Chapter 3 – The Guest in My Life
1088 Words
(Adrian’s POV)
The ride home was quiet.
Not peaceful.
Not comforting.
The other kind.
The kind that hums under your skin, stretching every second too thin. The kind that makes silence feel like a third person sitting in the car with you—watching, judging, waiting.
I didn’t speak.
Eva didn’t speak.
Even the engine seemed to dull itself, like it didn’t want to disturb whatever fragile thing was hanging in the air between us.
Her presence crawled under my skin.
Not because she did anything—she just existed beside me, breathing the same air, clutching that damn folder to her chest like it contained her heartbeat.
By the time we reached the penthouse, my head throbbed with a thousand unanswered questions.
The city lights sprawled beneath us—alive, bright, pulsing. I used to look at that skyline and feel untouchable. Powerful. Like every interaction, every contract, every breath of that city bent to my will.
But tonight?
Tonight it felt foreign.
Like a place I’d once known in a lifetime I couldn’t remember.
The car stopped.
The doors unlocked.
I finally exhaled.
“You’re going to have to stay here,” I said.
It came out colder than I intended. No… maybe exactly as cold as I intended.
Eva’s fingers tightened around the folder. “I—”
“I said stay.”
Sharp. Final.
A command, not a request.
Her lips parted, and for one fleeting second, fear flickered across her face. Not for herself—something deeper. Something that looked dangerously like fear for me.
And I hated that it made something in my chest twist.
“Not because I trust you,” I added. “Not because I believe anything yet.”
I swallowed. “But because until I understand what the hell is going on… I need you where I can see you.”
Her breath shook. A tiny, fragile sound. But she nodded.
The elevator ride up was suffocating.
Every floor we passed, the air thickened. My penthouse didn’t feel like mine. It felt like a stranger’s house. Or maybe I was the stranger.
When the doors opened, she stepped inside like she’d done it before. Like she remembered the space. Like she remembered us.
That should’ve infuriated me.
Instead… it unsettled me. Deeply.
“You’ll see,” she whispered, her eyes sweeping the place softly. “Everything will make sense. Eventually.”
I didn’t answer.
I moved across the room, opening the blinds with a sharp tug that let the night spill in like ink.
The city glittered below—careless, enormous, indifferent.
I used to command this world.
Now I couldn’t even command my own memories.
“Why are you really here?”
The question ripped out of me before I could stop it.
She turned. Slowly.
Her eyes met mine—wide, steady, a little broken.
“Because you don’t remember,” she said quietly. “And because I can’t lose you again.”
A shiver crawled down my spine.
Was this manipulation?
Desperation?
Truth?
I didn’t know.
I didn’t know anything anymore.
“You’re staying,” I said again, softer this time. “But that doesn’t make you part of my life.”
A breath.
“Not yet.”
Something flickered in her expression—not relief; something fiercer, deeper. Hope. Determination. A belief in me I didn’t deserve.
She set her things down, moving through the penthouse like a ghost. Quiet. Careful. Almost reverent. She didn’t touch much, but every surface her fingers skimmed sent a strange tug through my chest—like she was tracing memories my mind refused to show me.
Night dragged on, a slow, twisting thing.
I tried to sleep.
I failed.
The penthouse felt too alive. Too watchful. Shadows stretched too far across the ceiling. Every click of the refrigerator, every shift of the building’s foundation echoed through my nerves.
And through it all… the sound of her breathing from the living room. Soft. Even. Somehow grounding and unsettling at the same time.
Then I saw it.
A notebook on my coffee table.
My handwriting scratched across the cover.
I picked it up before I could think.
Pages of my voice stared back at me—messy, uneven lines about love, fear, longing.
About her.
I didn’t remember writing a single word.
“Do you…”
Her voice drifted from the doorway.
Soft. Careful.
“Do you want me to read that with you?”
I didn’t look up.
“I don’t know if I want to know,” I muttered.
“You already do,” she whispered.
Not a taunt. Not manipulation. Just… truth.
Her presence behind me felt like gravity. Quiet. Heavy. Pulling.
And then—
The world tilted.
A flash behind my eyes.
A voice.
Her laugh.
My hand intertwined with hers.
A promise whispered against skin.
A moment so intimate it made my breath stumble.
A memory—?
A dream—?
Something in between—?
I jolted awake, choking, drenched in sweat.
The notebook thudded to the floor.
My heart hammered, too fast, too hard.
She was awake.
Sitting on the edge of the couch.
Watching me like she’d been waiting for the exact second I’d break.
“You’re awake,” she said softly.
Just two words.
But they threaded something raw and dangerous through my chest.
“I—”
Nothing came out.
Rage?
Confusion?
Desire?
Fear?
I couldn’t tell.
I only knew I felt exposed. Like she’d peeled back a layer of me I didn’t give permission for.
She stood slowly, stepping toward me like I might shatter.
Her lips curved—not into a smile, but something smaller. Sadder. Understanding.
Knowing.
“We’ll get through this,” she whispered. “I promise.”
And damn me—
For one terrifying second…
I believed her.
I stood abruptly, desperate for distance, for anything that would stop this freefall.
But when I stepped toward the hallway, she moved too—just enough to block the doorway. No force. No aggression. Just presence.
“Adrian,” she breathed, voice trembling at the edges. “You loved me once.”
Her eyes held mine.
Unwavering.
Unbroken.
Unbelievably certain.
“You can’t deny it forever.”
The words hit like a blow.
And in that moment—
in my own penthouse, with a woman who felt like a stranger and somehow not a stranger—
I realized the truth I didn’t want to face:
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to deny it.
Not anymore.
- Writer
