Chapter 6: The Aftermath
1049 Words
---
Fame is loud.
I didn’t know that until we stepped outside the next morning.
10 photographers.
15 reporters.
3 drones.
And one very pissed off doorman.
“Mrs. Cole! Was the kiss real?”
“Zara! How much did he pay you?”
“Adrian! Is it true you quit?”
Adrian’s arm came around me instantly. Shielding.
“Walk,” he said low. “Don’t look at them.”
We made it to the car.
Barely.
My phone: 2,847 notifications.
Instagram: +400k followers overnight.
Twitter: #ContractToReal trending #1.
I threw the phone. “I hate this.”
“I know,” Adrian said. He looked tired. But calm.
“Victor called. He’s threatening to sue for breach of fiduciary duty.”
“And?”
“And I told him to try me.”
He reached over. Took my hand.
“You okay?”
“No,” I said honestly. “My face is everywhere. People think I’m a gold digger. Amber’s fans are calling me a homewrecker.”
“They’re idiots,” he said. “And you’re not a gold digger. You’re the woman who just saved my life.”
I looked at him. “You quit for me.”
“I quit for me,” he corrected. “I was done being their puppet.”
The car stopped.
Hospital.
---
*Room 412.*
Mom was watching the news.
Our kiss. On replay.
She muted it when we walked in.
“Morning, lovebirds,” she said. Dry.
“Mom,” I groaned.
“What?” She smiled. “It was cute. Stupid. But cute.”
Adrian sat next to her. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she said. “Doctors say I can go home next week.”
I exhaled. “Really?”
“Really,” she said. “Now. What’s the plan? You two can’t hide in that penthouse forever.”
Adrian and I looked at each other.
“Actually,” he said, “we’re not.”
---
*2pm. Cole Group - but not.*
Adrian didn’t go to the tower.
He took me to a small office in SoHo.
Brick walls. Art on the walls.
No boardroom. No glass.
“Welcome to Cole Ventures,” he said.
“What is this?”
“My company,” he said. “New one. I bought it last year. Kept it quiet.”
He opened the door.
10 employees. Young. Hoodies. Laptops.
They all stood up and clapped.
Adrian went red. “Stop that.”
“Mr. Cole,” a girl said. “We’ve been following the news. We’re with you.”
Adrian cleared his throat. “Right. So. We do tech for artists. Galleries. Small businesses. No billion-dollar mergers. No board.”
He looked at me. “And I need an art curator.”
My mouth dropped. “Me?”
“You,” he said. “If you want it. Real job. Real pay. No contract.”
I started crying. Again.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I want it.”
---
*5pm. First day as Art Director.*
It was chaos. And it was perfect.
I was picking paintings. Meeting artists.
No cameras. No heels. Just me.
At 6pm, Adrian knocked on my office door.
“You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Good. I made reservations.”
---
*8pm. Small Italian place. No press.*
We had a corner table. Candle. Pasta.
For the first time in weeks, it felt normal.
“So,” I said. “No more CEO?”
“No more CEO,” he said. “Just Adrian.”
“And me?”
“Just Zara.”
He reached across the table. Took my hand.
“Zara, about last night—”
“I meant it,” I said quickly. “What I said. After.”
“I know,” he said. “I did too.”
Silence. Comfortable.
Then his phone buzzed.
Victor.
Again.
Adrian ignored it.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Anything.”
“Why me? 4 years ago. Why did you choose me?”
He was quiet.
“Because you were the only person who looked at me and didn’t see a bank account,” he said. “You saw me. Messy. Tired. Scared. And you stayed.”
I squeezed his hand.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Do you regret signing the contract?”
I thought about it.
“No,” I said. “Because it brought me back to you.”
---
*11pm. Penthouse.*
No power outage.
No storm.
Just us.
We were on the couch. Watching a movie.
His arm around me. My head on his shoulder.
My phone buzzed.
Amber. New account.
Photo: Her and a new guy. Hot. Actor.
Caption: `Moving on 💋`
I showed Adrian.
He rolled his eyes. “Good for her.”
“Are you sad?” I asked.
“About Amber?” He laughed. “No. I’m sad I wasted 3 years being afraid.”
He kissed my forehead.
“Come to bed?”
We went.
Same bed.
But tonight, no clauses.
No rules.
He pulled me to his chest.
“Goodnight, Z.”
“Goodnight, Adrian.”
I fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
Not a contract.
A promise.
---
*7am. Next morning.*
I woke up to sunlight.
And a ring box.
On the nightstand.
Not the 3-carat one.
A new one.
Simple. Gold. Small diamond.
Note:
`This one’s not in the contract.
This one’s because I want to.
- A`
I was crying before I even opened it.
Adrian was in the kitchen. Coffee.
He looked up when I walked in.
“Morning,” he said.
I held up the box. “What’s this?”
He set his coffee down. Got on one knee.
Right there. In the kitchen.
“Zara Bennett,” he said. “I messed up 4 years ago. I’m trying to make it right for the rest of my life.
Marry me. For real this time. No contract. No board. Just us.”
I was sobbing.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes. God, yes.”
He slid the ring on my finger.
Kissed me.
Lifted me up.
Outside, the paparazzi were still there.
But inside?
It was just us.
---
- Writer
