ADRIAN

The boardroom hums with quiet conversation, the distant clink of coffee cups and rustle of papers filling the space. I should be focused — should be listening to my CFO run through the quarterly financials — but all I hear is static.

The numbers blur on the screen.

My phone vibrates against the polished oak table. I glance down, barely intending to check it.

Ethan: Guess who's making her happy now?

The words sear into my brain like a brand.

My jaw tightens, and my grip on the pen nearly snaps it in half. I flip the phone face-down, heart pounding like war drums. I don't react. Not here. Not in front of them.

But the anger coils in my gut like a living thing.

Rylee.

I stare at the slide deck, pretending to listen, but my mind spirals. She wouldn't — she couldn't. She hates Ethan almost as much as I do.

Doesn't she?

"Adrian?"

My head snaps up.

Everyone's looking at me.

"What?" My voice is sharp enough to slice the tension in the room.

Daniel, my COO, clears his throat. "We were just asking if you want to push the launch back or stick to the original timeline?"

I have no idea what they're talking about.

"Stick to it," I grind out, barely hearing myself. "Wrap this up."

I don't know how I make it through the meeting. My veins throb with barely restrained fury, but the day devours me. Calls, reports, endless decisions that chain me to my desk until the sun dips below the skyline.

By the time I get a free moment, it's evening.

I call her.

The phone rings, each tone stoking my temper.

Then she picks up. "Hello?"

I exhale, relieved just to hear her voice. But before I can speak, another voice cuts through the line.

Ethan.

Laughing.

I grip the edge of my desk, the wood groaning under my fingers.

"Where are you?" I say, voice low and lethal.

Rylee hesitates. "Adrian, I—"

"Where. Are. You?"

A pause.

She sighs. "The Monarch Hotel."

I hang up.

I'm out of the office before anyone can stop me, weaving through traffic like a man possessed. My pulse beats against my skull, the city lights blurring as I speed through intersections.

I don't even remember parking. I'm just there — in the lobby, through the halls, my blood a raging current.

And then I see her.

Rylee.

Sitting at a sleek bar, her hair catching the dim light like a flame. And Ethan, too close, leaning in with that smug, snake-like grin.

I cross the room in seconds.

"Let's go," I say, voice like gravel as I grab her wrist.

She jerks, eyes wide. "Adrian, what are you doing?"

I don't answer.

I don't even look at Ethan, because if I do, I might rip his throat out.

Rylee resists, tugging back. "Adrian, stop!"

I don't stop.

I pull her through the hotel like a storm, her heels clicking against the marble floors as she stumbles to keep up.

I open the car door and practically shove her inside before getting in and slamming the door shut.

The drive home is silent.

My knuckles are white on the wheel, and she doesn't speak. She just stares out the window, arms crossed, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

When we get home, I park and get out, slamming the door so hard the echo reverberates through the quiet street.

Rylee follows, seething. "You can't just drag me out of places like a caveman!"

I don't even turn around. I shove the front door open, stride inside, and slam it behind her as she steps in after me.

The house is dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners.

I press my palm against the wall. My chest heaves, fury pulsing through my body like a second heartbeat.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Rylee demands.

I hit the wall.

My fist collides with the drywall, the crack splintering through the silence. Pain bites up my arm, but I barely feel it.

Rylee flinches.

"You," I snarl, turning on her. "You infuriate me."

She blinks, chest heaving. "Me? What did I do, Adrian? Work? Take a job? I'm trying to live my life!"

"With Ethan?" I spit the name like venom.

She shakes her head. "It's business—"

"Bullshit." I take a step closer, voice a low growl. "He's using that to get close to you, and you're letting him."

Rylee lifts her chin, defiant but trembling. "Why do you care? We're getting divorced, remember?"

I close the distance between us without thinking, until we're inches apart.

"Why do I care?" I echo, voice dripping with bitterness. "Because I still have to live with you. Because I have to see you every damn day, and it drives me insane."

She swallows hard, backing up until her hips hit the kitchen counter.

I cage her in without touching her — hands planted on either side of her, head dipping until our faces are nearly level.

I can feel the heat radiating off her skin.

Her breath stutters.

"You don't get to do that," I say, voice rough as sandpaper. "You don't get to laugh with him. Smile at him. Let him near you."

Her eyes flick to my mouth, her body betraying her.

She presses her hands against my chest, trying to push me back, but I don't budge.

"Why?" she breathes, voice barely a whisper.

My jaw clenches.

I want to kiss her.

I want to shake her.

I want to tear down every wall she's built around herself and rip out whatever part of her is still holding back.

But I don't do any of that.

Because if I stay here, if I linger even a second longer, I might do something I can't take back.

I step back, my breath jagged and broken.

Without a word, I turn and walk up the stairs, each step feeling like dragging myself out of quicksand.

I don't look back.

I can still feel her standing there, chest rising and falling, skin flushed.

And I know she's watching me go.

Because if I stayed — if I let myself stay — I'd kiss her like I was starving for it.

And I wouldn't stop.