient trees. She was fascinated by the prayer flags, the gentle tinkling of the bells.

"Mommy, look!" she exclaimed, pointing to a gnarled old Bodhi tree, its branches laden with red silk ribbons, each bearing a name. "So many wishes!"

A monk, his face serene, approached us. "A beautiful sight, isn't it, little one?" he said gently. He looked at me, a knowing smile on his lips. "We have a brother here, Adell. He dedicates his prayers to one person, always. He writes your name on a ribbon every single day, praying for your happiness."

My breath hitched. My heart skipped a beat. I looked at the Bodhi tree, at the countless red ribbons, my name, Adell Boone, woven into the fabric of prayers. Emiliano. It could only be him.

The monk gestured to a small, secluded grove. "He is there now, in quiet meditation. He has found peace, Adell. And through his prayers, perhaps, a different kind of atonement."

I walked towards the grove, Lily skipping ahead. And then I saw him. Older, thinner, his head shaven, clad in simple monk's robes. He sat with his back to me, perfectly still, his hands clasped in prayer. He was a world away from the rock star, from the man who had broken me. He was a soul seeking solace, finding it in quiet devotion.

Lily, innocent and curious, pointed. "Mommy, who's that man praying?"

I knelt beside her, pulling her close. I stroked her soft hair, my gaze fixed on the figure beneath the tree. A profound sense of peace, of release, settled over me. "He's an old friend, sweetie," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "And he's praying for our happiness."

A chime echoed through the tranquil valley, followed by the soft rustle of wind chimes. Javier, his face warm with love, walked towards us, carrying a picnic basket. "There you are, my loves," he said, his smile radiating comfort. "Hungry? I brought your favorite, Lily-bug." He reached out, taking my hand, his touch grounding, real. "Ready to go home?"

I looked at Emiliano one last time, a silent prayer of my own forming in my heart. Not for him, but for the forgiveness I now felt, for the peace I had found. For the happiness I now cherished.

"Yes," I said, squeezing Javier's hand, my gaze sweeping over my beautiful daughter, my loving husband, and the serene beauty of the monastery. "I'm ready. I'm ready to go home."

My heart, once so broken, was now overflowing. I had found my true melody, not in the grand, empty promises of a rock star, but in the quiet, steady rhythm of genuine love, respect, and unwavering support. And it was a song I would cherish forever.