Chapter 62 up
The first lie Selina told herself was that she was only being careful.
She repeated it the way one might repeat a prayer—quietly, with the hope that repetition alone would make it holy.
Careful, not paranoid.
Concerned, not threatened.
Attentive, not insecure.
But the human heart has a cruel instinct: it knows when it is no longer standing on solid ground. And Selina felt the ground shifting beneath her long before she admitted it.
It began with small absences.
Adrian no longer filled silences the way he used to. When she spoke, he listened—but distantly, as though part of him was calculating something elsewhere. His gaze drifted more often. His phone was always face down now, not hidden, just… placed.
Placed with intention.
Selina had never been the kind of woman who searched through someone’s belongings. She believed in dignity—hers and others’. But dignity becomes fragile when doubt seeps into the cracks.
The first time she saw Vanesa’s name on Adrian’s screen, it was by accident.
They were at dinner. Adrian had excused himself to take a call outside. His phone buzzed once on the table. The screen lit up.
Vanesa.
No heart emoji. No hidden nickname. Just her name.
That almost made it worse.
Professional.
Clean.
Unapologetic.
Selina stared at the name until the screen went dark again. Something sharp pressed into her ribs—not anger, not yet.
Recognition.
Vanesa was not a ghost.
She was not a mistake buried in the past.
She was active.
Present.
Relevant.
And Selina hated how much that word stung.
—
A week later, Selina stopped telling herself she was only being careful.
She began observing.
Adrian’s schedule was tight, always had been. Meetings, negotiations, public appearances. Yet lately there were gaps—unlabeled blocks of time.
When she asked about them, Adrian answered without hesitation.
“Strategy discussions.”
“With whom?” she asked lightly.
“Several people.”
That was not a lie.
But it was not the truth either.
Selina could feel the distance widening—not in dramatic gestures, but in the way Adrian no longer instinctively reached for her hand in the car. In the way he no longer asked, “Are you tired?” at the end of the day.
Instead, he asked, “Have you seen the latest report?”
Work had always been part of him. She had accepted that.
But Vanesa was not just work.
Vanesa was history.
And history, Selina realized, is dangerous because it carries proof of something real.
—
The first confrontation was not explosive.
It was quiet.
Selina waited until they were alone in the apartment one evening. Rain traced thin lines down the glass walls, distorting the city lights into trembling streaks.
“Are you still in love with her?” Selina asked.
Adrian did not flinch.
He did not raise his voice.
He did not deny it immediately.
That pause—barely two seconds—cut deeper than any confession could have.
“I care about her,” he said finally.
Selina felt something inside her crack.
“Care,” she repeated.
“She’s important,” Adrian continued, measured. “What we built—what we’re building—it involves her.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Silence again.
Adrian walked toward the window, hands in his pockets. “It’s complicated.”
Selina laughed softly. Not amused—wounded.
“It’s only complicated if you’re afraid of the answer.”
He turned then, eyes tired rather than defensive.
“I chose you,” he said.
That should have been enough.
But Selina heard the missing word.
Not “I choose you.”
Past tense.
Chosen.
A decision already made.
Not one actively defended.
—
After that night, something shifted irreversibly.
They still shared the same bed.
Still attended events together.
Still moved in synchronized patterns that would have convinced anyone watching that nothing was wrong.
But intimacy had changed shape.
It was no longer safe.
Selina began checking things she once trusted blindly.
Meeting locations.
Press releases.
Guest lists.
Vanesa’s name appeared more frequently now—not always next to Adrian’s, but close enough.
She found articles praising Vanesa’s strategic independence. Interviews highlighting her “fearless autonomy.”
Selina read every line.
Every praise felt like an accusation.
Was that what Adrian admired?
Strength that did not need him?
Selina stood in front of her mirror one morning and studied her reflection longer than usual.
She was elegant.
Composed.
Respected.
But suddenly she felt… replaceable.
Vanesa, she realized, did not try to fit into Adrian’s world.
She built her own.
And perhaps that was the difference.
—
The second confrontation was not quiet.
It happened in Adrian’s office.
Selina had not planned to come. She told herself she was nearby. That it was coincidence.
But when she stepped out of the elevator and saw the closed conference room door—with Adrian’s assistant hesitating before speaking—she knew.
“They’re inside,” the assistant said carefully.
“They?” Selina asked.
A small pause.
“Mr. Adrian and Ms. Vanesa.”
Selina did not knock.
She opened the door.
The room fell silent instantly.
Vanesa stood near the table, mid-sentence. Adrian was leaning forward, focused.
Focused in a way Selina had not seen directed at her in months.
For a brief second, all three of them simply looked at one another.
No shouting.
No scandal.
Just the unbearable weight of context.
“I didn’t realize this was confidential,” Selina said evenly.
Adrian straightened. “We’re in the middle of something.”
“So I see.”
Vanesa did not look guilty.
That irritated Selina more than if she had.
She looked calm. Grounded. As though she belonged in that room.
“I won’t interrupt,” Selina added. “Continue.”
But she did not leave.
She waited.
For Adrian to introduce her properly.
For him to clarify.
For him to create a boundary.
Instead, he said quietly, “Selina, we’ll talk later.”
We’ll talk later.
Not “You belong here.”
Not “Stay.”
Later.
Selina nodded once, controlled.
Then she walked out.
Her hands trembled only when the elevator doors closed.
—
Jealousy had once been a flicker.
Now it was a fire she could no longer contain inside her ribs.
But beneath the jealousy was something more dangerous.
Fear.
Not of losing Adrian.
But of realizing she had already lost something essential.
Trust.
Trust is not destroyed in one dramatic explosion.
It erodes.
Layer by layer.
Conversation by conversation.
Pause by pause.
That night, Adrian returned home late.
Selina was waiting.
“You embarrassed me,” he said first.
She blinked slowly. “I embarrassed you?”
“You walked into a private meeting.”
“You walked into my relationship with her months ago.”
The words hung in the air like a blade.
Adrian inhaled sharply. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
He stepped closer, frustration surfacing. “You think this is about romance? This is bigger than that.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m the outsider?”
He did not answer.
Because he didn’t know.
Because perhaps, in some ways, she was.
—
That was the night Selina stopped pretending she was only reacting.
She began acting.
Not recklessly.
Strategically.
If Vanesa was influence, Selina would secure alliances.
If Vanesa was autonomy, Selina would become indispensable.
She arranged meetings without telling Adrian first.
Spoke to investors.
Strengthened her public presence.
Every move calculated.
Not to destroy Vanesa.
But to ensure she herself could not be removed.
Yet each victory felt hollow.
Because none of it addressed the real question.
Did Adrian still see her as his partner?
Or merely as the stable option?
—
Weeks later, the inevitable happened.
A media outlet published a photograph.
Adrian and Vanesa leaving a late-night strategy session.
Close proximity.
Intense expressions.
The headline did not accuse.
It suggested.
Speculation spread quickly.
Selina read the article alone in her office.
Her chest felt strangely calm.
The storm had been inside her for so long that seeing it externalized almost felt relieving.
When Adrian called, she did not answer immediately.
She let it ring.
Let him feel, even for a moment, the uncertainty she had been living with.
When she finally picked up, his voice was tight.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
Selina closed her eyes.
“What does it look like, Adrian?”
Silence.
Because sometimes the truth is not in the facts.
It is in the feeling.
And the feeling was this:
She was no longer certain of her place.
—
That evening, they sat across from each other at the dining table.
No raised voices.
No dramatic gestures.
Just two people confronting the possibility that love might not survive erosion.
“I need to know,” Selina said quietly. “If she asked you to choose, what would you do?”
Adrian looked at her as though she had asked him to split himself in half.
“She wouldn’t,” he said.
“That’s not the question.”
He leaned back, exhausted.
“I don’t want to lose either of you.”
Selina’s lips curved in something that wasn’t a smile.
“That’s not how this works.”
For the first time, Adrian looked afraid.
Not of scandal.
Not of reputation.
But of consequence.
Because choices, once forced, cannot be undone.
Selina stood slowly.
“I don’t need you to hate her,” she said. “I don’t even need you to stop working with her.”
She met his eyes.
“But I need to know that when the world pulls you in two directions… you don’t hesitate.”
Her voice softened.
“Today, you hesitated.”
Adrian opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
There was nothing to argue.
Because it was true.
—
Later, alone in their bedroom, Selina sat on the edge of the bed and allowed herself to feel the full weight of it.
Jealousy had brought her here.
But jealousy was not the final enemy.
Uncertainty was.
She had entered this relationship believing she stood beside Adrian.
Equal.
Chosen.
Certain.
Now she felt like someone waiting to see if she would be kept.
And she refused to live like that.
Across the apartment, Adrian stood in the dark living room, staring out at the city.
He had never intended for it to become this.
He had told himself he could balance both worlds.
That loyalty and history and love could coexist without collision.
But something had broken.
Not loudly.
Not visibly.
But undeniably.
And once trust fractures, it does not shatter all at once.
It leaves a thin line across the surface—almost invisible.
Until pressure reveals it completely.
In the silence of that night, neither of them said the words forming in their minds.
Selina thought:
If I have to fight for my place, then maybe it was never secure.
Adrian thought:
If loving two different truths makes me wrong, then someone will have to walk away.
The distance between them was no longer measured in steps across a room.
It was measured in doubt.
And doubt, once rooted, does not fade easily.
It waits.
It grows.
And it asks a question neither of them was ready to answer:
When trust breaks, what is left to hold on to?