Chapter 5: Something Is Different

Something had changed.

I could feel it vibrating in the air, though the shift wasn't in the penthouse, and it certainly wasn't in Adrian. It was in me. For seven years, this sprawling residence had been a gilded cage fashioned from cold glass and expensive marble. It was beautiful, prestigious, and utterly suffocating. Every day, I had moved through its halls like a dutiful ghost, cleaning, cooking, and waiting.

Always waiting. Waiting for a husband who looked through me as if I were part of the architecture.

But today, the air felt lighter. The suffocating weight on my chest had vanished because, for the first time, I had finally stopped waiting.

I sat on the plush velvet sofa in the living room, the television flickering softly. A random, high-melodrama was playing, the characters wailing about grand betrayals and shattered hearts. I found it ironically appropriate.

Behind me, the private elevator chimed, the doors sliding open with a soft, expensive hiss. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t need to. I already knew Adrian had returned, and the sharp, rhythmic click-click-click of stilettos on the marble floor confirmed he wasn't alone.

It wasn't Melissa this time. It was someone new.

I kept my eyes fixed on the TV. I didn't offer a greeting. I didn't move an inch. I simply didn't care.

“Adrian,” the woman giggled, her voice high and airy. “Your place is absolutely huge.”

“Hmm,” he answered, his voice a lazy, disinterested rumble.

Her bubbly laughter echoed through the vaulted living room. Normally, I would have gathered my things and retreated to my room to grant them their privacy. But today, I stayed exactly where I was, my eyes locked on the flickering screen.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them pause. Adrian had noticed me. Good. Let him notice. For once in his life, let him see me not as a servant, but as a person who no longer felt the need to hide.

His voice came a moment later, sharp and questioning. “Elena.”

I hummed softly, not looking back. “Yes?”

Just one word. No "Welcome home," no "Did you have a good day?"

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, for several seconds. Then, I heard him scoff lightly. “Nothing.”

Their footsteps resumed, passing behind the sofa as he led the girl toward the hallway. The bedroom door clicked shut shortly after.

I reached for the remote and turned the volume up. Their muffled laughter drifted through the apartment, a sound that, once upon a time, would have crushed my spirit. Now? It barely stirred a ripple in the calm waters of my mind.

Six days. That was all the time I needed to endure.

The next morning, harsh sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I walked out of my room dressed in my most comfortable pajamas, my hair tied back in a messy, effortless ponytail.

The girl from the night before was sitting awkwardly on the edge of the couch. She looked nervous, young, barely into her early twenties. When she saw me, she jumped as if she’d been burned.

“Oh!” Her eyes widened in a flash of pure panic. “I-I’m so sorry!”

I blinked, genuinely curious. “For what?”

“I didn't know he was married!”

I almost laughed. Of course she didn’t. They never did. Adrian didn't exactly advertise the "caregiver" wife he kept tucked away in the shadows.

“It’s okay,” I said, my voice calm and even.

Her mouth hung open slightly in total confusion. “It… is?”

“Yes.” I walked past her toward the kitchen. “Would you like some orange juice?”

She stared at me as if I had suddenly grown a second head. “You’re… you're not angry?”

I pulled the carton from the fridge. “No.”

“But—” She hesitated, her brow furrowing. “Does this… does this happen often?”

I poured two glasses, the sound of the liquid filling the silence. “Pretty often.”

I handed her a glass. She accepted it with trembling fingers, her confusion deepening. “And that’s… normal?”

“For this marriage?” I gave her a small, tight smile. “Yes.”

She looked down at her juice, her voice small. “What kind of marriage is that?”

“A unique one.”

She stared at the floor, looking genuinely stricken. “I feel terrible.”

“Don’t,” I replied simply.

She took a slow, awkward sip. “You’re actually really nice.”

“I try to be human,” I said lightly.

She let out a nervous laugh, the tension breaking just slightly. At that exact moment, Adrian emerged from the hallway. His hair was disheveled, his shirt only half-buttoned, looking every bit the playboy heir. When he saw the two of us calmly sharing a morning drink, his expression darkened instantly.

“What are you doing?”

The girl practically bolted upright. “I-I was just leaving!”

She scrambled toward the hallway, returning minutes later fully dressed and clutching her heels. “Sorry again!” she blurted toward me before disappearing into the elevator.

The doors hissed shut. Adrian turned slowly toward me, his jaw set. “You scared her away.”

I took a sip of my juice, unfazed. “She left on her own.”

He studied me with a piercing intensity, something suspicious flickering in the depths of his dark eyes. Then, he snatched his car keys from the counter. “I’m going to work.”

I gave him a short nod. “Okay.”

He didn't move immediately. Instead, he stood there, looking at me longer than he ever had. I pretended not to notice, focusing on the orange juice until he finally turned and walked out.

****

Adrian’s Office 

Adrian Michael had always been a master at ignoring the things he didn't want to see.

But today… something about Elena felt fundamentally wrong. She hadn't argued. She hadn't thrown a silent, tearful tantrum. She hadn't even reacted to a strange woman in her home. And for some reason, that bothered him more than any screaming match ever could.

He sat in his high-rise office, staring at legal documents that might as well have been written in a foreign language. Something was different. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

A soft knock came at his door. “Come in.”

His secretary stepped inside, one of the many women he had casually spent time with months ago. She closed the door with a lingering slowness and leaned against his desk. “Long day?” she asked, her smile rehearsed and seductive.

Adrian barely looked up from his files. “What do you need?”

She pouted, her voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s cold, Adrian.” She walked closer, her expensive perfume filling the space. “I thought maybe we could have lunch together. My treat.”

He flipped a page, his expression stone. “I’m busy.”

She leaned down, her cleavage inches from his line of sight. “Too busy for me?”

He finally looked up. His eyes were blank, his voice flat. “Yes.”

Her smile froze, then shattered. “Oh.” She straightened her blazer quickly. “I’ll leave you to your work, then.”

The door clicked shut. Adrian leaned back in his leather chair, a frustration he couldn't name bubbling in his chest. Why was he so distracted?

The answer hit him like a physical blow. Elena.

*****

When Adrian returned that evening, the television was still playing. And I was still on the couch, exactly where he had left me.

He frowned, dropping his keys with a loud clack. “You’ve been here all day?”

I glanced at him briefly, “Yes.”

“You didn’t go anywhere? No shopping? No lunch?”

“No.”

He stared at her, his irritation rising. “What did you do all day?”

“I watched movies.”

Adrian rubbed his temple, letting out an exasperated breath. “You’re unbelievable.” He walked into the kitchen, his voice trailing off as he searched the empty counters. He emerged a moment later, his frustration peaking. “Where’s dinner?”

“I didn't cook.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I wasn't in the mood, Adrian.”

He stared at her as if she had just started speaking in tongues. “Then what the hell am I supposed to eat?”

“There are leftovers.” I pointed vaguely toward the fridge. “You can heat them up yourself.”

Adrian let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Wow.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “So this is what it looks like.”

I looked at him. “What?”

“Giving up.” His smile turned sharp and mocking. “So you’ve finally stopped trying to win me over? No more playing the perfect little wife?”

I felt a ghost of a twist inside my chest, a final ember of the old pain, but I kept my face an emotionless mask. “I guess so.”

He stared at me, clearly expecting more, a defense, an apology, a tear. When nothing came, he scoffed and turned away. “Unbelievable.”

He stormed into his private office, and I could hear him muttering from inside. Sarcasm, complaints, the usual mockery. Eventually, I stood up. Not because his words hurt, but because the sound of his voice was simply exhausting.

I walked to the kitchen and prepared a simple meal. I left it on the table without a word and retreated to my room. I didn't stay to watch him eat. I didn't say goodnight. I didn't wait for a "thank you" that would never come.

For the first time in seven years, I had stopped craving Adrian Michael's attention. And somehow, that felt more like freedom than anything else in the world.