Chapter 7
Adrian’s tightly knitted brows finally relaxed, like he’d just solved a massive problem. He reached for me, but I turned aside and avoided his hand.
He didn’t care. His voice even softened rarely, briefly. “See? Wouldn’t it have been better if you’d done this from the start? Come on. Let’s go home.”
Home.
The word sounded like a joke.
Stepping back into that familiar house felt like walking into another lifetime.
In just a few days, Emma had been pampered back to health. Her cheeks were rosy. She wore soft pajamas, and everything about her glowed with the shine of being cherished.
She sat on the sofa arranging flowers, elegant and composed.
Then there was me—gaunt, sallow, carrying the stubborn smell of grease and cheap disinfectant from the restaurant no matter how hard I scrubbed. Standing next to her, we looked like we belonged to two different worlds.
Emma saw me and froze. Then her eyes reddened fast, her lips trembling, as if she’d been wronged beyond words.
Adrian immediately stepped forward and gathered her gently into his arms, murmuring reassurance.
“Don’t be scared, Emma. She’s just here to apologize.”
Something inside me was dead calm like a lake frozen solid.
I walked up and stopped a few steps away from them, lowered my lashes, and spoke with no emotion at all.
“Emma, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those hurtful things. I shouldn’t have hit you.”
Emma stayed buried in Adrian’s chest, sniffling softly, not responding.
Adrian patted her back and turned his gaze to me, commanding. “And what about the people you sent to harass her? Hurt her? Apologize for that too.”
I lowered my head again, hiding everything in my eyes. The words scraped out between my teeth.
“I’m sorry, Emma… for the shock and the harm you suffered. I… I’m sorry.”
Adrian finally looked satisfied. He waved a hand, like dismissing an unimportant servant.
“Go upstairs. Take a shower. Clean yourself up. Look at you.”
Then he stopped looking at me entirely. He turned back to Emma, voice gentle, asking what she wanted for dinner. careful, attentive, like she was precious.
I stood there and watched him, watched the way he cradled her like a treasure, and a thin, cold curve slowly formed at my mouth.
I didn’t go upstairs.
While everyone’s attention stayed on Emma, I stepped backward quietly, carefully toward the entryway.
There was a pair of flats in the shoe cabinet I hadn’t worn in a long time. I slipped them on and didn’t hesitate for a second before pulling open that heavy iron door.
Outside, a black Rolls-Royce was already waiting, its sleek body catching the sunset like polished obsidian.
I didn’t look back.
I opened the door and got in. The instant it shut, it cut off the house behind me—cut off the place that used to be “home,” and the relationship that had been choking me to death.
The car pulled away smoothly, leaving the villa, Adrian, and every filthy piece of my past far behind.
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