Caught Between My Fiancee And His Ex Best Friend

Chapter 9

Amaya

I rolled over the bed, reaching for him. The bed was still warm, but he wasn’t there. The sound of running water came from the bathroom. I smiled softly and slipped out of bed, pulling on one of his oversized t-shirts that smelled like him.

Padding into the kitchen, I started coffee, the rich aroma filling the space. Maybe we could have a lazy morning together before work pulled us apart. Reconnect physically, solidify the emotional bridge we’d built last night.

Adrian emerged a few minutes later, hair damp, wearing sweatpants low on his hips. He looked good—broad shoulders, the defined lines of his chest—but there was something off. His hazel eyes seemed a little distant, and when he kissed my forehead, it was quick, almost perfunctory.

“Morning, baby,” he murmured, reaching for a mug.

“Morning.” I stepped closer, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind as he poured coffee. “Last night was really nice. Talking like that… I feel closer to you.”

He tensed slightly under my touch—barely noticeable, but I felt it. “Yeah, me too. Glad we got it out there.” His voice was warm enough, but he didn’t turn to pull me closer like he usually would. Instead, he stirred sugar into his coffee, checking his phone on the counter with a quick glance.

I tried to ignore the small sting. “Are you okay? You seem a bit… distracted this morning.”

Adrian finally turned, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just the project from last night. My PA called again after you went to bed. It’s a mess—investors pulling out at the last minute, deadlines tightening. I might have to head in early today.”

There it was again. The work excuse. Last night he’d said it was business. I pushed the thought away. I was being paranoid after one deep conversation. “That sounds stressful. Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe I can bring lunch later or something?”

He shook his head, sipping his coffee. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll handle it.” As he spoke, I caught a whiff of something different on him—not just his usual scent. A faint trace of vanilla? Feminine. Like perfume that wasn’t mine. My stomach tightened, but I told myself it was probably from the laundry or a client meeting yesterday. He’d been working late a lot.

We sat at the island together, eating simple toast and fruit. The conversation flowed, but it felt surface-level compared to last night. I brought up traveling ideas we’d discussed—maybe a weekend trip to the coast to break the routine. He nodded, agreeing it sounded good, but his responses were shorter than usual. His phone buzzed twice; he silenced it without checking, but I saw his jaw clench.

“Is everything alright with the project?” I asked gently, reaching across to squeeze his hand.

“Yeah. Just… complications.” He squeezed back, but pulled away soon after to rinse his plate. “I should get ready.”

Disappointment settled in my chest. I wanted more of the Adrian from last night—the one who prioritized us, who ignored calls for deep talks. This version felt guarded, like he was carrying something heavy he wasn’t sharing. Was it really just work? Or was my mention of Lila stirring something in him he didn’t want to admit? The old rumors, the exploration with her… maybe it made him insecure despite what he’d said.

I followed him to the bedroom as he dressed, leaning against the doorframe. My eyes traced his body, remembering how he’d taken me over the kitchen island. Heat stirred low in my belly. Maybe physical connection would bridge whatever gap was forming this morning.

I stepped behind him as he buttoned his shirt, sliding my hands around to his chest. “We have a little time before you have to leave,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. “I could help you relax… like we did the other night.”

Adrian turned in my arms, his hands settling on my waist. For a moment, his eyes darkened with familiar hunger. He kissed me—deep, but brief. “You’re tempting as hell, Amaya. But I’m wiped from last night. Rain check?”

The rejection, however gentle, landed like a small weight. He’d never turned down morning intimacy so quickly before. “Okay,” I said softly, forcing a smile. “Work comes first. Just… come home to me tonight? We can cook again, talk more.”

He nodded, kissing my forehead again. “Of course. I love you.”

“I love you too.” The words felt true, but as he finished dressing and grabbed his keys, the unease grew. I watched him leave, the door clicking shut behind him. The apartment felt quieter than usual.

I sank onto the couch, pulling my knees up. My phone sat on the coffee table, Lila’s texts still waiting. Tonight was amazing. Can’t stop thinking about our talk… and you. My studio is open tomorrow… Tomorrow was today. Part of me wanted to reply, to dive into that creative, free energy she offered. Talking with her had reminded me of the girl I used to be—the one who stayed up debating dreams instead of spreadsheets. With Adrian, life was stable, loving, but predictable. Safe. Sometimes too safe.

Guilt washed over me. He’d been so understanding last night. Supporting my reconnection with Lila, sharing his fears. How could I even consider going to her studio while feeling this pull? It wasn’t fair to him. Yet the restlessness he’d acknowledged in me was real.

I scrolled through old photos on my phone: pictures of Adrian and me on weekend hikes, laughing in the kitchen, tangled in sheets. He was my rock. The man who made coffee exactly right, who held me through tough days. But last night’s ignored calls nagged at me. He’d said it was business, but the third one he’d answered in the hallway… his voice had dropped lower. And this morning, that faint vanilla scent. Was I imagining things? Projecting my own attractions onto him?

Hours passed in quiet reflection. I cleaned the kitchen, replaying our dinner conversation. The way he’d stroked my hand, promised no secrets. It should have reassured me, but the distance this morning chipped away at it. By afternoon, I’d replied to Lila with a tentative Maybe this afternoon? I’d love to see the new pieces. Guilt followed immediately. I told myself it was just art, just catching up. Nothing more.

When Adrian texted later saying he’d be home late again—“There is a lot of work to do”—the unease deepened. I made dinner for one, eating alone at the table where we’d shared so much the night before. The candle I lit felt pathetic. Was this the routine I’d complained about? Or was something else shifting beneath the surface?

As evening fell, I curled up with a book but couldn’t focus. My thoughts circled: Adrian’s tired eyes, the quick kiss, the phone. Lila’s invitation. My own desires. Love and loyalty warred with curiosity and that old restlessness. I wanted to trust him completely—needed to, after everything. But the small cracks this morning made me wonder what else he might be carrying. What I might be hiding from myself.

Later in the day, Adrian’s key turned in the lock sooner than expected. He walked in looking exhausted, tie loosened, that same faint vanilla scent clinging faintly to his collar. He smiled when he saw me, but it didn’t erase the questions swirling in my mind.

“Hey baby. Missed you.”

I stood to greet him, searching his face. “Missed you too. Long day?”

And then, I saw a stain of a red lip gloss at the side of his collar.