By Monday morning, I made a decision.
No more reacting. No more overthinking. No more letting him get into my head.
Whatever this was—
I was ending it.
Not by quitting. Not by running.
But by taking back control in the only way that mattered.
Work.
Clean. Focused. Untouchable.
If he wanted to observe me—then I would give him nothing to read.
“You look different today.”
I didn’t look up.
“Do I?”
Adrian stepped closer to my desk. “Yes.”
I kept typing. “That’s not very specific.”
“It doesn’t need to be.”
I paused, then glanced at him briefly. “Let me guess. I’m ‘adapting’ again?”
A faint shift in his expression. “Something like that.”
“I’m working,” I said.
“I can see that.”
“Then there’s no issue.”
A pause.
“There’s always an issue.”
Of course there was.
“There doesn’t
