Chapter 10
1139 Words
Amara
I didn’t say anything until we were alone.
I didn’t trust myself to.
The second she walked away, the room had felt too full again, too loud, too aware of everything that had just happened. People were pretending not to look, pretending not to listen, but I could feel it. The shift. The curiosity. The quiet attention that hadn’t been there before.
So I waited.
Waited until Adrian’s hand at my back guided me away from it all again, through the crowd, past conversations that blurred together, toward a quieter hallway that felt just far enough removed from everything else.
The moment the noise dropped, I stopped walking.
His hand fell away.
The absence of it felt immediate.
I turned to him.
“What was that.”
My voice wasn’t raised.
It didn’t need to be.
Everything in me felt too tight for that.
Adrian didn’t answer right away.
Of course he didn’t.
He just watched me, like he always did, like he was deciding what mattered enough to say and what didn’t.
“That,” he said finally, “was something that should have stayed in the past.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one you’re getting tonight.”
I let out a short breath.
“You keep saying that like it makes things better.”
“It keeps things simple.”
“It’s not simple.”
“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”
I stepped closer before I could stop myself, frustration pushing past everything else.
“She said I’m wearing her ring.”
The words felt heavier out loud.
More real.
More permanent.
Adrian’s gaze dropped to my hand.
The ring.
Then back to my face.
“She doesn’t get to define what it means.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You asked what that was,” he said. “I told you.”
“You avoided it.”
“I redirected it.”
“That’s not better.”
“It is if you don’t want answers you can’t walk away from.”
My chest tightened.
“I can walk away.”
“Yes.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
I shook my head.
“It doesn’t feel true.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
God.
I looked away for a second, trying to steady myself, trying to push past the way everything felt like it was slipping just slightly out of my control.
“This was supposed to be one night,” I said.
“It is.”
“That doesn’t look like one night.”
“No,” he admitted. “It doesn’t.”
I turned back to him.
“Then stop pretending it is.”
His gaze held mine.
Steady.
Unmoving.
“I’m not pretending.”
“Then what are you doing.”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped closer.
Not enough to trap me.
Just enough to shift the space between us again.
“You’re asking for clarity,” he said quietly. “When what you really want is reassurance.”
That hit.
Hard.
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
“They are when you’re trying to convince yourself to stay.”
My breath caught slightly.
“I’m not convincing myself of anything.”
“No,” he said. “You’re reacting to it.”
I hated how accurate that felt.
I hated that he could see it.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” I said.
“I don’t need to,” he replied. “I know what you’re doing.”
“And what am I doing.”
His gaze dropped to my hand again.
The ring.
Then back to my face.
“You’re still wearing it.”
My fingers twitched.
I hadn’t even realized I was holding my hand still, like moving it might draw attention to it, like acknowledging it would make it more real.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means you haven’t taken it off.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is to me.”
God.
I exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself, trying to push past the way everything he said seemed to land exactly where I didn’t want it to.
“She said I’m temporary,” I said quietly.
The word felt heavier now.
Sharper.
More personal.
Adrian’s expression didn’t change.
“She’s wrong.”
“You said that already.”
“And it’s still true.”
“How do you know.”
His gaze sharpened slightly.
“Because I don’t do temporary.”
My breath caught.
“That’s not what this feels like.”
“It shouldn’t feel like anything.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is if you let it.”
There it was again.
That shift.
That quiet way of putting everything back in my hands.
Like this wasn’t something he was controlling.
Like this was something I was choosing.
I stepped closer without thinking, closing the space between us again.
“Stop doing that,” I said.
“Doing what.”
“Making it sound like I’m the one in control.”
“You are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes,” he said. “You are.”
I shook my head.
“If I was in control, none of this would be happening.”
“And yet it is.”
“That’s because of you.”
“No,” he said. “It’s because you didn’t walk away.”
The words settled between us again.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
I could have walked away.
I still could.
Nothing was physically stopping me.
No one was blocking the exit.
No one was forcing me to stay.
And yet…
I hadn’t moved.
I hated that.
I looked down at the ring again.
It still fit perfectly.
Still felt like something I shouldn’t have.
“This doesn’t end well,” I said quietly.
“That depends on you.”
“No,” I said. “It depends on what you’re not telling me.”
His gaze held mine.
“You’ll know when you need to.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“It will be.”
Before I could argue again, his hand lifted.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Giving me time to react.
To step back.
To stop it.
I didn’t.
His fingers brushed lightly against my jaw again, the same place as before, the same subtle contact that made everything else feel distant.
“You’re still here,” he said softly.
My pulse jumped.
“That doesn’t mean I’m staying.”
“Not yet.”
The words settled differently.
Not dismissive.
Not final.
Something else.
Something that felt like a question I hadn’t answered yet.
I held his gaze.
And for the first time since she said it…
I didn’t feel temporary.
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