After leaving Whitmore, I joined a small consulting firm. I didn't make gift lists for arranged marriages or play anyone's perfect wife. I handled client visits and managed workflows. I earned a little less and slept a lot more.
Adrian, however, wouldn't leave me alone. He sent messages every day. In the morning, he asked whether I'd eaten. At noon, he asked whether I'd found a place to live. At night, he asked whether I'd be cold the next day. I didn't answer any of them.
After 2 weeks, he showed up outside my office building and blocked my way. I walked around him, but he followed.
"Let's talk, Claire."
"I don't have time."
"Give me 10 minutes."
"I can't spare them."
"I know you don't believe me."
"You've finally developed some self-awareness, Mr. Whitmore."
He stepped in front
