Chapter 4

Adrian was silent for a long time.

So long that I thought he would never speak—that his silence was consent to let this end.

Then he suddenly took my hand and pressed it against his chest.

The opposite of my own pounding heart.

He was perfectly calm.

"I don't know," he said.

"You're beautiful. Your long hair looks nice. The dresses you wear look nice..."

"And if I don't dress up?" I cut him off.

Adrian opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"Would you like me bare-faced?"

"Would you like me if I stopped catering to you?"

He frowned, the confusion deepening in his eyes, as though he couldn't fathom why I would say such things.

I swept everything off my vanity—foundations, palettes, brushes—and carried it all out in my arms, dumping it across the living room floor.

No mirror—just six years of muscle memory—sat right there on the ground and started painting my face.

The final step: lipstick.

I looked up at Adrian, stretching my mouth into a grotesque smile.

"Do you like me like this?"

Without waiting for a response, I rushed into the bedroom and dug through the closet full of lace nightgowns for the prettiest one.

I walked back to Adrian and spun around, unsteady on my feet.

"Do you like this?"

I saw Adrian hesitate, then nod.

I grabbed a fistful of my waist-length hair—the hair I'd grown for him, maintained for him, never once cut for him—and hacked it off.

Black strands fell around my feet like something dead.

Then I snatched the nightgown off its hanger—the lace one, the expensive one, the one that dug into my skin every night—and cut it to ribbons.

I dragged my hands across my face, smearing the lipstick, the foundation, the blush, until I couldn't tell what was makeup and what was tears.

I grabbed Adrian by the collar, laughing as I asked: "And now? Do you still like me?"

"Say something."

"Say something!!"

Adrian shoved me away. A rare flash of anger crossed his face.

"Have you lost your mind?!"

I staggered back several steps before finding my balance.

Before the sadness came despair—seeping into every inch of skin and bone, a pain so complete I couldn't scream, couldn't cry.

"What the hell has gotten into you？"

I started laughing.

Doubled over, gasping for air, laughing until my voice gave out.

"Adrian, what about Jessie?" I asked.

Adrian said nothing. He smoothed the wrinkles I'd grabbed into his shirt, bent down, and began picking up the mess.

I swept everything he'd gathered right back onto the floor.

Nearly hysterical.

"I'm asking you!"

Adrian spread his hands, exasperated. "What about her?"

"A senior colleague looking out for a junior. Is that a crime?"

I asked only one thing.

"Do you like her?"

His answer was matter-of-fact: "I'm fond of her."

"She's not like you, Nancy. She doesn't overthink everything."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't bother her."

This was the first time I'd ever heard Adrian openly admit to liking someone.

In that instant, six years of love disintegrated into nothing.

"Fine," I said.