THINGS WE PRETEND NOT TO FEEL
1532 Words
Elena barely slept.
Which irritated her.
Because losing sleep over a man she met once felt deeply embarrassing.
Especially that man.
She lay awake staring at water stains across the ceiling while rain tapped softly against her apartment windows. Beside the couch, Noah slept curled beneath a blanket with textbooks scattered across the floor around him.
The TV played quietly on mute.
Bills sat untouched near the kitchen sink.
And Adrian Vale somehow occupied space in her mind anyway.
Annoying.
Very annoying.
She turned onto her side aggressively.
Her phone glowed 2:14 AM.
Wonderful.
Now she was sleep-deprived and emotionally inconvenienced.
A weak cough sounded from the couch.
Elena immediately sat up.
“Noah?”
“I’m okay,” he mumbled half-asleep.
Lie.
Again.
She walked quietly toward him and touched his forehead gently.
Still warm.
Not dangerously.
But enough to tighten fear inside her chest.
“You should’ve woken me.”
“You looked tired.”
“I am tired.”
“You look homicidal.”
“That too.”
Noah smiled faintly without opening his eyes.
“You worked late?”
“Yeah.”
“You eat anything?”
Silence answered him.
Noah sighed dramatically. “Elena.”
“I’ll eat tomorrow.”
“That’s not how biology works.”
She almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead, she grabbed the blanket and tucked it properly around his shoulders.
Noah finally opened his eyes slightly.
“You’re thinking too loudly again.”
Her expression softened despite herself.
“You can tell?”
“You get this wrinkle between your eyebrows.”
He pointed weakly toward her forehead.
“You’ve had it all night.”
Elena looked away.
Noah watched her carefully for a moment.
Then:
“You met someone.”
Her head snapped toward him instantly.
“What?”
“You only make that face for two reasons.”
“And those are?”
“Money problems,” Noah said calmly. “Or emotional problems.”
“This is neither.”
“Mm.”
“I’m serious.”
“That’s worse.”
She threw a pillow at him.
Noah laughed softly before coughing again.
The sound killed every trace of humor immediately.
Elena looked away first.
She always did when fear became too visible.
“Get some sleep,” she whispered.
Noah studied her quietly.
Then softer:
“You deserve good things too, you know.”
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
People always told strong individuals to keep surviving.
Rarely to rest.
Rarely to want things.
Elena kissed the top of Noah’s head lightly before turning off the TV.
But long after returning to bed—
she still heard Adrian’s voice inside her mind.
You strike me as someone who survives by trying again.
And somehow that bothered her most of all.
---
The next morning arrived grey and humid.
Rain still lingered lightly over the city.
Elena dragged herself through crowded streets carrying coffee and exactly four hours of sleep. Her editor had already sent three passive-aggressive emails before 9 AM.
Typical.
She pushed open the door to Bellamy Publishing and immediately regretted existing.
The office buzzed with chaos.
Phones ringing.
Printers jamming.
Writers pretending deadlines weren’t real.
Her editor, Sylvia, spotted her instantly.
“There you are.”
Elena winced internally.
Danger.
“You’re late.”
“By three minutes.”
“That’s still late.”
“You once disappeared to Greece for a week.”
“That was emotional research.”
Elena dropped her bag onto her desk. “And this is emotional exhaustion.”
Sylvia ignored that.
“Your client loved the draft.”
“Elena blinked. “The romance confession?”
“Yes.”
“That deeply concerns me.”
“He paid extra.”
“That comforts me.”
Sylvia handed her another folder.
“Elena.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even hear the assignment.”
“I sensed suffering approaching.”
“It’s a ghostwriting project.”
“Absolutely not.”
“It pays well.”
Elena paused.
Money.
The greatest villain in existence.
“How well?”
Sylvia smirked slightly.
Exactly the reaction she expected.
“There’s a private client looking for someone to help polish a memoir manuscript.”
“Elaborate.”
“Anonymous client. Wealthy. Difficult. Wants discretion.”
Elena already hated this person.
“How wealthy?”
“Penthouse wealthy.”
Even worse.
She opened the folder reluctantly.
The project details remained vague.
Minimal information.
Private meetings.
NDA contracts.
Large payment.
Her instincts screamed no immediately.
Which usually meant yes because poverty rarely allowed moral comfort.
“I’ll think about it,” Elena muttered.
“You’ll accept it.”
“I enjoy your confidence in my suffering.”
Sylvia leaned closer.
“Rent is due next week.”
Cruel.
Emotionally manipulative.
Unfortunately effective.
Elena sighed heavily.
“I hate capitalism.”
“You say that every Tuesday.”
“Because capitalism remains terrible every Tuesday.”
Before Sylvia could respond, the office entrance opened again.
Several employees suddenly straightened.
Conversations lowered instantly.
Elena frowned.
What now?
Then she heard someone whisper:
“That’s him?”
Another voice:
“He’s even prettier in person.”
Elena looked up—
—and nearly choked on her coffee.
Adrian walked calmly through the publishing office wearing a dark charcoal suit.
Of course he did.
Because apparently God enjoyed tormenting her specifically.
Employees openly stared while pretending not to.
Adrian barely acknowledged anyone.
His attention moved across the room once—
then landed directly on Elena.
Damn it.
Something warm and uncomfortable twisted briefly in her stomach.
She hated that.
Truly.
Sylvia blinked rapidly beside her.
“Why is a man like that looking at you?”
“A fantastic question.”
Adrian approached slowly.
Composed as always.
Controlled.
Entirely too attractive for nine in the morning.
“Elena.”
She narrowed her eyes immediately.
“How do you keep appearing in my life?”
“You left with my coat.”
“Oh.”
Right.
That.
Adrian placed a paper coffee cup gently beside her keyboard.
“You looked exhausted yesterday.”
Elena stared at the drink suspiciously.
“You bought me coffee?”
“Yes.”
“That feels manipulative.”
“It’s coffee.”
“That’s how manipulation starts.”
A faint hint of amusement touched his expression again.
Dangerous expression.
Very dangerous.
Sylvia looked between them shamelessly fascinated.
“Elena,” she whispered, “who is this?”
“Elena,” Adrian said calmly at the same time, “you forgot your notebook in my car.”
He handed her the familiar black notebook from yesterday.
Her chest tightened instantly.
That notebook contained everything.
Story drafts.
Private thoughts.
Ugly emotions.
“Did you read it?” she asked immediately.
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
Too certain.
She studied him carefully.
“You’re either very respectful or very good at lying.”
“I dislike invading privacy.”
The response felt genuine.
Which somehow unsettled her more.
Sylvia suddenly smiled professionally and extended her hand.
“Sylvia Bennett. Senior editor.”
Adrian shook it politely.
“Adrian Vale.”
Silence.
Then Sylvia’s eyes widened slightly.
Oh no.
She recognized the name.
Of course she did.
Everyone in the city knew the Vale family.
Money old enough to feel royal.
Powerful enough to ruin lives quietly.
Elena felt immediate irritation.
Not because Adrian was wealthy.
Because she suddenly realized exactly how wealthy he probably was.
The expensive car.
The watch.
The composure.
God.
She stepped away slightly before she could stop herself.
Adrian noticed.
Of course he noticed.
People like him noticed everything.
“You own Vale Holdings,” Elena said flatly.
“My father does.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“No.”
Something cold settled inside her chest.
Because suddenly he made sense.
Men like Adrian always belonged to worlds far above ordinary people.
Worlds built from power and silence and money.
Worlds that consumed people like her casually.
“You should’ve mentioned that sooner,” she said quietly.
“You didn’t ask.”
“That’s still misleading.”
“How?”
“You let me think you were normal.”
The words escaped sharper than intended.
A brief silence followed.
For the first time since meeting him, something unreadable darkened Adrian’s expression slightly.
Not anger.
Something sadder.
“That was my mistake then,” he said calmly.
Guilt flickered unpleasantly inside her.
She ignored it.
Good.
Ignore it harder.
Sylvia awkwardly cleared her throat.
“I suddenly feel underdressed.”
Nobody laughed.
Elena crossed her arms defensively.
“So why exactly is a corporate executive personally delivering coffee?”
Adrian held her gaze steadily.
“You seemed like you needed kindness.”
The answer hit far harder than it should have.
Because it sounded honest.
And Elena no longer knew what to do with honest things.
Before she could respond, Adrian reached into his coat pocket and handed Sylvia a business card.
“That memoir project you mentioned earlier.”
Elena froze.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
She looked toward Sylvia.
Sylvia looked terrified.
“Elena…” Sylvia whispered carefully. “Mr. Vale is the client.”
Of course he was.
Naturally.
The universe truly hated her.
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