Chapter 8: 7. I love you

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Adrian's P.O.V.

I was in deep sleep when the sharp chime of the doorbell jolted me awake. Groaning, I turned over, squinting at the time on my side table—7:23 a.m.

Who the hell would be here this early?

I was about to get up when I heard the door creak open, followed by muffled sobs. My brows furrowed. Was that... Susan?

Before I could reach the living room, I heard her bedroom door slam shut. My chest tightened. Was she crying? Who had come over? Hadn't she seen my note?

A thousand questions raced through my mind. I hesitated, debating whether to knock on her door, but then my curiosity won. I had to know what was going on.

I crept closer, moving as quietly as possible, pressing my ear to the door. Lisa's voice rang through the silence, soft but urgent.

Lisa. The walking disaster of relationships. She went through heartbreaks as if they were seasonal trends, dragging Susan along for the emotional rollercoaster every single time. A privileged, reckless socialite.

From the way Lisa spoke, it was clear she was venting—another breakup, another disaster. But Susan? She wasn't saying much, just the occasional hum of acknowledgment. Even without seeing her, I knew she was just listening, offering comfort. That was who she was.

I exhaled. So, it was Lisa's drama. Again.

But still... something felt different. Lisa's sobs, Susan's silence—there was something in the air that didn't sit right.

Lisa's influence had always been dangerous. I needed to talk to Susan before she got swept into something reckless.

8:30 a.m.

They were gone.

I had been awake, waiting, expecting Susan to come out, maybe even look at me, acknowledge my apology. But she didn't.

Was she really that upset? Five years together, and she couldn't forgive me for one mistake?

I banged around in the kitchen, made enough noise to get her attention. Nothing. Frustrated, I slammed my door shut—only to hear hers open seconds later. I held my breath.

Then the front door clicked shut.

She left.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling. Maybe I should just let her cool down. Maybe I was overthinking this.

Maybe.

At the office

"Adrian? You still with us?" Chem's voice cut through the meeting room, pulling me back to reality. I blinked at the screen in front of me, realizing I had no idea what had just been discussed.

I blinked at my laptop screen, realizing I had been staring at the same report for the past ten minutes.

"Yeah, all great," I lied, forcing a smirk. "You know me, always on top of things."

Chem raised an eyebrow. "Obviously. You've cracked the code to being the perfect boyfriend. What's next? Writing a self-help book?"

I let out a dry chuckle, shaking my head. "Yeah, something like that."

He leaned back, stretching his arms. "Man, you two are like the couple everyone secretly hates because you make relationships look effortless. So what, she finally realized you're a fraud?"

I forced a laugh, shaking my head. "Me and Susan? You already know how it is—perfect as always."

Chem smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, absolutely. The golden couple. A beacon of hope for all doomed relationships."

I scoffed, trying to match his energy. "Yeah, yeah. You know us. Unbreakable." I picked up my phone, planning to send Susan a quick text—just to check in. My stomach twisted as I typed.

Hey, you good? Haven't seen you all day.

I stared at the message, my fingers hesitating before I hit send.

Minutes passed. Then ten. Then my phone buzzed.

When my phone buzzed, I expected a casual response, maybe something teasing. Instead, her words punched the air from my lungs.

You don't get to decide when to care, Adrian. Not anymore. I need space, and I'm taking it.

My throat went dry.

Space?

As in, space from me?

A chill ran down my spine. No. That wasn't happening. I grabbed my jacket, bolted out of the office, and drove like a madman, without giving any explanation to Chem. I just ran.

I wasn't about to let her walk out of my life over a damn text.

At the apartment

I barely remember parking. I took the stairs two at a time, heart pounding.

The door. The same door where she used to wait for me, smiling, arms open. I clenched my jaw and knocked—hard. Then rang the bell. Again.

Footsteps. Then silence. The hesitation was enough to tell me she was debating whether to open the door.

It cracked open, revealing Susan standing there in a fitted black turtleneck, a long wool coat draped over her shoulders, and dark jeans tucked into sleek ankle boots—dressed for the cold, dressed for leaving.

Before she could react, I pulled her into my arms, stepping inside and shutting the door behind us. I held her tight, like letting go would make her vanish.

I cupped her face, my voice breaking. "Susan, please. I know I messed up. I know I should have been better. But don't do this. Don't walk away from us. I love you—I love you more than anything."

Her red-rimmed eyes met mine, filled with sadness, exhaustion, and something else—something I didn't want to name.

Her lips trembled, but her gaze remained steady. "Adrian, I can't keep doing this. I'm exhausted—of waiting, of hoping, of convincing myself that things will go back to how they were. I need some time to adjust to this new reality. I need a break."

I shook my head, desperation clawing at me. "A break from what? From life? From me? Tell me what to fix, Susan, and I'll do it."

She let out a humorless laugh, stepping back. "No, Adrian. A break from us. Because I don't even know who we are anymore. We're not partners. We're just two strangers occupying the same space, pretending nothing is broken."

Her words cut through me.

She exhaled shakily, as if trying to hold herself together. "Something changed, Adrian. I don't know if it's you, or if it's me, but I need space to breathe. To think. It's a week, just time away. But right now, I need to do this for myself."

I wanted to believe her, but fear clawed at my chest. "Susan, please. We can talk through this. Like we always do."

She hesitated. "Talk? When, Adrian? At 3 a.m. when you finally come home? In the office, where Mr. William's son expects maximum effort and Corey keeps reminding me about the new no-dating policy? When you come home late and it feels like I'm living with a roommate instead of a partner? When do we ever have time?"

Silence. My throat was dry. She's right.

I exhaled sharply. "Take it. But where are you going?"

She hesitated, then sighed. "Aspen. Lisa planned it, and honestly, I need the distance." She glanced away, fiddling with the strap of her bag. "I don't want this to be goodbye, Adrian. But I need to figure things out."

I swallowed hard, nodding. "Aspen... Right. You two and your dramatic escape plans."

She gave me a small, sad smile. She smirked slightly, though her eyes were still distant. "Lisa thinks it's just a getaway. I think she's picturing some glamorous ski lodge, champagne in hand, flirting with some stranger at the resort. But for me? I just want to breathe, Adrian. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere that isn't here. Sometime you just need to change scenery to see things some different light."

I wanted to argue, to tell her she didn't need space from me. That she needed me. That whatever she was looking for in Aspen, we could find together. But the words wouldn't come, because deep down, I wasn't sure she'd believe them anymore. Maybe deep down, I knew she did.

And with that, I pressed my lips to hers. But something was different.

This wasn't over.

But something between us had shifted.

As I stood there, watching her gather her things, a thought hit me like a freight train. Susan wasn't just asking for space—she was reclaiming herself. And for the first time, I realized I had been blind to how much she had been shrinking in this relationship while I had been too distracted to notice.

And then there was Sia.

I had convinced myself she was just a friend, that the late-night conversations, the inside jokes, the easy companionship meant nothing. But standing here, watching Susan walk away, I couldn't shake the gnawing guilt.

Maybe this was never just about a missed anniversary.

Maybe I was losing Susan because, deep down, I had already let parts of her go.

But standing here now, watching her walk away, I realized something else—no one, not Sia, not anyone, had ever been able to shake me the way Susan did. No one had ever mattered this much. And if I ever wanted to be worthy of her again, I had to change. Not for her, but to finally become the person who could stand beside her as an equal, not as someone who kept taking her for granted because she the one and I love her no matter what.

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