Adrian sat on the hardwood floor, the discarded carton of noodles sat heavy and forgotten in his lap. The cardboard was damp with condensation, much like the cold sweat currently coating his palms.
Alexander Devereux. Next door. Married.
The irony was a jagged blade twisted in his gut. For months, Adrian had convinced himself that the silence from New York was Alexander's final, cold agreement to their divorce. He had mourned the man like he'd buried him. And now, Alexander had resurfaced not as a tycoon, but as a "sweet husband" to a bubbly woman who had no idea she was living with a wolf.
"Adrian, come on. You've been staring at that empty box for twenty minutes." Jacob stood over him, already adjusting his shirt in the mirror. "Becky was so nice. It's just dinner, man. We have to be neighborly, or it'll be weird every time we hit the elevator."
