I shouldn’t be here.
That’s the first thought in my head as I stand in the middle of his study at 2:13 a.m.
The city glows outside the glass walls.
New York never sleeps.
Apparently neither do I.
The divorce papers are still in my hand.
Signed.
Dated.
Three weeks ago.
My signature looks steady.
Confident.
Like I meant it.
I trace the ink with my fingertip.
“I don’t remember you,” I whisper into the empty room.
“And yet I tried to leave you.”
The door behind me opens quietly.
“You always overthink at night.”
I jump.
Adrian leans against the doorframe.
No jacket.
No tie.
Top button undone.
Less armor.
More man.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask.
“Long enough.”
“Did you follow me?”
“No.”
A beat.
“I heard you open the drawer.”
Heat creeps up my neck.
