The document burns into my eyes.
Emergency Marital Separation Agreement.
Three years old.
Signed by me.
Witnessed by Marcus Dela Torre.
The wind moves across the penthouse terrace, lifting strands of my hair, but I barely feel it. My attention is locked on Adrian.
“Why was I filing for divorce?” I ask again.
My voice sounds calmer than I feel.
Adrian doesn’t answer immediately. He takes the phone back slowly, staring at the screen like he’s debating something inside his own head. Finally, he locks the phone and slips it into his pocket.
“That document was never finalized,” he says.
“That’s not what I asked.”
His gaze shifts to the skyline instead of me.
“You were angry.”
“About what?”
Silence. A long one. The kind that makes my chest tighten.
“Adrian.”
He exhales slowly. “Y
