Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Terms of Return

Elise's POV

"Still the same Crybaby," he said, like no time had passed at all.

I spun around to face him fully now, heart stuttering in my chest. Adrian leaned casually against the nearest tree, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his hair even messier than I remembered. His grin was that familiar mix of mischief and trouble.

"Adrian, what are you doing here?" I blurted, still half-convinced I was imagining him. "Why are you even home?"

He smirked, the same lazy grin that made him look both harmless and dangerous. "Why? Is there something wrong with me being here?"

I spluttered, caught off guard. "No—I just thought you were... you know, overseas. Doing something important."

Adrian… Laurent—he's Damon's younger brother.

He's the closest existence there is to the past I'm burying here today.

He was sent abroad to work on a project and part of his training for the family business. If I remember correctly, the project focused on a new jasmine collection for Laurents' perfume line.

He snorted, clearly amused. "Important? Yeah, sure, if you count being exiled as important."

I raised an eyebrow. "Exiled?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not like I had a choice. Let's just say they thought it was better for everyone if I kept my distance for a while."

"But... you were abroad for so long," I pressed.

He tilted his head, giving me a look. "Not impulsiveness, not recklessness," Adrian continued, mockingly offended. "They're scared I'll be too good. Can't have a rogue genius running around. They can keep things nice and tidy when I'm out of the picture."

I didn't quite know how to respond to that.

"So... are they asking you to come back now?" I asked carefully. "I mean, is that why you're here? Did they want you back?"

Adrian chuckled darkly. "Want me back? I'm not exactly the poster child for ‘family values,' am I?" He shot me a teasing look, though something in his tone felt more serious than usual. "But I got bored of Europe and figured I'd see if I could make your life a little more interesting."

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the smile creeping up on me. "You're unbelievable."

Adrian grinned. "And you're still too nice."

Adrian pushed off the tree and walked toward the tombstone, his steps lighter than I expected. He stopped in front of my parents' grave, bowed his head slightly, and whispered something I couldn't quite hear.

A strange ache bloomed in my chest at the sight.

Adrian and Damon looked so much alike, yet they were so different.

Adrian had his mother's black hair, sleek and dark, while Damon's dirty blonde locks were unmistakably Laurent.

Damon was the golden retriever, the golden child—easygoing, loved by everyone. Adrian was the doberman—intense, sharp, and commanding. He didn't need anyone's approval, while Damon's charm was effortless.

Despite looking alike, they were worlds apart.

When he turned back to me, his usual teasing mask was firmly in place again.

"So," Adrian said casually, "Damon dumped you because Vivienne's back?"

I gasped, hands flying up to my mouth. "What?!"

He laughed, utterly unbothered. "Relax. It's not like you were subtle."

I flushed hot. "How much did you hear?"

He smirked. "Enough. And it doesn't take a genius. News broke that Vivienne—the Vivienne Moreau, international supermodel, national obsession—decided to bless us commoners with her presence again. Timeline fits."

I winced. Hearing it laid out like that made it feel even more pathetic.

"But," he added, cocking his head, "you didn't deserve that. He's an idiot."

I crossed my arms, trying to maintain some shred of dignity. "You didn't answer my question."

"Hm?"

"Did you come back... because of me?" I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

For a heartbeat, something unreadable flickered across Adrian's face.

Then he stepped closer, ruffled my hair like I was still some kid following him around, and said with a crooked smile, "You must be joking, Crybaby."

I swatted at his hand, but the damage was done. My cheeks burned, and despite everything, warmth pooled inside me, stubborn and alive.

He grinned wider, sensing it.

"Come on," Adrian said, slinging an arm casually around my shoulders. "Eat with me tomorrow."

I blinked up at him. "What?"

"You heard me. I'm bored. And clearly, you're free."

I punched his side lightly. "Rude."

"Honest," he shot back, smirking. "I'll pick you up at noon. Wear something cute. Or don't. You always cry it off anyway."

"Adrian!"

He laughed, the sound so easy, so familiar that for a second, the weight around my heart loosened.

The Next Day

Adrian showed up exactly on time, honking his old car horn like a menace until I came outside, flustered and scowling.

He leaned across the passenger seat, popping the door open with a grin. "Get in, Crybaby. Time's ticking."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and climbed in. "You're unbelievable."

"I know," he said, revving the engine like he was starting a riot.

Instead of driving into town like I expected, he took a winding road out toward the cliffs by the sea.

We ended up at a small, tucked-away diner that looked like it had stepped out of the 1950s—worn leather booths, checkered floors, neon signs flickering half-heartedly.

"This is... cute," I admitted as we slid into a booth.

"Best milkshakes in the province," Adrian said, thumping the table. "Fries that'll make you cry."

Adrian paused for a moment, his fingers drumming on the table as he leaned back, studying me closely. "So, you surviving?" he asked, tone light, but eyes razor-sharp. "Or just faking it like the rest of us?"

I shrugged, trying to keep my expression neutral. "I've been fine. Just... figuring things out. You know, life."

He raised an eyebrow. "Figuring, huh?" His tone edged toward mockery. "Guess you were too busy 'figuring' to text."

"I didn't think you'd want to hear from me," I admitted, a small frown tugging at my lips. "I figured you were busy with work."

Adrian's smile curved into something sharp. His eyes, though, darkened. "Work, huh?" He scoffed. "That what they tell you to believe?"

I hesitated, trying to gauge what he meant. "I thought you'd be, you know, occupied with everything. You didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd want to be bothered with my problems."

His gaze softened for half a heartbeat before the mischief returned, thinner but still there. "You really think that's it?" he said, voice low, almost amused. "Maybe I was just waiting for you to grow a spine and call."

I froze. I didn't know what to say, but before things got more awkward, he flicked my forehead like a kid. "But you're an ungrateful crybaby," he added, smirking, reaching over to mess up my hair again.

Before I could protest, he started, "Anyway…" Adrian studied me for a moment, his usual teasing expression softening. "So, how are you really doing?" he asked, his voice less playful, eyes serious. "Damon. Everything."

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. I shrugged, trying to keep it light. "I'll be fine. People change. He changed." I paused, gathering myself. "It's just... hard watching someone change into a stranger."

Adrian's gaze lingered, like he could see every word I wasn't saying, but then he exhaled, his smirk sliding back into place. "Alright, enough of the pity parade," he said, tapping the table with a grin. "Best milkshakes in the province." He leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Fries that'll change your life. Maybe fix your attitude, too."

I rolled my eyes, trying to shake off the heavy feeling. "You always find the weirdest places," I teased, picking up the menu.

"And the best," Adrian shot back. His grin sharpened. "I have taste. You don't." He leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. "And no one's gonna bother us here." He smiled victoriously.

We both ordered burgers, fries, and chocolate milkshakes the size of my head. As the food arrived, the conversation shifted. Adrian kept things light, throwing in jokes about the diner's outdated decor and roasting the so-called 'secret' menu items. He teased me relentlessly about the milkshake race—challenging me to down mine faster, even though I knew I stood no chance.

"You're going to need a whole strategy for this one," Adrian said, his eyes gleaming with amusement as I hesitated before taking my first sip.

"Oh, I've got one," I replied, pretending to focus on the milkshake. "But I think you might have a bigger lead. Should I be worried?"

Adrian let out a dramatic sigh. "Worried? Please. I'm just here for the fun of watching you fail."

"You're terrible," I gasped, wiping my mouth, after he crushed me in the contest.

"And you're predictable," he teased. "Still can't finish a full serving without complaining."

I stuck my tongue out at him, which only made him laugh harder.

As the afternoon wore on, something in me softened. With Adrian, I didn't have to pretend to be okay or polished or strong. I could just be... me. And somehow, that felt rarer than anything else these days.

As we finished our fries, Adrian leaned back in the booth, arms stretched lazily over the top.

"You know," he said, tone casual but eyes sharp, "you don't have to prove anything to anyone."

I blinked at him.

"Not to Damon. Not to his family. Not even to yourself," Adrian continued. "You're enough, Crybaby."

The nickname, said so softly, so warmly, didn't sting this time. It felt like a promise.

I looked down at my milkshake, stirring it mindlessly. "Thanks, Adrian."

He just grinned and kicked my foot under the table.

"Come on," he said, sliding out of the booth. "Adventure's not over yet."

I followed him outside, the sun dipping low over the horizon, casting everything in gold.