Chapter 9

 Chapter 9

DAMIEN

But I couldn't concentrate. My mind kept drifting back to that moment when I'd opened the door and seen Adriana getting out of an unfamiliar car. Where had she gotten that car? Whose car was it? And why had she been wearing clothes I'd never seen before?

"Mr. Castellan?" Melissa's voice pulled me back to the present. "Is everything alright? You seem distracted."

"I'm fine. Just didn't sleep well."

That was partially true. I'd slept better than I had in months, actually, with Adriana warm against me. But I'd woken up multiple times, each time checking to make sure she was still there, still breathing, still real.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Around mid-morning, Adina showed up unannounced, letting herself into my office like she owned the place. She was wearing another one of those expensive dresses that hugged every curve, her hair perfect, her makeup flawless.

A year ago, I would have cleared my schedule to spend time with her. Six months ago, I would have at least been tempted. Today, I barely looked up from my laptop.

"Damien," she purred, perching on the edge of my desk. "You left so suddenly last night. I was worried about you."

"I had things to handle."

"Things like your wife?" There was an edge to her voice now. "Marcus said you practically ran out of there. Very unlike you."

I closed my laptop with more force than necessary. "What do you want, Adina?"

She blinked, clearly not expecting the sharp tone. "I wanted to see you. Is that a crime?"

"I'm working."

"You're always working. That's why you have me." Her hand slid up my arm. "To help you... relax."

I moved away from her touch, standing up and walking to the window. The city stretched out below me, all glass and steel and ambition. "I have meetings all day. You should go."

"Damien, what's going on?" Adina stood as well, her voice losing its sultry quality and taking on something harder. "Ever since last night, you've been acting strange. It's just your wife. Why do you even care if she responded to your texts or not?"

"I don't," I said automatically. But the words felt like a lie even as I spoke them.

"Then prove it. Take me to lunch. Or better yet, come home with me right now. Show me that boring little mouse hasn't somehow gotten under your skin."

The thought should have been appealing. Adina was beautiful, sophisticated, everything Adriana wasn't. And yet...

"I can't. I have the Singapore call in—" I checked my watch, "—five minutes."

Adina's eyes narrowed. "You're seriously choosing a conference call over me?"

"I'm choosing my job over a distraction. There's a difference."

The words came out harsher than I'd intended, and I saw her flinch. Good. Maybe she'd finally get the hint and leave me alone to figure out what the hell was happening to me.

She stalked to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. "You know what I think? I think you're starting to actually care about her. Your pathetic, desperate wife who you married out of pity. How sad for you."

The door slammed behind her, and I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

My phone buzzed with a notification, and I grabbed it reflexively, hoping irrationally that it was Adriana texting me. But it was just a news alert about some business development.

Except when I opened it, the headline made me freeze.

**SALVADORE HEIRESS ANNOUNCES RETURN AFTER MYSTERIOUS ABSENCE**

I clicked through to the full article, my heart rate picking up. The Salvadores were old money, one of those families that had their fingers in everything from real estate to tech to pharmaceuticals. They were worth billions, maybe tens of billions, and notoriously private.

And apparently, their heiress had disappeared for over a year and just announced she was coming back.

My phone started buzzing with texts from business associates, all asking the same thing: Did I have any connections to the Salvadores? Could I arrange a meeting? Would I put in a good word?

I ignored them all, staring at the article. There were no photos of the heiress—the Salvadores guarded their privacy too well for that—but rumors had been circulating for months about her whereabouts. Some said she'd joined a cult. Others claimed she'd had a mental breakdown. A few insisted she'd died and the family was covering it up.

But apparently, she was alive and coming back. And every business in the city was scrambling to get her attention, her investment, her partnership.

Another text came through, this one from Marcus.

**Marcus: Did you see the news about the Salvadore heiress? We should strategize about how to approach her. This could be huge for the company.**

I typed out a response, then deleted it. Typed another, deleted that too.

I couldn't focus on business strategy right now. My mind kept returning to Adriana, to the burns on her chest, to the way she'd looked at me when I asked where she'd been—like she was calculating something, weighing options I couldn't see.

My phone rang. Kieran.

"Have you heard?" he said before I could even say hello. "The Salvadore heiress is back. Everyone's losing their minds trying to figure out how to get to her."

"I heard."

"This could be incredible for us if we play it right. We should throw a party, something exclusive. Maybe she'll come, and we can make an impression."

"Maybe," I said absently.

"You okay, man? You sound distracted."

"Just busy."

"Too busy to care about potentially the biggest business opportunity of the year?"

He had a point. I should have been strategizing, making plans, leveraging every connection I had to get close to the Salvadore family. Instead, I was sitting here thinking about my wife's silence last night, about the unfamiliar car, about the way she'd moved like someone who was in pain but trying to hide it.

All I could think about was Adriana's face when I'd poured that soup on her, the split second before her expression had shuttered and she'd become that perfect, docile wife again. What had I seen in that moment? Hurt? Anger?

Or something else entirely?

I tried to push the thoughts away, to focus on work, on the Singapore call, on the board presentation. But they kept creeping back in, insistent and uncomfortable.

By lunch, I'd accomplished almost nothing. Melissa brought me a sandwich I didn't eat. My inbox filled with messages I couldn't bring myself to answer. And through it all, my phone stayed silent.

No texts from Adriana. No calls. No desperate messages asking how my day was going or if I needed anything.

The silence should have been a relief. Should have given me space to think, to work, to plan.

Instead, it felt like the absence of something I'd never realized I'd been counting on.