Chapter 2-The Man Who Left
651 Words
Elena pov
I didn’t sleep at all. Every time I shut my eyes, Adrian came rushing back—not the flashy billionaire everyone whispered about, not the guy plastered across magazines. Just Adrian. The one who held me when I couldn’t stop crying. The one who promised, no matter what, he’d never leave me again.
He broke that promise.
Still, somehow, deep down, I wanted to hear why.
By seven the next morning, I dumped the anonymous messages in my deleted folder. Told myself it was just someone messing with me—a bad joke, or maybe a threat from someone wanting to scare me.
Then my phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Elena?”
I froze. That voice. Adrian’s.
“What do you want?”
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
“Just tell me.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “You disappear for three years and now suddenly you want to know where I am?”
“I need to be sure you’re safe.”
“I was safe before you called.”
He didn’t say anything.
Then, “Someone contacted you.”
My heart stopped.
“How do you know?”
He stayed quiet.
“Adrian.”
“Don’t reply to them.”
“How do you know they reached out?”
“I have people keeping an eye on threats against me.”
“Against you?”
“Yes.”
“So why are they messaging me?”
Nothing but silence.
That was all I needed to hear.
“You knew.”
“Elena—”
“You knew someone was watching me.”
“I suspected.”
“That’s not enough.”
I hung up.
Ten minutes later, there was a knock. I didn’t need to guess who. When I opened the door, Adrian stood there. Dark suit, stiff posture, face ice-cold. The same man who turned me down less than twelve hours ago.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said.
“I know.”
“Then leave.”
He walked in anyway. I glared.
“You can’t just storm into my apartment.”
“If there’s a threat, I can.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
He scanned the room, paused at the windows.
“Those locks are weak.”
“Really?”
“You need better security.”
“I don’t need anything from you.”
He shook his head. “You do now.”
I crossed my arms. “You don’t get to protect me after you ruined me.”
His gaze met mine. “I never stopped protecting you.”
It took my breath away.
“Then why did you leave?”
His face hardened. “Staying would’ve been worse for you.”
“What kind of danger?”
He moved closer. I caught the scent of his cologne—a memory I stupidly let wash over me.
His voice dropped low. “The kind you couldn’t understand.”
I backed up. “Try me. Explain it.”
“I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.”
His jaw clenched. “Yes.”
That stung.
I turned away. “Get out.”
He didn’t move.
“Please.”
That word finally worked. He left, but before walking out, he paused.
“If anything weird happens, call me.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
“Why?”
He looked at me, eyes dark. “Because I know you.”
When he was gone and I heard the elevator doors close, I finally breathed.
Then I saw it—a photo lying on my kitchen table. I hadn’t put it there.
My hands trembled as I picked it up. It was me, three years ago, standing next to Adrian. But there was someone else in the photo—a man I didn’t recognize.
On the back, someone had scrawled:
You forgot him. He didn’t forget you.
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