I didn’t recognize the silence between us anymore.
Adrian stood in the doorway of our bedroom, shirt half-untucked, jaw clenched, brows drawn in that way that told me he was torn unsure if he should walk away… or stay and fight for me. But I had already made the decision for him.
I turned my back, not because I didn’t want to see him, but because I couldn’t. He didn’t deserve to see the crack in my voice.
The fracture in my ribs every time he looked at me like he was still innocent.
Because he wasn’t.
He had lied to me.
A flash drive had arrived two days ago. No note. No signature. Just slipped beneath my door like a warning. Or a curse.
Inside were images—blurry but damning—snippets of audio, documents, timestamps…
Proof.
A story I didn’t want to believe. But I’d been trained to
