Chapter 6: Surprise and Acknowledgment

The elevator doors closed. We stood in silence.

Then he spoke, his voice low and raspy, like gravel rolling over silk. "You look different."

I froze. I turned to look at him. He was watching me with an expression I couldn't read. Not judgment. Not attraction. Just... observation. Like I was a puzzle piece that had suddenly shifted and he was trying to figure out where I fit now.

"I—" I started, but the elevator dinged.

The ground floor to the twentieth floor had never felt so fast.

The doors opened and I bolted, practically running out of the elevator and into the hallway. Behind me, I could feel his eyes still watching, but I didn't look back.

My heart was pounding. Not from fear. From something else. Something that felt like being seen for the first time in my entire life.

---

The office was already buzzing with activity. I made my way to my desk in the administrative pool, keeping my head down.

Except people were staring.

I felt their eyes following me. Heard the whispers start as I passed. My coworkers, people I'd worked alongside for two years were looking at me like I was a stranger.

"Is that Seraphine?"

"Holy shit, she looks amazing."

"Since when does she dress like that?"

I slid into my desk chair, my cheeks burning. This was why I'd hidden. Why I'd made myself invisible. Because being seen meant being judged, and I'd never felt like I measured up.

"Miss Arkwright." The voice was sharp, dismissive. Mr. Patterson, one of the senior directors who loved sending me on pointless errands. "I need you to—" He stopped. Actually stopped mid-sentence and stared at me. "Oh. I almost didn't recognize you."

He walked away without finishing his request.

I sat there, stunned. For two years, this man had treated me like an errand girl. Had never bothered to learn my actual job description. Had sent me for coffee and dry cleaning and lunch orders like I was his personal assistant instead of an employee of the company.

And now he couldn't even recognize me because I'd put on lipstick and worn a skirt?

The realization was equal parts infuriating and liberating.

---

I worked through the day in a daze, my mind splitting between the tasks in front of me and the memories of what was coming. What I needed to prevent. What I needed to prepare for.

By the time five o'clock came, I was exhausted.

I took the regular elevator down this time. Rode the bus home. Climbed the stairs to my apartment with legs that suddenly remembered they'd been running all day.

Adrian's shoes were by the door.

He was home.

I found him in the living room, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when I entered, and his expression shifted through several emotions in rapid succession. Surprise. Confusion. Interest.

"Sera?" He stood up, his eyes roaming over my outfit. "You look... wow."

I said nothing. Just headed toward the bedroom to change.

He followed. "Where were you? I called you like five times."

"Work."

"You look really good." His hand caught my wrist, pulling me back. "Like, really good."

I could smell his cologne. Feel the warmth of his hand on my skin. See the want in his eyes—the same want I'd seen in Maribel's face when she looked at him.

He leaned in to kiss me.

I pulled away.

"Sera, come on." His voice took on that wheedling tone I'd heard a thousand times before. "It's been a week. I miss you."

A week since we'd had sex. A week that felt like seven years.

"I'm tired," I said, pulling my wrist free.

"You're always tired lately." There it was—the edge of irritation creeping in. "Maybe if you didn't work yourself to death—"

"Maybe if you paid your own bills, I wouldn't have to."

The words were out before I could stop them.

Adrian's face went blank. Then cold. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired. I'm going to bed."

"It's five-thirty."

"Then I'm going to bed early."

I moved past him toward the bedroom. He grabbed my arm—not gently.

"You've been acting insane since this morning. First the panic attack, then you look like this, now you're being a bitch? What's going on with you?"

I looked down at his hand on my arm. At the fingers that would one day push me down a staircase. At the hand of a man who'd watched me die without an ounce of remorse.

"Let go of me," I said quietly.

"Not until you tell me what your problem is."

Something in my voice must have warned him because his hand dropped. I walked into the bedroom and closed the door. Locked it.

"Fine!" Adrian's voice came through the door, loud and angry. "Be like that! See if I care!"

I heard him grab his keys. Heard the front door slam hard enough to rattle the pictures on the walls.

And then silence.

I sank onto the bed, still in my pink skirt and flowery blouse, and let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

He was gone.

For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe.

I caught my reflection in the dresser mirror. The woman staring back looked tired but determined. Strong, maybe. Or at least t

rying to be.

Seven years. I had seven years to figure out how to survive this.

And I'd just taken the first step