21. Just The Pretend Wife

Elara hadn’t planned to follow Adrian.

She told herself that at least three times as she stood across the street from the upscale hotel, her hands clenched around her phone, her heart pounding harder with every passing second.

But Lydia’s message from earlier wouldn’t leave her mind.

“Some things never change.”

That was all it had said.

Adrian hadn’t explained where he was going. Just that he had “unfinished business” and that she should stay in the penthouse. He’d said it calmly, but Elara had seen the tension beneath his control, the way his jaw tightened like he was bracing for impact.

Now she knew why.

Through the glass walls of the hotel lounge, she saw them.

Adrian stood near the bar, tall and unmistakable, his posture rigid. Lydia stood too close far closer than anyone else ever dared. She was dressed elegantly, her hand resting lightly on his arm as if it belonged there.

Elara’s chest tightened painfully.

She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she didn’t need to.

Lydia laughed softly, leaning in, her fingers trailing up Adrian’s sleeve in a way that was far too familiar. Too intimate. Too deliberate.

Elara took a step back before she even realized she was moving.

What are you doing here? She asked herself.

She already knew the answer.

She was hurting.

And worse she was remembering.

This marriage is an arrangement, she reminded herself.

You knew that from the start.

She was the last-minute bride. The solution. The name on the contract.

Nothing more.

Inside the lounge, Lydia leaned closer to Adrian, her lips near his ear. She said something that made his expression harden but he didn’t move away.

That hurt more than Elara expected.

Her vision blurred slightly. She swallowed, forcing herself to breathe.

You don’t get to be jealous, she told herself sharply.

You don’t get to want more.

But the ache in her chest refused to listen.

Then Lydia did something that made Elara’s breath catch.

She reached up slowly, deliberately, and brushed imaginary lint from Adrian’s collar. Her fingers lingered.

Adrian’s voice was low, controlled. Whatever he said made Lydia smile.

A victorious smile.

Elara felt like she’d been punched.

She turned away.

She had no right to stand there. No right to watch. No right to feel betrayed by a man who had never promised her his heart.

She took three steps and stopped.

No.

She straightened.

Running away wouldn’t protect her. It wouldn’t make the pain disappear. And it wouldn’t stop Lydia from doing exactly what she wanted rewriting the narrative, reclaiming space that wasn’t hers anymore.

Elara turned back.

This time, she walked inside.

The lounge was quiet, elegant, filled with soft music and muted conversation. Adrian noticed her instantly.

His head snapped up.

“Elara?” His voice was sharp with surprise.

Lydia turned slowly, her smile already in place. “Oh,” she said lightly. “You didn’t mention your wife would be joining us.”

Wife.

The word felt heavy and fragile.

“I was just leaving,” Elara said calmly, even though her hands were trembling. She stopped beside Adrian, close enough to feel his warmth. “I realized I forgot something.”

Adrian studied her face, concern flickering in his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Lydia laughed softly. “Isn’t this sweet? You really do worry about her.”

Elara met Lydia’s gaze, steady and unflinching. “I do too. About you.”

Lydia’s smile faltered for half a second just enough to be satisfying.

“You always did like to play the hero,” Lydia replied coolly, turning to Adrian. “I was just reminding Adrian of old times. Memories have a way of resurfacing.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “That’s enough.”

Elara felt the tension snap between them like a stretched wire.

She forced herself to speak. “I won’t interrupt,” she said, her voice softer now. “I know this… marriage is complicated. Temporary.”

Adrian turned sharply. “Elara”

She stepped back before he could finish.

“I understand my place,” she said quietly. “I won’t overstep.”

That was the worst part.

She meant it.

She turned and walked away, her steps measured, her posture straight refusing to let either of them see how much it hurt.

Behind her, Lydia watched with something close to triumph.

And Adrian watched with something dangerously close to regret.

Back in the penthouse, Elara sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.

She replayed the scene over and over the closeness, the familiarity, the way Lydia knew exactly where to stand, how to touch without touching too much.

That history didn’t disappear just because I showed up, Elara thought.

She wrapped her arms around herself.

You were always meant to be temporary.

The door opened quietly.

Adrian stepped inside.

“You shouldn’t have seen that,” he said.

Elara didn’t look up. “But I did.”

Silence stretched.

“I didn’t invite her,” he said finally. “And nothing happened.”

Elara nodded slowly. “I know.”

He frowned. “Then why do you look like you’re already gone?”

She looked up then, her eyes calm but distant. “Because I remembered something important.”

“What?”

“That I can’t compete with a past I was never part of.” She stood. “And I won’t try.”

Adrian’s chest tightened. “You think that’s what this is?”

She smiled faintly. “Isn’t it?”

Before he could answer, her phone buzzed.

A new message.

Unknown number.

“You handled that better than I expected. But remember he was mine long before he was yours.”

Elara’s fingers curled around the phone.

She didn’t show Adrian.

Instead, she lifted her chin.

“Goodnight, Adrian.”

And for the first time since the marriage, she closed the door between them.