Lines Are Blurring

POV: Amelia

Since the night we exchanged vows, Adrian had transformed. Words had always escaped him, but now an added weight lingered in his silences. The air turned electric with unspoken tension every time he entered the room, charged with a watchful vigilance. He was always attuned to his surroundings, but now his gaze would linger on me, especially when he thought my attention lay elsewhere, as though he was anticipating something just beyond my reach or safeguarding a secret.

I was acutely aware of these changes; I observed every detail.

I was perched beside the expansive living room window of the estate, wearing a delicate silk blouse and relaxed trousers, my legs tucked beneath me. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting shimmering golden mosaics across the marble floor. Adrian slipped in quietly, cradling a steaming mug of tea with chamomile, my favorite. He set it down beside me with tender care, without uttering a sound. Startled, I glanced up.

“Thanks,” I replied after a lingering silence.

He simply nodded and crossed to the far side of the room.

This was our new normal, gentle gestures veiled in thick, palpable silence. He hadn't once inquired about my feelings since the incident, yet his presence was an unbreakable constant. When nightfall brought nightmares echoing with distant laughter, it was Adrian who watched over me, alert as if danger could materialize at any moment.

His hands had not brushed my skin, not once, not even to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. This absence, curiously, twisted my heart with an inexplicable tension.

I grappled with my feelings for him. This was meant to be a business arrangement, devoid of emotional entanglement. He was younger, reserved, with an undeniable ruggedness, a fighter, a former boxer. Yet beneath that exterior lay a serene strength, the kind that didn’t need to be showcased.

My fingers traced the faint bruise on my wrist, a silent reminder of the night’s turmoil, one I hadn't even registered in the moment. But Adrian had. The instant we were alone, he’d taken my hand, his touch a tender balm that unlocked something deep within me.

“Does it hurt?” he murmured, his thumb lightly grazing the bruise.

“No,” I said.

His expression betrayed skepticism, his brow furrowing for just a fleeting moment before he chose to let it slide. That fleeting instant replayed in vivid detail in my mind.

Now, across the room, he stood in his customary black shirt and dark jeans, the enigma of his presence pulling at my thoughts. I knew I should feel nothing, such was the condition of our arrangement. No feelings, no bonds.

Yet here I stood, pondering the identity of the late-night texter I didn’t know. Curiosity danced in my mind about why he’d brushed off Lyra’s playful advances at breakfast. I couldn’t shake the sensation that something electric stirred when our fingers grazed.

Later that day, I made my way to my lawyer’s office, Ms. Clara Reynolds, to delve into the tangled web of Lucias custody hearing.

“You seem more composed than during our last encounter,” Clara remarked, her eyes scanning through a stack of paperwork.

I shrugged in response. “I’m giving it my best. It’s all so chaotic.”

Clara lifted her gaze. “I thought it prudent to mention the judge overseeing your case? He has a penchant for endorsing stable family dynamics. If your husband appears smitten, it may tip the scales in your favor.”

A lump formed in my throat. “We’re not quite... that.”

Clara raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps it’s time to start pretending. Just until this concludes.”

Those words trailed me as I returned home. Pretend, as if the lines hadn’t already begun to blur without me even noticing.

That evening, I noticed Adrian’s door ajar. I hesitated but was drawn by the sound of water cascading in a shower. On a whim, I pushed the door wider. His room was immaculate, almost too pristine, as if it held little trace of his existence. A lone photo graced his dresser, depicting him with someone unfamiliar, perhaps a mother or an old friend; I couldn’t ascertain.

Just as I planned to slip away, a fragment of memory struck me.

The alleyway.

Months prior, a man had snatched my purse. I was paralyzed, stunned into silence; then Adrian appeared calm and formidable. I recalled the echo of his fist connecting with the thief’s jaw, bones shattering beneath the force. He had escorted me home quietly, his presence reassuring until I felt safe enough to drift into slumber.

I had enlisted his help the very next day.

Back in my room, I perched on the bed, gazing into the vanity mirror. “What are you doing?” I murmured. This wasn't love; it was merely contractual. Yet, I couldn’t quell the peculiar flutter in my chest when he looked at me with such intensity as if I transcended my role, becoming something more personal.

The following morning, I entered the kitchen to find Adrian already there, brewing coffee. The aroma enveloped my senses.

“Morning,” he said softly.

“Morning,” I echoed.

My gaze landed on the bandage wrapped around his knuckle.

“What happened?” I inquired.

“Boxing bag,” he replied tersely.

Concern furrowed my brow. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Our eyes lingered for an unnaturally long moment.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

Adrian shifted into alert mode, instincts sharp. I followed in his wake.

At the threshold stood a woman donning a navy-blue suit, a clipboard in hand, and an expression that was both gentle and resolute.

“Mrs. Hayes?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“I’m Mrs. Dalton, Lucia’s new teacher. I hope I’m not disrupting anything, I happened to be in the vicinity and wanted to drop off some material before the semester kicks off.”

I blinked, momentarily flustered. “Of course, yes. Please, come in.”

As I ushered the woman inside, I felt Adrian’s hand brush my back in a protective, almost instinctual way.

When I met his gaze, I realized he was no longer pretending.

And I wasn’t either.

That truth terrified me more than anything.