Chapter 33: The Other Woman
I sat in the sitting room for what felt like hours, the medication making time stretch and compress in ways that felt both natural and deeply wrong. Through the closed door, I could hear the murmur of voices from Adrian’s study—his low, controlled tones mixing with Sabrina’s higher, more emotional responses.
Sabrina. The name rolled through my mind like a marble in an empty box, significant but without context.
When Adrian finally emerged, his usually perfect composure was slightly ruffled—tie loosened, hair disturbed as if he’d been running his fingers through it. But his smile when he saw me was warm and reassuring.
“I’m sorry about that disruption,” he said, settling beside me on the sofa and pulling me into his arms. “Some people have difficulty accepting when relationships end.”
“Relationships?” I asked, though the question felt strangely heavy on my tongue.
“Sabrina Keats,” Adrian explained, his thumb stroking along my arm in the soothing pattern I’d grown to love. “We had a brief… acquaintance a few years ago. Nothing serious, but she seems to have built it into something more significant in her mind.”
Acquaintance. The word felt deliberately vague, but through the pharmaceutical fog, I couldn’t quite grasp why that might matter.
“She seemed upset,” I observed.
“Sabrina has always been dramatic,” Adrian said dismissively. “Her father spoiled her terribly—gave her everything she wanted without teaching her that other people have feelings too. When she decided she wanted something I couldn’t give her, she… didn’t handle the disappointment well.”
“What did she want?”
Adrian’s arms tightened around me possessively. “Me. But I was already completely devoted to someone else.”
Someone else. Through the medicated haze, I felt a warm glow at being that someone, at being chosen over a woman who was undeniably beautiful and polished.
“Is she gone now?” I asked.
“Yes. Thomas escorted her off the property with clear instructions not to return.” Adrian pressed a kiss to my temple. “I’ve also called her father. Harrison Keats is a respected businessman—not quite in our tier, but influential enough. He’ll make sure Sabrina gets the help she obviously needs.”
Our tier. The casual way Adrian categorized people into hierarchies should have bothered me, but instead it just reinforced how lucky I was to be married to someone so successful and well-connected.
“What did she mean about knowing every room and secret?” I asked, the question surfacing through the fog of contentment.
Adrian went very still for just a moment—so briefly I might have imagined it.
“Sabrina has a vivid imagination,” he said carefully. “And a tendency to exaggerate her importance in other people’s lives. She may have been a guest at a few business functions over the years, but she was never… significant.”
Never significant. So why had she seemed so familiar with the house? Why had she spoken with such intimate knowledge of Adrian’s life?
But the questions felt slippery, difficult to hold onto through the gentle chemical peace that made everything seem manageable and right.
“I trust you,” I said, meaning it completely. “If you say she wasn’t important, then she wasn’t important.”
“That’s my perfect girl,” Adrian murmured, his satisfaction obvious. “Always so understanding, so willing to trust my judgment.”
Perfect girl. The praise washed over me like warm honey, reinforcing the rightness of deferring to his superior knowledge and experience.
“Though I have to ask,” Adrian continued, his tone carefully casual, “did anything she said… resonate with you? Trigger any uncomfortable feelings or memories?”
Memories. The word stirred something unpleasant in the depths of my medicated consciousness—a sense of things forgotten, important things that remained just out of reach.
“No,” I said quickly, pushing away the discomfort. “Should it have?”
“Of course not,” Adrian replied smoothly. “I just know that sometimes when people make wild accusations or dramatic scenes, it can be unsettling even when we know they’re lying.”
Lying. Had Sabrina been lying? About what, exactly? The medication made it hard to remember the specifics of what she’d actually said.
“Dr. Hayes’s treatment is working well,” I said instead, letting my head rest against Adrian’s chest. “I feel so much more peaceful lately. More… settled.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Adrian said, his hand stroking through my hair with possessive tenderness. “Peace of mind is so important. Especially for someone who used to struggle with anxiety and… overactive imagination.”
Overactive imagination. Had that been a problem for me? It was hard to remember being any different from the calm, contented woman I was now.
“Will Sabrina be back?” I asked, though the question felt distant and unimportant.
“No,” Adrian said with absolute certainty. “She knows better than to disturb our happiness again.”
Our happiness. Yes, that’s what mattered. Not whatever delusions or claims some desperate woman might make, but the beautiful life Adrian and I had built together.
“I love you,” I said, the words flowing easily through the pharmaceutical peace.
“And I love you,” Adrian replied, his arms tightening around me like a promise and a prison combined. “My perfect, trusting, completely devoted wife.”
Devoted wife. That’s who I was now. That’s who I’d always been, really, once I’d learned to trust Adrian’s guidance and let go of whatever confusion had plagued me in the early days of our marriage.
As evening settled over the estate, as Adrian held me close and murmured plans for our future social engagements, I felt nothing but profound gratitude for the life he’d given me.
Whatever Sabrina Keats thought she knew, whatever wild accusations she’d come here to make, they belonged to someone else’s story.
I was Mrs. Adrian Thorne, perfectly content with my beautiful marriage and the peaceful existence my husband had so carefully crafted for me.
Even if, in the deepest corners of my medicated mind, something was screaming that contentment shouldn’t feel so much like suffocation.
But that voice was getting quieter all the time, drowned out by the chemical quiet that made everything so much easier to bear.
Soon, I was sure, it would disappear entirely.
And then I would be truly perfect.