Part 119
She stood outside the studio door for a long time, just breathing.
In. Out. In again.
Her fingers grazed the handle, cold metal grounding her as her thoughts spiraled.
Adrian's song still echoed in her mind — not the beauty of it, but the meaning hidden beneath.
She could almost feel the defiance in it now.
Every soft note had been a lie dressed as tenderness.
He'd fooled her again.
Her eyes burned. Not from tears — from humiliation.
She'd believed him when he said he was happy, when he smiled at breakfast, when he promised this quiet life was enough.
And all that time, he'd been planning his escape.
She pushed the door open.
Adrian was there, sitting on the floor beside the couch, sketching something on a scrap of paper.
He looked up immediately, his expression calm — too calm.
"You're up early," he said softly.
The sound of his voice should have soothed her. Instead, it scraped against her nerves like glass.
"Where did you send it?"
He froze. A tiny flicker — just one — but she saw it.
The pause. The subtle tightening in his shoulders.
"Send what?"
She laughed. It came out low, brittle. "Don't do that, Adrian. Not with me."
She crossed the room slowly, her bare feet silent against the wooden floor.
He stood, careful, like someone facing a wild animal.
"Alex," he began, "you're overthinking this—"
"Stop." Her voice cut through the air, trembling, but sharp.
"I saw it. The song. Our song. The one you said was for me."
He didn't speak. Didn't deny it. That was all the answer she needed.
She took another step, and another, until there was barely a breath between them.
Her eyes searched his — looking for guilt, for apology, for something.
But all she found was quiet resolve.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why couldn't you just stay here? We were happy."
He said nothing.
Her hand twitched, wanting to touch his face, wanting to strike it — she didn't know which.
The silence between them turned heavy, electric, dangerous.
"They'll come for you now," she said. "Do you understand that? They'll ruin everything."
He finally looked at her then — really looked — and said quietly,
"Maybe that's what needs to happen."
For a second, the room seemed to tilt.
Her vision blurred, her pulse thundering in her ears.
She stepped back, trembling from head to toe.
And then, in a voice that didn't sound like hers, she whispered,
"If you think I'll let them take you again… you don't know me at all."