The ride home from the party was quiet. Adrian's jaw was set, his hands steady on the wheel, but his eyes never strayed from the road. Beside him, Elara clutched her small purse, her mind replaying the evening—the admiring stares, the disgusting looks from Samantha's parents, and the way Adrian had introduced her as his wife with practiced ease.
When they reached the mansion, Adrian walked in first, loosening his tie, his demeanor as calm and unreadable as ever. Elara followed, her heart heavy with unspoken questions.
"Adrian," she finally called.
He turned slightly, one eyebrow raised. "What is it?"
She bit her lip, hesitant but determined. "Back at the party… when you introduced me as your wife, did you mean it? Or was it just… part of the act?"
For a moment, his gaze lingered on her, and something softened—almost too faint to catch. But it was gone as quickly as it came. His voice was cold, steady.
"It doesn't matter, Elara. We're not real couples. You shouldn't let that bother you."
Her lips curved into a small, painful smile, though her eyes betrayed her disappointment. "You're right. It shouldn't."
She turned before he could say more, retreating quickly to her room. The soft click of the door shutting behind her was like a knife in the silence.
Inside, Elara leaned against the door, her chest tightening. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to swallow the ache threatening to spill out. But when she finally slid onto her bed, the tears came, quiet and relentless.
She buried her face in the pillow, muffling her sobs. "Why does it hurt?" she whispered to herself. "It's just a contract… so why does it hurt?"
Meanwhile, in the living room, Adrian sat heavily on the sofa, glass in hand. Elara's pained eyes wouldn't leave his mind. He closed his own, and memories of high school returned—the betrayal of a friend who had mocked his feelings, turning his first confession into a cruel joke. The sound of laughter in the hallways still echoed in his chest.
It was that betrayal that had built the walls around his heart, walls he refused to let anyone climb. Not even Elara.
Still, as he walked past her door later that night, his steps slowed. His hand hovered in the air, as if he wanted to knock. But he didn't.
Instead, he whispered to himself, almost as though convincing his own heart:
"This is just a contract. Nothing more."
And with that, he walked away, leaving two wounded hearts behind closed doors.