POV: Lydia
The first night feels temporary.
That is the lie I tell myself as I stand in the master suite doorway holding a glass of water I forgot to drink.
Nothing about the room suggests compromise. The space is unmistakably Adrian’s. Clean architectural lines. Dark wood. Steel accents softened only by expensive restraint. Even the silence feels deliberate, like noise itself requires permission to exist here.
My clothes now occupy half the wardrobe.
My shoes sit beside his in precise alignment.
My books rest on a table that used to hold nothing.
Evidence of integration.
Not an invitation.
I should feel angry.
Instead, I feel… unsettled.
Because the change makes sense faster than it should.
Adrian stands near the window removing his cufflinks, movements economical, practiced.
