Chapter 7

Chapter 7

DAMIEN

The champagne had lost its appeal hours ago, but I kept the glass in my hand anyway, half-listening to Marcus drone on about some yacht party in the Mediterranean. Amber sat across from me, laughing at something Kieran said, her hand occasionally brushing mine in that deliberately casual way she had perfected.

I should have been happy. My first love was back from Paris, looking even more stunning than I remembered. Adina was pressed against my other side, playing her role as the devoted secretary to perfection. My friends were here, the night was young, and I'd just successfully put my pathetic wife in her place.

So why did I feel like something was crawling under my skin?

I pulled out my phone and sent Adriana a message, something perfunctory about not bothering to come back and not coming home tonight. It was harsher than necessary, but she needed to understand that there were consequences to her incompetence.

One minute passed. Then two.

My phone stayed silent.

I frowned, checking to make sure the message had sent. It had, marked as delivered and read. But no response appeared beneath it. No flurry of apologetic texts, no desperate pleas for me to reconsider, no promises to do better next time.

Nothing.

"Damien? Are you even listening?" Amber's voice cut through my thoughts.

"Sorry, what?" I looked up from my phone.

She pouted prettily, a expression that had once made my heart race. "I was asking if you remembered that restaurant in Paris, the one with the view of the Eiffel Tower?"

"Of course," I lied, my attention already drifting back to my phone. Still nothing from Adriana.

Marcus leaned over, peering at my screen. "Waiting for wifey to grovel?"

"Something like that," I muttered, typing out another message.

**Me: Did you get home safely?**

The question felt wrong the moment I sent it. Too concerned, too personal. But Adriana always responded. It was one of the few things I could count on—her desperate need for my attention manifested in instant replies, no matter what time of day or night.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

"Earth to Damien," Kieran said, snapping his fingers in front of my face. "You've been staring at your phone for the past fifteen minutes. What's so fascinating?"

"Nothing." I locked the screen and shoved the phone into my pocket, trying to refocus on the conversation. But it buzzed almost immediately, and I had it out again before I could stop myself.

Not Adriana. Just a notification from the company's stock app.

"Seriously, man," Marcus laughed, "you're more attached to that phone than your wife is to you. What's going on?"

"She's not responding," I heard myself say.

"So? You told her not to come back. Why would she respond?"

He had a point. I'd explicitly told her I wasn't coming home. I'd humiliated her in front of everyone, poured soup down her dress, sent her away like a dog who'd pissed on the carpet. Of course she wasn't responding. She was probably at home crying, which was exactly what she deserved for making me look bad.

Except Adriana always responded, even when she was crying. Especially when she was crying.

I typed out another message.

**Me: Adriana, answer me.**

Nothing.

"You know what your problem is?" Adina said, her hand sliding up my thigh under the table. "You're too soft on her. She should be grateful you even acknowledge her existence, but instead you're here worried about whether she's responding to your texts."

"I'm not worried," I said sharply. "I just don't like being ignored."

"Then stop texting her," Amber suggested, her voice carrying that slight edge that reminded me why we'd broken up in the first place. "You're supposed to be here with us, not obsessing over your bland little wife."

Bland. That was the perfect word for Adriana, wasn't it? Bland, boring, desperate, pathetic. A woman with no personality, no backbone, no life beyond worshiping me. So why couldn't I stop checking my phone?

Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty.

I tried calling. It went straight to voicemail.

"Alright, that's it." I stood abruptly, nearly knocking over my champagne glass. "I need to go."

"What? Now?" Marcus looked genuinely confused. "The night's barely started, and Amber just got here."

"I have an early meeting tomorrow." The lie came easily. "I should get some sleep."

Amber's eyes narrowed. "You're leaving because of her, aren't you? Because your little pet isn't answering your texts?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Then stay." She stood, pressing herself against me in a way that would have driven me crazy a year ago. "Stay and remind yourself why you actually married her—because she's convenient and undemanding. Not because she matters."

But she did matter, didn't she? Or at least, her obedience mattered. The predictability of her devotion. The certainty that no matter how badly I treated her, she'd always be there, always waiting, always desperate for whatever scraps of attention I threw her way.

Except tonight, she wasn't.

"I'll call you tomorrow," I said, extracting myself from Amber's embrace. "We'll have dinner. Just the two of us."

I saw the flash of triumph in her eyes, the certainty that she'd won, that it was only a matter of time before I left Adriana for her. I let her believe it. Hell, maybe it was true. Maybe once Amber and I made things official, I could finally divorce the pathetic woman I'd married out of pity.

The drive home took forty-five minutes, and I spent every second of it checking my phone. Still nothing. No texts, no calls, no missed notifications.

My mind started conjuring scenarios against my will. What if she'd been in an accident? What if she'd done something stupid because of how I'd treated her at the club? What if—

No. Adriana wasn't the type for grand dramatic gestures. She was too weak, too desperate to please. She'd probably just fallen asleep or forgotten to charge her phone. There was a rational explanation.

But when I pulled into the driveway and saw that the house was completely dark, that rational explanation started to crumble.

I practically ran inside, flipping on lights as I went. "Adriana? Adriana!"