CHAPTER 8

THE SOUND OF HIS RETURN

When I get home, everything feels too quiet. The house is calm, but not in a peaceful way , it’s quiet . The door clicks shut behind me, echoing through the apartment like a reminder that I’m alone again. The faint smell of Daniel’s cologne still lingers somewhere in the air, mixed with coffee and dust. The curtains are half-drawn, letting thin bands of sunlight cut across the living room floor. My shoes come off with a dull thud, My heels scrape softly against the tiled floor as I step inside. I stand there for a second, just breathing, trying to make the world stop spinning. The guilt in my chest hasn’t left , it’s grown, swelling, pressing against my ribs until I can hardly breathe. Adrian’s house feels like a dream I shouldn’t have touched. His warmth, his voice, his hand brushing mine across the table, all of it replaying like scenes from a movie I don’t want to watch.

But this house… this is real. This is where I belong. Or at least where I used to.I walk toward the kitchen, and that’s when I see it , the coffee mug. It’s sitting on the counter, half full, the rim stained slightly where he must have sipped before rushing out. A faint ring of moisture circles its base. I freeze, my heart skipping a beat, he was home. My eyes move slowly around the living room , the jacket tossed on the couch, his keys on the counter, the faint indentation on the sofa cushion like he sat there for a while. I swallow hard, my throat dry. I don’t know whether to feel relief or dread. I drop my purse and walk toward the bedroom. The air in there feels heavy, untouched but not empty. The bed , the same one I had neatly made yesterday before going to the bar , is now slightly rumpled. One pillow out of place. The blanket half-dragged to the side. I sit on the edge of the bed, the silence pressing against me. My hair is still damp from the shower at Adrian’s, and the soft cotton of his T-shirt brushes my skin.

My mind starts running wild, was he alone? Did she come here? Did she lie here too? The guilt hits me again, hard. My hands feel cold. I still smell Adrian on my skin, his house, his touch, and it makes my stomach twist. What was I thinking? I pull off the shirt I’m wearing , Adrian’s shirt , and throw it in the laundry basket. I change into an old sweatshirt and shorts, something simple, something that doesn’t remind me of anyone. I go back to the living room and fall onto the couch. I sit there for a while, staring at that cup like it can give me answers, but it doesn’t. Nothing does. So I reach for my phone, open my gallery, and scroll until the screen fills with the faces I once couldn’t live without.It’s us. Daniel and me. At the beach, covered in sand and laughter.

In the kitchen, flour on my cheek while he tried to cook pancakes, On his birthday, his arm around me as he blew out candles.We looked so happy. So sure. Each photo feels like a small cut, and I can’t stop myself from pressing deeper. I see the way he used to look at me , like I was his favorite part of every day. Like no one else existed. When did that stop?

My thumb lingers on one of the pictures, me wearing his shirt, hair messy, smiling into the camera while he kissed my neck. It was morning, just like this one. He’d made me breakfast then too. He always used to. Before the late nights, before the secrets, before Skybound. Now, looking at the photos, I can almost hear our laughter echo in this room. I remember how safe it used to feel being wrapped in his arms. But that safety is gone now, replaced by something cold and uncertain.

I take a deep breath, trying not to cry, but my throat tightens anyway. I shouldn’t miss him after everything, but I do. Not him now , the him that used to love me. I close my eyes, but the images don’t go away. They burn behind my lids. The memories, the scent of him, the way he used to whisper my name like it meant something. I get up and walk to the refrigerator pulling out a carton of orange juice . I gulp it straight from the pack ,like the cool taste could somehow wash away the weight pressing on my mind.

The clock ticks loudly. My mind won’t stop. I grab my phone again, trying to distract myself. I scroll through i*******m . Mindlessly. Down the feed, through reels, random photos, and headlines I don’t care about, until one stops me. A blurry image, My hair. My face. My voice, The caption reads:

“CEO of Skybound, Daniel Morgan, harassed by unidentified woman in his office ,witness claims emotional outburst linked to personal affair.”

My stomach drops. I click it. There’s a short clip, my voice, shaky and loud, echoing through the office. My face twisted in anger, my words cut out of context. The video freezes on Daniel’s expression , calm, distant, detached ,while I look like chaos. Below the video, the comments are endless. Thousands of them, blinking and climbing by the second.

“She looks so heartbroken tho 🥺, whatever happened he must’ve done something”

“Another crazy woman embarrassing herself over a man , typical 😒.”

”Damn , I didn’t know skybound had this much drama 😭”

”who’s she😭”

“Someone said that’s his wife!”

“If that’s his wife then, yikes!!😱”

“Wife?? She doesn’t even look the part 💀”

“CEO handled that like a pro 🔥👏”

“No way the CEO’s wife dresses like that.”

“He didn’t even shout , he just stood there. Damn.”

“Probably a side chick that lost it”

“He looks so calm tho that’s power 👏😂”

“No wonder she’s mad , he’s way out of her league.”

“That’s not his wife , security kicked her out 😂”

“No… no, no, no…” I whisper, The air feels thin, like I can’t breathe enough of it in.My stomach turns. My chest feels tight. The words blur together. Strangers are laughing at my pain. Judging me. Talking about me like I’m a story, not a person, My breath catches. Each comment feels like a slap. I scroll faster, desperate, horrified , the posts are spreading, reshared across blogs, business pages, gossip sites. I drop my phone , My fingers go numb.My picture is everywhere , frozen mid-yell, tears in my eyes, pain twisted into anger. They don’t know me. They don’t know what I saw.

I grab my phone again and call Daniel. Once. Twice. Three times. No answer. “Please pick up,” I whisper. “Daniel, please.” The call goes to voicemail again. I hang up, my eyes stinging. My breath catches, as I hear the deep sound of the engine, I freeze . I know that sound anywhere. My heart starts pounding. I look out the window, and there it is. His car. My breath catches. Daniel.I jump up too quickly, nearly dropping my phone. My hands tremble as I smooth my hair, trying to look normal. My reflection in the glass looks pale, anxious. My heart is racing so fast I can hear it in my ears.

The sound of his car door closing. His footsteps on the driveway. Then the quiet creak of the front gate closing. My stomach twists.He’s here. I back away from the door, not sure what to do. Part of me wants to run to him. Another part wants to hide. The air feels thick, like even breathing too loud could break something. The door unlocks.

I hear the metal click, the door opening, the faint rustle of fabric as he steps inside. The smell of his cologne fills the air, strong, clean, painfully familiar. For a second, I can’t move. I can hear him taking off his shoes, setting down his keys, moving slowly through the hall. Every sound feels like thunder. My body goes cold, then hot. I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until it hurts. I take a step forward, then stop. My fingers grip the side of the couch for balance.