The next morning, Lena told herself she wouldn't think about the way Adrian had caught her, the way his hand had lingered for just a second too long. She buried the memory deep, hiding it beneath the noise of pouring coffee and the rustle of newspapers.
But fate had other plans.
Adrian appeared at the breakfast table, already dressed in another crisp suit, his expression unreadable. "You'll be coming with me again today," he said, as if it were not a request but a fact.
Lena's heart lurched. "To the office?"
"No. A luncheon." He glanced at her briefly. "Investors. Social figures. You'll need to get used to them."
The words dropped like stones in her stomach. Another battlefield she wasn't prepared for.
Hours later, Lena found herself standing in the glittering lobby of a five-star hotel, surrounded by people who looked like they'd stepped out of magazines. Men in tailored suits, women draped in couture, laughter chiming like silver bells as champagne glasses clinked.
Adrian moved through the crowd like he owned it—because, in many ways, he did. Lena trailed beside him, her arm lightly hooked through his as instructed, but the weight of curious stares pressed down on her again.
And then she appeared.
A woman with flawless hair swept into an elegant knot, lips painted a daring red, and eyes that gleamed with practiced charm. She was beautiful in a way that demanded attention. The kind of beauty Lena had only seen in glossy magazines.
"Adrian," the woman purred, gliding forward as if the world bent for her. "It's been far too long."
Lena stiffened.
Adrian's expression didn't change, though his voice cooled a fraction. "Clara."
The name alone was enough to make Lena's stomach twist. Clara leaned in, brushing a kiss against Adrian's cheek with the ease of someone who had done it countless times before.
And then her gaze flicked to Lena. Assessing. Dismissing. The smile that followed was razor-sharp.
"And you must be…" Clara let the words dangle, her eyes sweeping over Lena's simple dress with faint amusement.
Lena swallowed. "I'm his wife."
The laughter around them dimmed just enough for the words to sting louder than intended. Clara's eyebrows lifted, her smile widening as if she'd just uncovered a delicious secret.
"Wife," she repeated slowly, savoring the word. "How… unexpected."
The sting in Lena's chest was immediate, but Adrian's arm tightened ever so slightly around hers. His voice was calm, cutting.
"Lena is my wife," he said evenly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "And she belongs here."
Clara's smile faltered—just for a second—before she laughed lightly, turning the conversation toward safer waters. But the damage was done. Lena could feel the eyes, the judgment, the unspoken comparison she could never win.
As the luncheon went on, Adrian spoke with investors and smiled at partners, his mask of composure never faltering. But Lena couldn't shake Clara's words.
How unexpected.
When the event finally ended, Lena excused herself to the ladies' room just to breathe. She gripped the marble sink, staring at her reflection.
She wasn't glamorous. She wasn't powerful. She wasn't Clara.
But as her chest tightened, she remembered the way Adrian's hand had pressed more firmly against hers in that single moment. His words had been sharp, certain.
She belongs here.
Her reflection stared back at her, uncertain but steadier than before.
Maybe—just maybe—Adrian wasn't the only one fighting to convince the world she had a place by his side.