CHAPTER 10: She’s Back

Adrian's POV

The door hadn't even finished swinging before she was gone.

Her words replayed in my head. Her cold smirk. The way she stepped in front of the children, blocking my view like I was danger.

_"Definitely not yours."_

My hands were on the table, braced, because if I didn't hold onto something I was going to go after her.

The taste of her was still on my mouth. She'd wiped hers like I'd contaminated her.

I turned to the table, to the leather folder. She had left it in a hurry. The corner of a document was sticking out from the file.

The door opened again.

I thought it was her. God help me, I thought she came back.

It wasn't.

Nadira.

My fiancée slipped in, clutching her handbag with eyes bright and smiling that perfect, practiced smile. That same face. Not the same woman.

"Adrian,” she called sweetly, closing the door behind her.

“The board said the meeting was over, I was waiting in the lobby — I swear I just saw —" She laughed, a light, confused laugh. "I swear I just saw someone who looked like Nadine. In the hallway. With a man and two kids. For a second I thought I was hallucinating."

She stepped closer. "Did you see her?"

I should have said no.

I should have said it was a mistake.

Instead I said, "I did, I saw her.”

"What?" She let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Don't joke. Nadine?"

"Yes, Nadine was here. In this room."

Her smile dropped. Instantly.

"What?" Her voice sharpened. "What do you mean yes? Nadine was here?"

"She's back."

"She's back?" Nadira's perfect composure cracked. She grabbed my arm. "Why? What did she say? Adrian, talk to me! After seven years she just — why is she back now? Did she come to see me? Did she come to see you?"

She stepped closer, searching my face. "Adrian, why are you looking at me like that? What did she say?"

I didn't answer that. I couldn't tell her what Nadine was now Dr. Ivory. Head of the facility. Half-owner of the trial we were trying to license. That was Nadine's secret to keep, not mine.

"She didn't say why she's back," I answered. Which was true.

"She has to have a reason," Nadira said quickly, her voice sharpening again. "She doesn't just — she vanished, Adrian. She never called or reached out. And now she just appears?"

She grabbed my arm. "Was she — was she alone?"

I looked at her hand on my arm and then at her face, at her terrified eyes. What was with her?

I removed her hand, not unkindly, but firmly.

I had one question in my head. One question that had been clawing at my chest since the door opened and those two kids with balloons and grey eyes looked up at me.

"Nadira."

"What?"

I looked straight at her. "Was Nadine ever pregnant?"

The room went completely silent.

Nadira blinked. Then she let out a laugh, but it was high and strange.

"Pregnant? Nadine? No! God, no. Why would you even think that?” She laughed. “No, of course not. She was – she was always too focused on her studies, on – on being better than everyone. Nadine never even dated seriously before you. I mean before the whole deception into a marriage with her– why are you even asking me that?"

She stepped in closer, her eyes narrowing. "Adrian? Why are you asking if my sister was pregnant? What did she tell you?"

I didn't reply.

I couldn't tell her I just saw two seven-year-olds who looked exactly like they could be mine. That the boy had my eyes. My hair.

I pulled my jacket over my shoulder.

"I have to go."

“No, you don’t. What is going on? Why is Nadine back?”

I didn’t reply her and simply picked up the leather folder, ready to walk out with it.

"Adrian! Don't you walk away from me!” Nadira yelled, watching me with hawk’s eyes. “Is this about those kids? I saw two kids with her in the hallway! She was with a man! Adrian!"

I didn’t pay her any attention and left the room. I left Nadira standing alone in the conference room where I had kissed her twin sister like a starving man, ten minutes ago.

In the hallway, the elevator was still open. It smelled faintly like her perfume.

I opened the leather folder as I stepped into the elevator and flipped to the emergency contact sheet that had her name and her personal number written in her own handwriting and paper-clipped to the page.

I took the sheet. Folded it and put it in my pocket as the doors slide open.

Down in the garage, I sat in my car for a full minute before I pulled out my phone and dialed the number.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

There was no answer.

I dialed again. And again.

Nothing.

She wasn't picking up.

I stared at the number on my screen, my thumb hovering over call again, my other hand clenched tight around the steering wheel.

She left me once without saying a word.

She wasn't going to do it again.

I hit call again.