chapter 4

I locked the door and stood with my back against it, listening as his footsteps faded down the hall.

My hands were still shaking, not from Eleanor's threats, or even because Adrian hadn't backed me up. It was the look on his face that stuck with me. That drained, helpless expression, as if deciding between his mother and his wife was some unfair test I was forcing on him.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, annoyed that I was tearing up. I didn't want to cry over him anymore.

I dragged a small duffel out from the bottom of the wardrobe. If Adrian wasn't going to make a call, I’d make one myself. I didn't pack everything, just a pair of jeans, two shirts, some underwear, and my toothbrush. Nothing dramatic. I wasn't clearing out my life; I just needed room to breathe. The keys to my old apartment were still in my bag, and for all I knew, the lease was still in my name.

A quiet knock hit the door.

“Emma.”

I zipped the bag shut.

“Emma, open up.”

“No.”

He paused. “I know you’re angry.”

He always said that when he ran out of ideas.

“Go back downstairs, Adrian.”

“I want to talk.”

“I don't.”

After a long silence, his voice dropped. “Please.”

I walked over to the door, but I didn't unlock it. “What do you actually want?”

“I want you to get that I wasn't trying to control you.”

“You weren't?”

“No.”

“Then what were you doing?”

He took a second to answer. “I was trying to keep things from blowing up.”

I rested my head against the door frame. “Things already blew up.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” My voice went flat. “Because from where I’m standing, you care way more about Friday’s merger than the fact that I’m packing a bag because I can’t stand being in this house.”

“I care about you, Emma.”

“Then do something about it.”

I could picture him out in the hall, running a hand through his hair the way he always did when he was out of answers.

“Just give me until Friday,” he said.

“You said that yesterday.”

“I’ll deal with all of it after the merger.”

“That’s not a plan, Adrian. That’s just pushing it off.”

“It’s what I can do right now.”

I leaned back from the door. It was always the same setup: his mother dictated terms, he asked me to hold on, and I was expected to be reasonable.

“Go away, Adrian.”

“Emma,”

“Please.”

He didn't push it again. I waited until his footsteps were completely gone before sitting down on the edge of the mattress.

I didn't leave that night.

Not because he talked me out of it, but because I was too wiped out to drive. Throwing a scene at midnight would only give Eleanor another reason to call me unstable, so I stayed put.

I woke up before my alarm the next morning, took one look at the duffel by the closet, and went downstairs.

Eleanor was already at the breakfast table. Richard sat at the far end, half-hidden behind his newspaper. Adrian’s spot was empty.

Eleanor looked up as I walked in. “You’re up early.”

“I’m heading to my apartment.”

Richard lowered the paper an inch. Eleanor didn't even blink.

“Adrian mentioned you were upset,” she said. “Are you actually walking out?”

“I didn't realize I needed to check in with you.”

“Eleanor...” Richard muttered from behind his paper.

She ignored him. “This family has a public image, Emma.”

“And why is keeping up that image entirely on me?” I pulled out a chair and looked straight at her. “If I’m actually part of this family, shouldn't I get a say in how I live instead of being managed like a problem?”

Her mouth set into a thin line. “You’re acting on emotion.”

“And you’re dodging what I said.”

Richard finally folded the newspaper and set it on the table with a heavy thud. “That’s enough, Eleanor.”

We both looked over at him.

“She’s right,” Richard said, ignoring his wife’s glare. “We can’t keep running her life for her. She gets a say.”

For a second, Eleanor looked almost surprised, but she recovered quickly. She pushed her chair back and stood up. “Fine. Drive to your apartment if you want. But if you walk out now, don't expect Adrian to throw away his career just because you’re having a hard time adjusting.”

“I’m not asking him to throw anything away,” I said.

“Not yet.” She turned and walked out of the room.

Richard stayed seated. “Don't let her get to you,” he said quietly. “She talks sharp when she’s losing control.”

“Hard not to,” I said, picking up my purse.

“You should see Adrian before you leave. He’s in the study.”

“I’ve already said what I had to say.”

Adrian was standing near the window in the study when I walked in. He turned as soon as the door clicked.

“You’re really going?”

“I told you I was.”

He looked at my bag. “Did Mom say something to you?”

“Nothing new.”

He let out a short breath. “Emma,”

“I’m not looking for an argument, Adrian.”

He stared at me, clearly wanting to ask how long I’d be gone or if I was coming back at all, but he choked it down. “I’ll drive you,” he said instead.

“No thanks.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don't need an escort out of your parents' house.”

He flinched. “That’s not why I offered.”

“I know.” I stopped at the doorway and looked back at him. “I’m not filing for divorce, Adrian. I just need space.”

“For how long?”

“I don't know.”

He swallowed hard, looking genuinely rattled for the first time since we’d gotten married. “Don't make this permanent.”

“Then don't make me feel like leaving is my only option.”

The drive back to my place was quiet. No house staff, no corporate schedule, no Eleanor. Just me and my old sedan.

When I unlocked the door to my apartment, the air smelled stale, but walking inside brought an immediate sense of relief. Everything was right where we’d left it before the wedding, our takeout menus on the fridge, a mug on the counter, his jacket thrown over the sofa arm.

I sat on the couch and stared at the jacket. Leaving the mansion was easy enough, but untangling myself from him wasn't going to be that simple.

My phone buzzed on the cushion beside me.

*Adrian: Did you make it back okay?*

I waited a few seconds before typing back.

*Me: Yeah.*

The read receipt popped up immediately, followed by the typing bubble. Then it vanished. A minute later, another text came through.

*Adrian: I'm sorry.*

I looked at the screen, put the phone face down on the coffee table, and didn't reply.

An hour later, I drove over to my office. My manager called me into his room and closed the door.

“HR gave us a few days to get this sorted,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “But Emma, we can’t keep your position on hold forever. If you’re coming back, I need to know you’re actually here.”

“I’m coming back,” I said. The answer came without a second thought.

When I walked back out to the bullpen, my coworker Sarah leaned over her partition. “So? Are you still on the payroll?”

“Yeah,” I said, sitting down at my desk. “I am.”

She grinned. “Good. Lunch is on me.”

For the next few hours, I actually managed to focus on work. But around four, my phone lit up on the desk.

*Adrian.*

I let it ring three times before picking up. “Yeah?”

“Emma.” His voice was rough. “Are you at the apartment?”

“I’m at work.”

Silence on his end. “You went back?”

“I told you I wasn't quitting.”

He quieted down for a second. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

My chest felt tight, but I kept my tone steady. “I’m in the middle of something, Adrian.”

“I miss you.”

“I have to get back to my desk.”

“Emma... don't completely lock me out.”

I looked around at the bright office fluorescent lights, the clutter on my desk, the sound of keyboard clicks around me. It felt real in a way the mansion never had.

“I’m not locking you out,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

I hung up and put the phone in my drawer. I wasn't sure what was going to happen come Friday, but for the first time since I’d said "I do," I was done waiting around for him to make up his mind.