38. If I Stay

I didn’t leave. That was the first surprise.

I stood at the window long after Adrian’s words settled between us, watching the city breathe beneath us. Lights blinked on and off like signals I didn’t yet understand. Somewhere out there, Lydia was smiling because silence always felt like permission to people like her.

Adrian didn’t reach for me. That was the second surprise.

He waited.

“Say something,” he finally said, not impatient, not demanding. Careful.

“If I stay,” I said slowly, “this doesn’t get easier.”

“No,” he agreed.

“If I stay,” I continued, “she won’t stop. Not because she wants you back but because she hates losing to someone who didn’t play by her rules.”

He nodded once. “She’s always needed a reaction.”

“And if I stay,” I finished, turning to face him, “I need to know you won’t make decisions around me.”

His gaze sharpened. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I don’t want to be protected by silence, managed. Or spared.”

He studied me for a long moment, as if recalibrating something internal.

“You’re asking for visibility,” he said.

“I’m asking for agency.”

That did it.

Something shifted in him not anger, not resistance but recognition.

“Then we handle this openly,” he said. “Together.”

The word landed heavier than any promise.

Together didn’t mean romance.

It meant exposure.

The next morning proved how badly Lydia had misjudged the situation.

She didn’t send anything.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t appear.

Instead, her presence arrived wrapped in gossip.

The article was subtle but sharper than the last. Speculation about Adrian’s “divided attention.” Anonymous sources are questioning whether personal matters are interfering with leadership clarity.

I read it twice.

“She’s pushing you into a reaction,” I said.

“She’s pushing you,” Adrian corrected.

He was right.

Because this time, the implication wasn’t that I was a distraction.

It was that I was temporary.

I closed my tablet. “Then we respond.”

He raised a brow. “Publicly?”

“Yes.”

That earned a pause.

“You’re sure?”

“No,” I said honestly. “But she’s counting on me shrinking.”

We didn’t issue a statement.

We hosted an event.

It was Adrian’s idea, clean, controlled, unavoidable. A charity gala tied to one of the company’s long-term initiatives. Transparent. Documented. In front of the same social circles Lydia thrived in.

And this time, I stood beside him. Not behind, not introduced quietly. Not shielded.

When cameras flashed, he didn’t guide me forward.

He let me stand.

The whispers started immediately. I felt them ripple through the room curiosity, judgment, calculation. Lydia arrived late, of course. She always liked entrances.

She looked stunning.

She always did.

But something was different.

She didn’t smile when she saw me.

She assessed.

Good.

Adrian’s speech was short. Focused. Unemotional.

Then he did something unexpected.

“Elara,” he said, turning to me, “has been instrumental in strategic discussions over the past months.”

A beat of silence.

Not praise.

Acknowledgment.

“I trust her judgment,” he continued evenly. “And I stand by my decisions.”

Lydia’s expression hardened.

The room changed course.

That was the moment she realized: this wasn’t about intimacy anymore.

This was about position.

After the applause faded, she cornered me near the balcony.

“You’re enjoying this,” she said quietly.

“No,” I replied. “I’m enduring it.”

Her lips curved. “Careful. Endurance has limits.”

“So does desperation,” I said.

Her eyes flashed. “You think this ends with a speech?”

“I think it ends when you accept that provoking him through me won’t work.”

She leaned closer. “I don’t need him to react.”

“Then why are you still here?” I asked softly.

That landed.

She straightened. “Because you don’t belong in this world.”

I met her gaze, calm. “Neither did you once.”

Her face tightened.

She walked away.

That night, exhaustion hit me all at once. Not physical. Emotional. The kind that made you question the cost of standing your ground.

Back home, I kicked off my heels and sank onto the sofa.

“I don’t know how long I can do this,” I admitted quietly.

Adrian sat across from me. “You don’t have to.”

I laughed softly. “You keep saying that like it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” he said. “That’s why I’m saying it.”

I looked at him, then really looked.

For the first time, I understood something clearly:

Staying wasn’t about him choosing me.

It was about me choosing myself inside a world that tested women by how much they could tolerate.

“I’m not staying because I’m afraid to leave,” I said.

He waited.

“I’m staying because I refuse to be pushed out.”

A slow smile touched his lips. “That,” he said, “is exactly why she’s losing.”

But even as the words settled, my phone buzzed softly beside me.

Unknown number.

No message.

Just a photo preview.

I didn’t open it.

I didn’t need to.

Lydia wasn’t done.

And neither was I.