I’ve always been a performer by nature. A drama queen in the quietest, most calculated way. When I realized my dry, corporate-merger husband was cold on the surface but possessed an insatiable appetite in the dark, I started to play my part with relish. I loved watching a still, lifeless pond ripple wildly under my touch. But somewhere along the way, I must have overacted. The performance bled into reality, and I became far too clingy. I didn’t just lose control between the sheets; I brought the act into his sterile corporate world, too. One afternoon, dropping off lunch at his office, I paused outside his door and heard his business partner teasing him. "Who was the one who swore this was just a three-month paper marriage? Look at you now, heading home at six-thirty on the dot every night. Doesn't it get exhausting?" A few heavy seconds of silence ticked by before Adrian’s cool, detached voice drifted through the gap in the door. "Exhausting." I stood frozen in the hallway, staring down at the warm thermal container in my hands. So, he didn't actually work until ten-thirty every night. He was free at six-thirty. He was just staying away. I decided right then that it was time to take a bow and exit the stage. I remained passionately compliant in our bed—our physical connection was too addictive to discard—but I stopped texting him. I didn't send him a single casual update. On the very day our three-month contract expired, I handed him the divorce papers with a pleasant, easy smile. Adrian’s eyes turned pitch-black, a storm brewing in his pupils. "All this time, Josie," he rasped, "was I actually your husband, or just a glorified vibrator?" 01 I tossed the untouched lunch into the trash bin down the hall and stepped into the elevator. At the lobby desk, the two young receptionists smiled and waved when they saw me walk past. "Not staying to eat with the boss today, Josie?" I didn't feel like putting on a show, so I just offered a polite, muted wave. Only yesterday, my theatrical streak would have flared up, and I would have gushed about how deeply in love we were just to see them swoon. But Adrian’s word—"exhausting"—was stuck in my throat like a dry pill. It made me restless. I had played the part too well. I’d even managed to trick myself. The housekeeper, Hazel, looked surprised when I walked through the door so early, but she didn't ask questions and quietly set out a plate of food for me. Once my stomach was full, I crawled into bed and slept straight through the afternoon. I didn't wake up until six-thirty, shook awake by the low, familiar rumble of his sports car engine cutting off in the driveway. I yawned and made my way downstairs. A man who usually didn't show his face at home until ten-thirty was standing in the foyer, his dark eyes fixed on me. "Are you... not feeling well today?" Adrian asked. His brow furrowed, and I noticed his fingers twitch slightly, as if he expected me to do what I always did—fling myself into his arms the second he crossed the threshold. "I'm fine," I said, bypassing him entirely to sink into the plush living room sofa. I picked up a bowl of chilled watermelon and took a bite, completely indifferent. "You're home early." Adrian walked over and sat down beside me. The familiar scent of his cologne drifted over—cold, expensive sandalwood. It was a distant, imposing fragrance. Usually, the moment he sat down, I would melt into his side like a boneless creature. But looking at him now, only a few inches away, I felt a faint stir of irritation. I swallowed the fruit and subtly shifted two inches to the side, creating a clear boundary. Adrian froze. "You... today..." He started to speak, but suddenly cut himself off with a sharp, involuntary hiss of pain, his hand pressing against his abdomen. I set my phone down and looked up. Only then did I notice the fine sheen of cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. "Stomach ache?" I asked. With his brutal work schedule, Adrian often blew past meals until his body rebelled. But ever since I’d started dragging him out to lunch, his chronic stomach issues hadn't flared up once. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice carrying a subtle, wounded edge. "You didn't come today. I forgot to eat." Whether he actually forgot or was just sulking, there was no way to know. But in that soft, slightly petulant tone, I recognized a familiar trait. We were the same species. I stared at him for a few seconds. Adrian was devastatingly handsome, but his face rarely registered any warmth. He was the classic, emotionally unavailable archetype. I never would have pegged him as a performer. If I hadn't heard him call me exhausting with my own ears, I would still be fooled. He took his medication, but the pain didn't seem to ease. Skipping dinner entirely, he headed straight upstairs to our bedroom. I, on the other hand, cheerfully polished off two full helpings of dinner. When I stepped out of the master bathroom after my shower, I found Adrian lying on the bed with his silk robe half-open, draped loosely around his waist. His long, muscular legs were slightly drawn up, one arm pressed flat against his stomach, his dark brows knit in pain. I swallowed hard, walked over, and tugged the lapel of his robe down a fraction more. "You..." He looked up at me, a flash of genuine bewilderment in his dark eyes. "I'm sick. You still want to?" I couldn't blame him for being surprised. Yesterday, I would have gently massaged his stomach, held him close, and whispered sweet, comforting things to ease him to sleep. The physical intimacy would have followed naturally, warmed by the domestic act. But I didn't want to play the doting wife anymore. Stripping away the romance left only raw, almost transactional desire. "You don't?" I murmured, letting my gaze drop. "You're already hard." Adrian’s breath hitched. In the next second, he rolled over, pinning me beneath him, his dark eyes flashing with a sharp, frustrated heat. "If you want it, you get it," he growled. He was a better actor than I was. For a man supposedly suffering from severe abdominal cramps, his movements were fierce and unyielding. Once my appetite was satisfied, I rolled over to go to sleep. But as I turned, I caught sight of his pale face in the dim light. He was staring at me, his voice rough and low. "Give me two more of those stomach pills from your nightstand." Our eyes met. I blinked. "Can't you reach them yourself?" The silence stretched. The soft glow of the bedside lamp didn't hide the stark paleness of his skin. His frown deepened. "My stomach... hurts," he said, emphasizing the words as if waiting for me to break. Whatever. I was in a decent mood, so I tossed him the plastic bottle and rolled over, turning my back to him. The temperature in the room felt cooler tonight, so I pulled the duvet up to my shoulders. Since childhood, I’d needed to hug something to sleep. Before we married, it was a giant plush rabbit. After we married, it became Adrian’s arm. Now, under his heavy, silent gaze, I pulled the old plush rabbit back into my arms, buried my face in its soft fabric, and closed my eyes. Sometime in the middle of the night, the soft plush in my arms was gently pulled away, replaced by the solid, familiar warmth of a bare arm. I mumbled something into the dark and hugged it tight. Above me, in the shadows, I heard a long, quiet sigh. 02 When the morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, I felt a heavy, lingering presence at the edge of the bed. I blinked my eyes open, the sudden silhouette nearly giving me a heart attack. "What are you doing standing there?" I muttered, my voice thick with sleep. Adrian was fully dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, looking immaculate and severe. He had been standing by my bedside in absolute silence, god knows for how long. Seeing me wake, his shoulders relaxed slightly, the cold lines of his face softening. "I'm leaving for work," he said quietly, his eyes locked onto mine, clearly waiting for a reaction. I was too exhausted to care. I rolled away from him and pulled the covers over my head. "Oh. Have a safe drive." But the floorboards didn't creak. He didn't leave. I lay there in the dark of my blanket, wondering if he was waiting for his morning kiss. Before today, I would have jumped out of bed with him, put on a grand performance of a devoted wife who couldn't bear to see her husband go, and refused to let him leave the house without demanding at least ten lingering kisses. But now that the act was over, why was he still standing there like a statue? He was the one who found me exhausting. Too lazy to analyze him, I drifted back to sleep. In the haze of my light slumber, I felt a soft, fleeting pressure on the crown of my head, followed by the quiet click of the bedroom door closing. I didn't wake up again until noon. It was incredibly liberating not having to play the role of the perfect spouse. I hummed a tune, played with our golden retriever in the yard, and enjoyed the quiet afternoon until Hazel handed me my phone. "Ma'am, you haven't sent Mr. Hastings the video of Cooper’s new trick today," she said gently. "And I noticed you didn't text him the lunch menu either." I paused. I unlocked my phone and saw a completely blank screen. For the past three months, my chat history with Adrian was a endless stream of my own voice notes, photos of our dog, and trivial details of my day. He rarely replied with more than a word or two, but I had dutifully kept up the chatter, playing my part. I tossed the phone onto the kitchen counter. "He’s my dog. Why does Adrian need to know what tricks he can do?" Hazel stared at me, her mouth parting in slight surprise, but she quickly looked down and went back to her chores. I didn't expect that my silence would prompt Adrian to reach out first. A text message lit up the screen: "Are you bringing lunch today?" 03 Thinking back to his pale face and stomach cramps from the night before, I felt a small, rare stir of pity. "Yes," I typed back. On the other end, he seemed pleased. Adrian, who usually communicated in dry, period-ended sentences, sent back a rare, cheerful sticker of a cartoon bear nodding. "Hazel, can you take this over to the office for me?" I asked, pointing to the neatly packed lunch container. Hazel looked at me as if I’d grown a second head. "Did you and Mr. Hastings have a fight? He looked so dark when he left this morning." I narrowed my eyes. "If you don't want to go, I'll have the driver do it." Whether he was in a bad mood was none of my business. We were a business arrangement. Now that the stage lights were off, Adrian was nothing more than a very handsome, very functional companion. Hazel quickly took the container and left. Ten minutes later, my phone vibrated. Adrian: "?" Adrian: "Aren't you coming?" Adrian: "If you're not coming, don't bother next time." I left the messages on read. By the time I woke up from my afternoon nap, those texts had been neatly unsent. What a strange, temperamental man. Without Adrian to absorb my dramatic energy, I found myself restless. I decided to indulge in my other great passion: spending his money. "This is the personal shopper I told you about," my best friend, Zoe, said over the phone, sending over a contact card. "He gets exclusive allocations before they hit the boutique floors, and he’s incredibly sweet. Since you’ve been playing June Cleaver lately, you’ve missed out on the season's best bags. He has them all." I added the contact immediately, set up an appointment, and headed out. For the second day in a row, Adrian didn't stay at the office until his usual ten-thirty. When I glanced at the grandfather clock in the foyer, it was only ten minutes to eight. Hearing his footsteps, I stood up from the sofa and opened my arms, walking toward him out of pure habit. Adrian’s eyes flared with a sudden, brilliant light. He stopped, throwing his arms wide open to receive me. And then... I walked right past him. I grabbed the heavy designer shopping bags resting on my wrists and dropped them onto the sofa, completely collapsing beside them. Adrian’s entire body went rigid. His arms hovered in the empty air before dropping slowly to his sides. "Go wash your hands. Dinner’s ready," he said after a long, heavy silence. He stepped closer and reached out to pull me up, but his knee brushed against my brand-new leather tote. "Watch it!" I snapped, pulling the bag away. "Don't touch it." The air in the living room grew thick, cold, and heavy. Adrian’s dark pupils contracted, his gaze locking onto me. I felt a brief flicker of awkwardness. "I already ate with my shopper. Go ahead without me." His jaw tightened, a flash of pure, frustrated irritation crossing his features. "Fine," he muttered. When I came out of the shower later that evening, I climbed onto the bed, ready to sleep. I was exhausted from a full day of trying on clothes. But when I turned around, I saw Adrian sitting on the edge of the mattress, his robe hanging open to his waist. His chest was broad, the muscles defined and gleaming under the soft light. It was an undeniably beautiful view. I felt a momentary stir of desire, but my physical exhaustion won out. I closed my eyes, intending to ignore him, when a warm, calloused hand suddenly wrapped around my ankle. His thumb stroked the sensitive skin of my inner ankle, his voice dropping into that low, slightly gravelly register he only used in the dark. "Not tonight?" 04 I forgot how high his drive was. With a quiet sigh, I rolled over and climbed into his lap. Adrian’s entire body went taut beneath me, his eyes burning with an intense, dark heat. His hot breath brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck, his movements growing heavier, more urgent. At the peak of it, he leaned down to kiss me. But just as his lips were about to touch mine, the memory of his word—"exhausting"—flashed in my mind. The desire vanished instantly. I turned my head, letting his lips brush harmlessly against my cheek. The man above me went completely still. The silence in the bedroom was deafening, broken only by the heavy, ragged sound of his breathing. "Did you... eat well this afternoon?" he asked, his voice raw and raspy. Zoe hadn't lied about the personal shopper. Jared had been incredibly attentive. Recognizing me as a high-tier client, he had pulled out all the stops—premium desserts, iced matcha lattes, and a private dinner setup right in the VIP suite. "Very well," I murmured. The grip on my waist tightened instantly, and Adrian’s movements became almost punishingly rough. A small gasp escaped my lips. I turned my head to look at him, but in the dim light, his expression was colder than ice. "Gentler," I hissed, digging my nails into his shoulder. I didn't use much force, but the corners of his eyes flushed a deep, bruised red. I hadn't realized he was so sensitive to pain. A rare pang of conscience made me soften my grip, and I let him have his way until the early hours of the morning. By the time he finally let me go, I was limp with exhaustion. I was just drifting off when a suffocating warmth wrapped around me. I opened my eyes to find Adrian holding me in a tight, inescapable embrace, his face buried in my hair. I squirmed, trying to get some breathing room, but his arms tightened automatically. No one wants to sleep while bound like a hostage. Irritated, I slid out from under his arm, grabbed my pillow, and made a move toward the guest room. But a hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. I looked back. Adrian was sitting up in the dark, his eyes dark and unreadable, his voice raspy. "Where are you going?" "The guest room." He stared at me for a few agonizing seconds, then let go of my wrist and turned his back to me. "You don't sleep well in other beds," he said quietly. "I'll go." I watched his tall, broad shoulders disappear through the doorway, his silhouette looking strangely solitary in the dark hall. The next morning, I felt someone standing over me again. I didn't even bother to open my eyes. After what felt like an eternity, Adrian’s voice whispered in the quiet room. "I'm leaving for work." I pulled the blanket over my ears, blocking out the rest of his words. He seemed to linger even longer this time. When I finally got out of bed hours later, I could hear the housekeepers whispering downstairs. "Did Mr. Hastings miss his morning meeting today?" "Must have. He didn't leave the driveway until almost ten." I ignored the gossip. Jared had texted me earlier; the rest of my limited-edition bags had just arrived at the showroom. "Ma'am, are you really not going to the office to have lunch with him today?" Hazel stopped me near the front door, her expression tight with worry. "When I went yesterday, his face was so pale. I think he really wanted to see..." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "The food is exactly the same whether I carry it or you do, Hazel." She went quiet, and I slipped out the door, eager to get to my sanctuary. "Babe, your phone has been vibrating non-stop. Is everything okay?" Jared asked, offering a dazzling smile as he handed me the device. I unlocked the screen, my brows drawing together. Now that I had stopped performing, it seemed Adrian was eager to take the stage. Ever since he arrived at the office, he had been sending me constant, dry updates. Adrian: "At my desk." Adrian: "Are you awake?" Adrian: "Going into a meeting." Adrian: "Another meeting." Adrian: "One more." It was ridiculous. If he had time to send a play-by-play of his schedule, he clearly wasn't that busy. I didn't reply. I was examining a stunning exotic leather bag when his name flashed across the screen. I hesitated for a moment before picking up. "Have you eaten?" he asked. The line was quiet, save for his low voice. "Yeah." Another heavy silence. On my end, I traced the textured leather of the bag. Jared was hovering close, hovering over the stitching. "Why... didn't you bring lunch today?" I was trying to calculate the conversion rate of the bag in my head, my fingers absentmindedly picking at the delicate leather trim. "Babe, don't scratch it like that..." Jared hissed softly, his voice full of mock-agony. "You'll ruin the grain." The line went dead silent. I glared at Jared, who quickly covered his mouth with both hands, looking mortified. "I'm busy," I told the phone, wanting to wrap up the call. But before I could hit the end button, Adrian’s voice came through the receiver. It was so hoarse, so completely stripped of its usual cold armor, that it sounded like a different person entirely. "Josie... what did I do wrong?"
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