Chapter 8

Adrian had spent the last forty-eight hours consumed by a single thought: Isabella is alive. He hadn't slept, hadn't eaten. His entire world had shifted the moment she stood before him in that crimson dress, looking like a dream—then, instantly, a nightmare. She had erased him, smiled, mocked him, and walked away as if their marriage had never existed, as if she had never loved him.

Now, pacing his office, his mind raced. Frustration simmered beneath the surface, his hands clenching into fists. He had exhausted every contact, tried tracing her movements from the night of the gala, but found nothing. No records, no trail. She had covered her tracks well. But Adrian wasn't a man who gave up. He wasn't letting her disappear again.

Across the city, Aria Laurent moved through her new life as if she had always belonged there. She sat in the sleek, modern office of Carter Industries, reviewing investment reports with practiced ease. She had buried herself in work, in strategy, in rebuilding herself into someone Adrian could never control again. But she knew him. She knew he wouldn't let this go. He would try to find her, to pull her back into his orbit. But this time, she wasn't trapped. She was free. And she would make sure he suffered for every moment he had stolen from her.

Adrian had always prided himself on being in control. But tonight, sitting at his bed's edge, scrolling through information on Aria Laurent, he realized he was unraveling. She had rebranded herself flawlessly, establishing connections, influence, a name that held weight in business circles. And she wasn't alone. One name kept appearing beside hers: Liam Carter. Adrian's grip on his phone tightened. His wife—his wife—was working alongside a man he despised.

Liam was a snake—calculated, powerful, and dangerously charming. He had always been in Adrian's periphery, circling but never a significant threat. Until now. Now, Liam wasn't just close; he was beside Isabella. Adrian gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening. She wasn't Isabella anymore. She had made that abundantly clear. She was Aria Laurent, a woman who looked right through him as if he were a stranger. And he couldn't stand it.

Celeste Laurent was furious. Sitting across from Adrian in his penthouse, she tapped her manicured nails against the glass table, watching him with barely concealed rage. "You're obsessed with her," she accused, her eyes flashing.

Adrian didn't look up, his attention fixed on the laptop in front of him, skimming another article on Aria's latest business move. Celeste's lip curled. "She's dead, Adrian. Or at least, she should have been. Why can't you just let this go?"

His head snapped up, his stare sharp enough to make her tense. "Because she's not dead."

Celeste folded her arms. "She might as well be. She's not your wife anymore."

Adrian slammed the laptop shut. "She never stopped being my wife."

Celeste laughed. "She certainly acts like she did."

Adrian exhaled sharply, his patience wearing thin. "What do you want, Celeste?"

She leaned forward, her voice softening, becoming dangerously persuasive. "I want you to wake up," she murmured. "She left you, disappeared, and ensured the world believed she was dead. You don't owe her anything."

Adrian's jaw clenched. "I don't owe her. But I need answers." Celeste's eyes darkened. She had waited years for this moment, for Adrian to finally be vulnerable. But even after Isabella's supposed death, he still wasn't looking at her. He was chasing a ghost. And she wasn't going to let him.

"You know she's playing you, right?" Celeste's voice was calm, measured. "This isn't some grand revenge story. She's just proving she can live without you."

Adrian's gaze flickered. He knew that. He had seen it in her eyes at the gala—the absolute indifference. She wasn't trying to hurt him; she simply didn't care anymore. And that was worse.

Celeste's fingers brushed against his wrist. "She's not coming back. You need to move on."

Adrian hadn't registered her touch, feeling nothing—no warmth, no comfort, only a deep, consuming emptiness. He pulled his hand back, standing. "I need to be alone."

Celeste's lips pressed into a thin line. "Adrian."

"Go, Celeste."

Her fingers curled into fists as she watched him walk away. He wanted to waste his time chasing a woman who didn't want him, but she wouldn't let him.

But Celeste wasn't about to let Isabella—Aria—walk back into Adrian's life so easily. She had worked too hard to lose now. Adrian couldn't stay still. His mind refused to quiet, his thoughts circling the same truth: Aria was alive, moving on, working with Liam Carter.

Adrian had spent months grieving, falling apart over a woman who had willingly walked away, a woman who had chosen to erase him. And for the first time in his life, Adrian didn't know what to do. He had power, influence, and money, but none of that could bring her back. Because she didn't want to come back. He exhaled slowly, leaning against the window of his office, staring down at the city. This wasn't over. She could pretend all she wanted, but he knew better. And he knew that somewhere beneath all that ice, all that distance, she still felt something. She had to. And if there was even the smallest chance of getting her back, he would take it, no matter the cost.

Meanwhile, miles away, Aria sat in her own office, flipping through the reports Liam had given her. But she wasn't reading them. She was thinking about Adrian. Thinking about the way his face had shattered when she had looked through him like he was nothing.