Chapter 3: Adrian

Adrian's POV

“Where did you go just now?”

Marissa’s voice floated toward me as soon as I stepped back into the suite.

“Just breathing some fresh air,” I said.

Her silk red dress slid off her shoulders like liquid. She let it fall without hesitation, without shame, as though the idea of modesty had never existed for her. The light from the chandelier caught the smooth line of her skin, revealing a body so thin it bordered on fragile. Her ribs were faintly visible beneath her pale complexion, the delicate curve of her waist almost sharp in its frailty.

If I were being honest, I would say she needed to gain at least ten pounds just to look healthy again. Seeing her like that made something uneasy stir in me, a quiet guilt mixed with pity that I tried to ignore.

I turned away immediately, heat crawling up my neck.

“Adrian,” she said, her voice edged with irritation. “Why are you afraid to see me? Why do you keep pretending we have to follow the rules of that stupid contract?”

I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “A contract is a contract. If we’re caught, my grandfather will disqualify me as heir and remove me from the company. You know that.”

“You’re his only grandson. He wouldn’t do that to you,” she called from the bathroom, her tone dismissive, like she had said it a hundred times before.

I almost laughed. “My father was also his only son,” I reminded her quietly. “And after his drinking, his affairs, and the divorce, he was banned from even entering the company building. Being the only one doesn’t mean being untouchable.”

Marissa huffed. “Why is your grandfather so stubborn?”

If the old man heard her call him that, he would have a fit.

Grandfather Philip Parker was the embodiment of control and legacy. In his eyes, everything he built had to be preserved through discipline, morality, and perfection. He believed Rachel was that perfection.

He never hid his disapproval of Marissa. To him, she was chaos wrapped in beauty. He called her a spark that would burn the family name.

I poured myself a drink, staring into the amber liquid as it caught the city lights through the window. “He’s old-fashioned,” I said after a pause. “And unfortunately, I owe him too much to defy him.”

Rachel’s name drifted across my mind, uninvited.

Grandfather used to tell me over and over that she was a good girl, a pure-hearted woman who would bring stability to my life. He never stopped reminding me how lucky I was that she agreed to marry me.

He was right about one thing. Rachel was good. Too good.

I tried to fall in love with her once. I really did. But love doesn’t come from effort, and trying to force it only made me resent her more.

Marissa was the right one for me. She always had been.

She was bold where Rachel was careful, sharp where Rachel was soft. With Marissa, life felt thrilling, chaotic, alive. We had known each other since high school, always finding our way back to each other no matter how many times we broke apart. Until the affair.

When I saw the pictures splashed across headlines, her lips on another man, the smirk of a director twice her age, I felt something snap inside me. I didn’t even wait for her explanation.

I told myself I was done.

When Grandfather arranged my marriage to Rachel, I accepted out of duty. She was ordinary, humble, everything Marissa wasn’t. But she was also beautiful in her own quiet way, her smile soft and sincere. I had seen her at The Grand Regal Hotel before, always in the kitchen, always covered in flour, always smiling at her staff. She was respected for her desserts, the kind of woman who earned admiration through skill, not appearance.

For a time, I thought that might be enough.

When we met to discuss the marriage terms, I expected her to refuse. Instead, she agreed immediately. No hesitation.

And in that moment, the image I had built of her cracked.

Why would she say yes so easily? Did she want my name, my family’s fortune?

I convinced myself that was it. That she was just like every other woman who had ever chased the Parker legacy.

And so, I walked into a loveless marriage.

On our wedding day, Marissa appeared outside the church. Her makeup was ruined from crying, her hands shaking as she grabbed my arm.

“Adrian, please,” she begged. “Don’t do this. You don’t understand what happened. I was drugged. I didn’t betray you.”

I stared at her, heart pounding, torn between anger and disbelief. “Marissa, I can’t do this again. I won’t become my father. I won’t spend my life trapped in chaos.”

Her tears fell harder. “You’ll regret this.”

I didn’t answer. I let her cry and walked away.

That night, the gossip magazines published everything. The director she had been seen with was married with two children. The world turned on her overnight. Her career was destroyed.

A few days later, I found her in her apartment, lying in a pool of her own blood.

She had tried to end her life.

I called the ambulance, stayed by her bedside as she fought to live. When she woke up, her first words weren’t about herself.

They were about me.

“I told you I was drugged,” she whispered, her voice broken.

And in that moment, I knew I had made the biggest mistake of my life.

From then on, no matter how hard I tried to move forward, she was always there, haunting the edges of every choice, every thought, every promise I made to Rachel.

Five years. That’s how long I have been balancing between two lives.

Rachel’s stability. Marissa’s fire.

Neither one of them deserved me.

“Adrian, don’t you feel guilty for leaving your wife alone in such an embarrassing situation tonight?” Marissa’s voice broke through my thoughts. She had wrapped a towel around herself now, leaning against the bathroom doorframe with that knowing smile. “Your wife must hate me even more after tonight.”

She said it like a joke, like it didn’t matter. And for her, it didn’t.

“She should,” I muttered under my breath.

Marissa’s eyes narrowed, her tone turning honey-sweet. “Our five-year agreement is about to end. Don’t tell me you’ve started to pity her now?”

“I just don’t want her to misunderstand,” I said.

“Misunderstand what? That you don’t love her?”

Her words landed like a slap.

I turned toward the window, staring out at the city lights. “I don’t want to give her hope,” I said flatly. “I don’t want to be trapped in this marriage any longer than I have to.”

The words tasted bitter.

As I said them, I remembered the look on Rachel’s face earlier, the way she stood in the center of that ballroom covered in frosting and shame. I had looked at her with disgust. But deep down, what I felt wasn’t disgust at her. It was disgust at myself.

She fell. Was she hurt? Did she cry after I left?

The thought made my chest tighten. I set my glass down and ran a hand through my hair, trying to push it all away.

What kind of man treats his wife like that?

I knew the answer. A coward.

“I’m going home,” I said finally, grabbing my jacket from the back of the chair.

Marissa straightened, her towel slipping slightly. “Adrian, where are you going?”

“Home,” I repeated.

She frowned. “To her?”

I didn’t answer.

“Adrian!” Her voice rose, sharp, panicked. But I was already at the door.

I didn’t look back.