Chapter 7 The Other Man

You haven't been outside in days

not really

not without Adrian's shadow trailing behind you like a second skin

But this morning

you found a folded slip of paper on your pillow

No note

no signature

just a name of a place

a time

It wasn't a suggestion

You knew better than to think that

So now you're here

in the backseat of a black Mercedes parked across the street from a little café you used to love

The driver hasn't spoken a word since you left the house

You're not sure he even blinks

He opens the door when the clock strikes 4:00 sharp

and you step out into the rain

cool and fine and barely there

For a moment

you stand still on the sidewalk

soaking in the wet city air

trying to remember the last time you made a decision without Adrian's voice curling around it

Then you walk

The bell over the café door chimes

and everything inside smells like cinnamon and something warm you can't quite name

The lighting is golden and forgiving

and the hum of quiet conversation wraps around you like a familiar sweater

You used to come here every Thursday

Back when your name was only yours

Back when your body didn't belong to a contract

You slide into the booth by the window

order chamomile without thinking

and wrap your hands around the mug like it might keep you from unraveling

For ten minutes

you forget

Then the door opens

And everything stops moving

You don't look right away

Your body reacts first-

a shift in posture

a tightening in your stomach

a memory too sharp to ignore

Then you hear him

"Selena?"

Your breath falters

You turn

And there he is

Elias Ward

Rain-damp curls brushing his forehead

jaw sharper than you remember

eyes the same dark green that used to make you feel like you were standing still while the world turned

He's older

of course

but not by much

Just enough for the lines at the corners of his mouth to mean something

He smiles

crooked

tentative

almost gentle

"Hey," he says again

his voice lower than you remember

the kind of voice people listen to

You want to disappear

Instead

you nod

He gestures to the empty seat across from you

"May I?"

You hesitate too long

Then you nod again

He sits

It feels like a trick of time

like something fraying open at the edges

The steam from your tea curls between you

and you watch it instead of him

"I almost didn't recognize you," he says

"I wasn't sure if it was really you until I saw the way you held your cup. You still do that thing with your thumb."

You glance down

You are doing that thing with your thumb

"You disappeared," he adds after a moment

soft

not accusing

but not entirely forgiving either

You offer a small shrug

Eyes still on your tea

"Things got... complicated," you say

"Complicated," he repeats

rolling the word around like he's trying to taste the truth behind it

He studies you more closely

and the weight of his gaze makes your throat close

"Are you okay?" he asks

You don't answer

Not really

Because how do you explain this?

How do you tell someone you used to love that you gave yourself away

Not to him

To someone else

Someone who's not safe but feels like safety anyway

because danger wrapped in velvet still feels soft when you're lonely

Your phone vibrates against your leg

You glance down

One message

No name

but you know who it's from

Did he touch you?

Your heart stops

then trips over itself

Elias sees the flicker in your expression

His brow furrows

"Who was that?" he asks

not casually

not innocently

You tuck the phone into your coat

voice flat

"It's nothing"

Elias leans back slowly

He's quiet for a moment

then says, "You never did learn how to lie to me"

You don't respond

Can't

Because he's right

and because you're not the same girl who used to dance barefoot in his apartment at midnight and fall asleep on his chest with paint in your hair

That girl is gone

When you stand to leave

Elias rises too

Of course he does

He walks with you to the curb

Rain still falling in misted sheets

the sky bruised and heavy

Across the street

the black Mercedes waits

engine running

windows dark

He glances at the car

then at you

He doesn't ask who's inside

But his jaw clenches like he wants to

"I meant it," he says finally

"If you're not okay... I'll help you. No questions"

You nod once

Too fast

Too tight

Then the door opens

and you slide back into silence

The door shuts

And Elias watches the car disappear into traffic

with something burning in his eyes that you can't afford to look at

Not yet

- Adrian's POV

She doesn't know he's watching

But of course he is

The moment she stepped out of the house this morning-hair slightly damp from her shower, spine drawn taut with anticipation-he knew exactly where she would go

Because he told her where to go

Because she never really left without permission

The driver texts once she's arrived

The second message comes the moment the man walks in

Elias Ward

The name alone is enough to sour Adrian's mood

But it's the expression on the man's face that makes his knuckles go white

He leans forward in the backseat of a second car parked a block down

watching the grainy security feed on a device in his hand

eyes sharp

motionless

calculating

Elias sits across from her like he has the right

Like he's still allowed to look at her that way

Adrian watches her hesitate

watches her fidget

watches her lie

His jaw tics

She was always a soft liar

Always so honest with her silences

His thumb brushes across the edge of the screen

and he sends the text

Did he touch you?

He doesn't need an answer

Not really

He already knows

The car door opens behind him

"Sir," a voice says

It's Marcus

Always quiet

Always on time

Adrian doesn't look up

"Yes?"

"He followed her to the curb. Offered help. She refused."

Adrian breathes in slow

Measured

Control is everything

He taps the edge of the tablet twice

The screen goes black

"Make sure he doesn't get any closer," he says, voice even

"But don't touch him. Not yet."

"Yes, sir."

The door shuts again

Adrian leans back

eyes on the street beyond the windshield

one hand on his thigh

the other pressing briefly against the tattoo inked just above his heart

Selena

He remembers the first time he saw her smile

and how much he wanted to break it just to see if it would tremble the same way twice

She doesn't understand yet

What it means to belong to someone like him

But she will

One inch at a time

- Elias

You don't move for a long time.

Just stand there on the curb, rain creeping into the collar of your coat, watching the space where her car used to be like it might come back if you stare hard enough. But it doesn't. Of course it doesn't.

It's her. You know that now. Same mouth. Same tilt of the head. Same silence when she's trying to bury something. But everything else-her eyes, the way she looked through you instead of at you-different.

You run a hand through your wet curls, dragging in a breath that doesn't fill your lungs.

She lied. Not with words, but with the way she held her body like a locked box. And whoever was texting her-whoever made her flinch with five words-was inside that box.

You don't know if it's fear in your chest or fury. Both feel the same when you care too much.

You turn away from the street. Step back into the café for a minute-mostly to breathe. It smells like cinnamon and oranges and whatever life felt like before she disappeared.

The server glances over. You shake your head. No, you're not staying. You just need to remember something.

You head to the booth where she sat. Her tea still sits there. Barely touched. Still warm. You don't sit.

You lean against the edge of the table, eyes fixed on the faint smudge of lip balm on the rim of her mug. It's stupid. You know it's stupid. But you stare anyway.

Then you pull out your phone. Type a message. Delete it. Do it again.

What are you doing, man?

She didn't ask you to come after her. She didn't ask for anything.

But that look in her eyes before she left-it wasn't nothing. It wasn't.

You scroll past years of silence in your text thread with her. Land on the last message she ever sent.

"Don't come looking for me."

You remember reading it back then and thinking, You must not know me at all.

And maybe she didn't. Maybe she still doesn't.

You head back out into the rain. Walk three blocks to your bike. Helmet in hand, keys clenched too tight. You should go home. You have work in the morning. An exhibit you're curating. A world that doesn't include her anymore.

But your hands move on their own.

You slide onto the bike, engine growling to life. Pull out into traffic, tires slick against the wet pavement.

You don't have an address.

But you've never needed one.

Because there's still paint under her nails, even now. And you know every gallery in the city. Every corner she ever left a piece of herself in.

You'll start there.

Because something's not right.

And whatever hell she's walking through-you'll walk through it too.

Even if she never lets you in again.

Even if someone else already has.

---Selena---

The city slips past your window in gray streaks and ghosted shapes-glass blurred by rain, your reflection faint and tired in it. You don't remember giving the driver an address. You don't need to. The moment you stepped into the black Mercedes, your path was already decided.

Your fingers twitch in your lap.

You shouldn't have gone to the café. You tell yourself this again and again, like repetition will make it feel true. But there was a moment-just one-when Elias said your name, and it felt like time folded backward.

And you remember.

It was late. The lights in his apartment were off, save for the halo of a reading lamp. You were barefoot, paint on your hands, a smear of cobalt across your cheek. Elias was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, a sketchbook balanced on his knee. He was drawing you again. You hated when he did that without asking, but you never told him to stop.

"You look like a storm," he said quietly, eyes flicking up from the page. "Like you're about to ruin something."

You laughed. Rolled your eyes. Called him dramatic.

He closed the sketchbook, set it aside, and pulled you down into his lap. The smell of graphite and vanilla. His lips in your hair. His hands tracing the shape of your spine like he was trying to memorize you.

"I want to keep this," he whispered. "This moment. You."

But he didn't.

And neither did you.

The memory dissolves the second your phone buzzes in your coat pocket. You yank yourself back into the present, blinking like someone waking from underwater.

One new message.

No name. There never is.

But you know the number like you know the weight of your own heartbeat.

"You're quiet. What did he say to you?"

You stare at the words. Not for what they ask, but for what they don't. For the accusation curled beneath them, barely veiled. Adrian doesn't ask if you're okay. He already knows what matters to him.

And yet your fingers move anyway.

"He said he'd help me. No questions."

The reply comes fast.

"Good. Because now I have some."

Your stomach knots.

The car slows as it pulls into the private drive, the gates of Adrian's estate swinging open without sound. Every stone of the mansion looms larger in the rain, regal and cold, like it was carved from silence itself. You clench the phone in your hand.

You haven't even stepped inside, and already, Adrian knows the space Elias took up in your day.

And soon, he'll take it back.