Adrian's POV
The doorbell rang at exactly 10 AM, and I dropped my coffee mug.
It shattered on the kitchen floor, hot liquid everywhere, and I just stood there staring at the mess like an idiot. My hands were shaking. Why were my hands shaking?
"I'll get it," Emma said coldly, walking past me toward the door.
She'd barely spoken to me since last night. She'd made breakfast in silence, handed me coffee without looking at me, and now she was opening the door to welcome the woman who'd destroyed me five years ago.
Everything was definitely not fine.
I heard Vivian's laugh before I saw her—that musical sound that used to make my heart race. Now it just made my stomach hurt.
"Emma! Oh my God, you look so different!" Vivian's voice carried through the penthouse. "Did you cut your hair? It's so... short."
"It's the same length it's been for three years," Emma replied. Her voice was flat.
"Really? I guess I just remembered it longer." Footsteps clicked toward the kitchen. "Where's Adrian? I'm dying to see him!"
I grabbed paper towels and knelt down to clean up the coffee, buying myself a few more seconds. I was thirty-two years old, CEO of a billion-dollar company, and I was hiding from a woman by cleaning up a mess on the floor.
Marcus was right. I was a coward.
"Adrian!" Vivian appeared in the doorway, and suddenly I was twenty-seven again, watching her reject my proposal at her going-away party.
She looked exactly the same. Same perfect smile, same confident walk, same way of lighting up a room just by being in it.
I stood up. "Vivian. Welcome back."
She rushed forward and hugged me before I could step away. Her arms wrapped around my neck, and she held on too long—way too long. Her perfume was different, something expensive and French, and it made me want to sneeze.
"I missed you so much," she whispered in my ear. "We have so much to talk about."
Over her shoulder, I saw Emma standing in the doorway. Her face was blank, but her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. She looked small. Hurt. Like she was watching something break and couldn't stop it.
I pushed Vivian back gently. "It's good to see you. How was Paris?"
"Amazing! Terrible! Both!" She laughed and finally let me go. "My ex-husband was a nightmare, but I built an incredible fashion business. I'm actually here to expand it to New York." She turned to Emma. "Thanks for letting me crash here, little sis. I promise I won't be in your way."
The way she said "little sis" made it sound like Emma was a child, not a grown woman. I saw Emma's jaw tighten.
"You said you were bringing someone special?" Emma asked. Her voice was too casual, too controlled.
"Oh! Yes!" Vivian clapped her hands together. "He's bringing up my luggage. You're going to love him. He's—"
The doorbell rang again.
Vivian practically ran to answer it. Emma and I stood in the kitchen, not looking at each other, listening to my sister-in-law's excited chatter.
"Come in, come in! Let me introduce you to everyone!"
Footsteps. Multiple footsteps. Vivian led someone into the kitchen, and my entire world tilted sideways.
The man following her was Marcus.
My best friend Marcus. My married best friend Marcus.
He was carrying three designer suitcases and looking deeply uncomfortable.
"Surprise!" Vivian sang out. "Marcus and I reconnected in Paris last month! Isn't it crazy?"
I stared at Marcus. He stared back, his face pale.
"What's going on?" I asked slowly.
"It's not what it looks like," Marcus said quickly.
"It's exactly what it looks like!" Vivian wrapped her arm through Marcus's. "We bumped into each other at a fashion show in Paris. His wife was away on business—"
"My wife was visiting her sick mother," Marcus interrupted sharply.
"—and we got to talking, and we just clicked, you know? Like old times!" Vivian beamed at me. "Remember how close we all were in college? The three musketeers?"
I remembered. Marcus, Vivian, and me. Before Vivian and I started dating. Before everything got complicated.
"Marcus, what is she talking about?" I demanded.
"Nothing happened, Adrian. I ran into her at a fashion show my company was sponsoring. We had coffee. Once. That's it." Marcus pulled his arm free from Vivian's grip. "I came to help with her luggage because she texted saying she had too many bags. I'm leaving right now."
"Oh, don't be silly!" Vivian pouted. "Stay for lunch! We can all catch up like old times!"
"I have a wife at home," Marcus said firmly. "Unlike some people, I don't forget that."
The room went silent. That comment was aimed at me, and we all knew it.
Emma moved first. "I'll make lunch. Vivian, your room is down the hall. Marcus can help you with your bags, then he should go home to his wife."
She said "wife" like it was a weapon.
Marcus grabbed two suitcases. "Vivian, show me which room."
They disappeared down the hall, leaving me alone with Emma and Vivian's third suitcase.
"She's exactly the same," Emma said quietly. "Walks into a room and makes everything about her."
"Emma—"
"Did you notice how long she hugged you? Did you notice how she didn't ask about our marriage, our life, anything about us?" Emma's voice was shaking now. "She's been here ten minutes and already she's flirting with you and making Marcus uncomfortable and treating me like I'm invisible."
"You're not invisible."
She laughed bitterly. "Yes, Adrian. I am. I've been invisible to you for five years. And now Vivian's here, and I'm going to disappear completely."
"That's not true—"
"Isn't it?" She stepped closer. "Tell me the truth. When she hugged you, did you feel something?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. I didn't know what to say because I didn't know what I'd felt. Awkward? Uncomfortable? Nostalgic? Annoyed?
My silence was answer enough.
Emma nodded slowly. "That's what I thought."
She turned to leave, but I caught her wrist. "Wait. Emma, I don't have feelings for Vivian anymore. That was years ago."
"Then why can't you look me in the eye and say it?"
I looked at her. Really looked at her for the first time in months. Her eyes were red-rimmed like she'd been crying. She had dark circles under her eyes like she hadn't slept. She looked exhausted and sad and beautiful, and I'd never even noticed.
"I don't love Vivian," I said clearly. "I don't want Vivian. That part of my life is over."
"But you loved her once," Emma whispered. "You loved her enough to propose. You've never loved me at all."
Before I could answer, Vivian's voice rang out from down the hall: "Adrian! Can you come here for a second? I need your opinion on something!"
Emma pulled her wrist free. "Your ex-girlfriend needs you. Better run."
She walked away, and I stood there like an idiot, torn between following my wife and answering Vivian's call.
Marcus appeared in the hallway. "Don't even think about going to her room, Adrian. I'm leaving. This whole situation is a mess."
"What did she say to you?" I demanded. "What really happened in Paris?"
Marcus's face went dark. "She tried to kiss me. Said she'd made a mistake five years ago—not just leaving you, but leaving 'us.' I told her I'm married and she's delusional. Then she laughed and said she was just testing my loyalty." He grabbed his coat. "Adrian, that woman is playing games. Don't let her mess up your marriage any more than you already have."
He left, slamming the door behind him.
I stood in the kitchen, hearing Emma washing dishes, hearing Vivian humming in the guest room, and suddenly I understood.
Vivian didn't come back for family support. She came back for me. And she was planning to take me away from Emma, whether I wanted it or not.
The question was: what was I going to do about it?
I walked toward the sound of running water, toward my wife, ready to finally have the conversation we should have had five years ago.
But when I reached the kitchen, Emma was gone.
And on the counter was a note in her handwriting:
"Gone to clear my head. Don't wait up."
The same words I'd texted her last night.
She'd left. And I had no idea if she was coming back.