The World Watches

Adrian stood by the big window in the suite, with the morning sun spilling golden rays over the pricey rug. His shirt was half-buttoned, sleeves rolled up, and his tie was lying somewhere on the table next to a cup of cold coffee.

 He hadn’t slept a wink. His mind kept going back to last night. Amelia. Unconscious. Pale. Hurt. Gray. Just thinking about that name made his jaw clench. He ran a hand through his hair, staring blankly at the skyline.

The city was buzzing with life—traffic and chatter everywhere. But in his room, it felt dense and quiet, only interrupted now and then by the beep of Amelia’s phone charging on the nightstand.

She was still in bed, and he’d been checking on her every hour, making sure she was breathing okay and wasn’t in pain. The doctor had promised her body was fine, no lasting damage. But the emotional scars? Those were a whole different ballgame.

He hated seeing her like that, so vulnerable. The woman he married was sharp, sarcastic, and a real fighter, never broken. But something had shattered last night. Suddenly, his phone buzzed on the table. Adrian glanced at it. Unknown Number. He picked it up slowly and answered.

 “Adrian Cole.” Nothing.

Then a rough, mocking voice came through.

“Nice punch. Broke two ribs. You must really like your fake little wife.”

 Adrian's hand turned into a fist. “Gray.”

The guy laughed. “You think last night was it? You think you won? That was just my hello. Next time, I won’t be so nice.”

 “If you come near her again—”

“What are you gonna do? Hurt me more? I expected more from you, Cole. Or maybe you’re too busy playing house with a woman who doesn’t even like you.”

The call cut off. Adrian didn’t realize how tightly he was holding the phone until his knuckles turned pale.

“Damn it,” he muttered, tossing the phone on the table. Just as he was trying to collect his thoughts, the door creaked open. Lyra walked in, wearing a beige pantsuit, her heels softly clicking on the floor.

 She stopped when she saw Adrian, her brow furrowing.

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” he replied flatly.

“You missed brunch. Everyone’s buzzing about it. Your aunt even asked where the bride and groom disappeared to last night. I told her you both were overwhelmed, but now I wish I’d just said food poisoning.” Adrian shot her a look.

“Is there a reason you’re here, Lyra?” She stepped closer, arms crossed.

 “Something went down last night. Don’t even try to play dumb. I saw the look on your face when you came back into the hall. You were furious. And Amelia never showed up.”

“She was tired.” Lyra rolled her eyes.

“Come on, don’t act like I’m clueless. You barely knew her three months ago, and now you’re hitched? And you’re growling at anyone who goes near her. What are you hiding?”

He pivoted away, making his way to the window once more.

"Nothing for you to fret over."

Her gaze lingered on him, almost as if she were trying to pierce through his facade. After what felt like an eternity, she fished a crumpled newspaper from her bag and casually tossed it onto the table.

The front page bore a distorted image of Adrian storming away from the courtyard, alongside a shot of Gray, hood drawn tightly around his face, gripping his side as he exited the event.

Headline: What Became of the Bride After the Dance?

Adrian cursed quietly. Although the article was a fabric of lies, it wasn’t entirely disconnected from reality.

After that enigmatic stranger delivered his vague warning, Adrian had thrown himself into every room within reach on the floor. Panic fluttered in his chest as he swung open the fourth door only to find it occupied by couples lost in their own worlds. The following three doors were empty, and frustration crept in. Inhaling deeply, he tried the next door.

It was locked. Odd, given that the others stood open, despite being occupied.

Perhaps it was locked for privacy. Just as he began to turn away, he caught faint sounds from behind the door. Without a moment’s hesitation, he kicked it open.

And there she lay—half-dressed on the bed.

"Feel free to join," Gray sauntered out from the bathroom.

Without a second thought, Adrian lunged at him, delivering a flurry of blows.

A flicker of regret crossed his mind for not finishing it in that instant.

"I informed the press you just stepped out for a breather," Lyra spoke softly. "But this won’t just vanish. You’re aware of that, right? Someone has a lead. Whether it’s a video or just gossip."

"She doesn’t deserve this right now," Adrian muttered, a heaviness in his voice.

"And neither do you. Look, I’m indifferent to the arrangement you and Amelia have, but whatever transpired last night appeared significant. If someone harmed her—"

Adrian interrupted, his voice low and menacing. "He won't get another chance."

That was all he needed to say.

Lyra blinked, realization dawning. "So it was him. That man... Gray."

Adrian nodded once, resolute. "He’s not finished. I need to uncover his motives."

Lyra scrutinized him for a heartbeat longer, then her expression softened. "Is she alright?"

"Not exactly. But she’s resilient."

Lyra paused, then offered, "Tell her I’m here if she requires anything, even if she’s always been a touch... challenging."

Adrian chuckled softly. "She’d take that as a compliment."

Amelia embodied the essence of strength with a stubborn streak; she would never seek help, even in her time of need.

Lyra bestowed him a gentle smile before departing, her heels echoing on the polished marble.

He turned his focus back to the window, but his thoughts lingered elsewhere.

They remained within that bedroom. With her.

He would have to inform her about the cryptic call.

He must shield her, once more.

For regardless of how this saga began or the barriers that loomed ahead...

Adrian had shed all pretense.

He meant every word when he declared: Don’t lay a finger on my wife.