The morning after the storm felt heavier than the night itself.Rain had stopped, but the house still smelled like it — damp earth, wet marble, and something sharp and metallic beneath it all: the scent of heartbreak.Maya woke alone.Adrian hadn’t come to bed. The other side of the mattress was untouched, cold as stone.She lay still for a long time, watching sunlight creep across the ceiling, her stomach tightening with every breath. The silence in the mansion wasn’t peaceful — it was suffocating.Finally, she pushed herself up, slipped into one of Adrian’s oversized shirts, and walked downstairs.He was there — sitting at the dining table, still in yesterday’s clothes, eyes fixed on the paternity report in front of him. The paper was wrinkled, coffee-stained, like he’d been staring at it for hours.“Adrian,” she said softly.He didn’t look up. “You should eat something.”“I’m not hungry.”“Neither am I.”Maya hesitated, then walked closer. “We’ll figure this out.”He finally met he
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