Chapter 7: Worried

Adrian’s Point Of View

The sun broke through the curtains in soft golden rays, the only hint of calm in a house that felt unsettlingly quiet. My sneakers scuffed the hardwood floor as I entered, sweat dampening the back of my tee from my morning run. The silence was jarring, and for reasons I couldn’t quite place, it made me uneasy.

Normally, for the few days Emma had been here, I’d usually hear her bustling around the kitchen and with house work, her faint humming betraying her nervousness in my presence. I had told her severally to let the house staffs do their work but for some reason she returns from work and still goes on to make food, but today, though, there was nothing but the hum of the air conditioner.

I made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and leaning against the counter, a disguise to see if she was there but she wasn't. Maybe she’s upstairs, I thought, though the nagging feeling in my chest said otherwise. She was always so punctual, so predictable. That’s what I appreciated about her, her simplicity. She didn’t complicate my life like Celia. That's why I chose her, Yet, this emptiness... It gnawed at me.

“Get a grip, Adrian,” I muttered under my breath, pushing off the counter. It wasn’t like I actually cared where she was. She was just a placeholder, a tool to placate my mother's effort to get me to marry Celia and secure my father’s inheritance. And yet, as I climbed the stairs, coffee in hand, I couldn’t shake the thoughts of her, Had she eaten? Was she still in pain?

Her door was shut. Balancing the coffee cup, I knocked lightly, not wanting to disturb her if she was resting. The thought of her curled up in bed, her face serene for once instead of taut with nerves, crossed my mind. I shook it off. No response.

I placed the cup on the floor beside her door, convincing myself she’d find it when she eventually stirred. Back in my own room, I thought about her wrist and wondered if she could still work with such cut.

"She is my wife now, I'd be inappropriate to have her still working as my assistant" with that I dialed the head of Human Resources, he picked up immediately.

"Good Day Sir" he greeted

“Create a listing for the post of my executive assistant,” I instructed curtly. “Interviews start Monday. Make sure we’re prioritizing efficiency this time.”

The call ended swiftly, but my thoughts lingered. I didn’t just need a competent assistant, I needed someone who wouldn’t make me question every damn decision, someone who wouldn’t... complicate things. Like Emma.

The ringing of my phone snapped me back, and I groaned when I saw the caller ID. "Celia". Just the sight of her name felt like a headache waiting to happen. Against my better judgment, I answered.

“What do you want?” My tone was sharper than intended, but I didn’t care.

Her saccharine voice grated my nerves. “That’s not how you talk to your fiancée,” she purred.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Celia,” I said, leaning against the window. “I’m married. I don’t see how a married man can have a fiancée at the same time.”

Her laugh was bitter. “You can’t seriously have chosen that bitch over me. I’m a ten, Adrian. She’s barely a four. Did you know she’s from the slums? That’s not just a rumor, I looked her up. You’re ruining your image.”

“Celia,” I began, my voice cold, “if you as a "Ten" were the only woman left on earth, I’d still choose to stay single.”

The line went silent for a beat, and I knew I’d struck a nerve.

“You can’t mean that,” she hissed.

"I mea. Every bit if my words, and about yesterday night, if I find out you had anything to do with my wife's injury,” I interrupted, my tone laced with warning, “you won’t like what happens next.”

Her shriek echoed through the phone, but I didn’t stay to listen. I hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed. Why did I even answer her in the first place? Some stuck up daddy's girl trying to ruin my day!

I dressed quickly and exited my room, but as I knotted my tie at the hall way, my gaze drifted to Emma’s door across the other side of the hall. The coffee cup was still there, untouched.

"Odd." I muttered

Curiosity got the better of me. I walked up to the door picking up the coffee cup and it hadn't been touched, I knocked, louder this time. Still no response. Frowning, I twisted the knob and pushed the door open. The room was empty. The bed, neatly made. No sign of her anywhere.

My first thought was that she’d gone out, but something didn’t sit right. Emma wasn’t the type to leave without saying anything. She was too... considerate. I checked the closet. Her clothes were still there. She hadn’t run away,

"She couldn't possibly run, the contract clearly states that if she terminates this contract abruptly or dies anything to endanger this agreement she owes me Two million dollars" I muttered in confusion, "She didn't have Five Hundred Thousand dollars for her brother's medical bills how much more a whooping two million" I concluded.

Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I dialed her number.

“The subscriber you have called is out of reach,” the automated message chimed.

I tossed the phone onto her bed and sat on it, raking a hand through my hair. Where the hell is she?

My mind raced with possibilities, each more frustrating than the last. Maybe she’d gone to see her boyfriend. I realized, with some irritation, that I’d never asked her about her personal life before our arrangement. She was too beautiful to be single.

The thought unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

“Get it together, Adrian,” I muttered getting up and picking up my phone, shutting the door behind me. This wasn’t my problem. She was an adult, she could handle herself. And yet, as I descended the stairs, my phone felt heavy in my pocket, a silent reminder of her absence.

I dialed my best friends line once downstairs. “I’m on my way,” I told him, forcing a casual tone.

The reunion was a good distraction or at least it should have been. The chatter of old classmates, the clinking of glasses, and the warmth of familiar faces filled the room. But my mind was elsewhere.

“Adrian, you’ve been staring at your phone for ten minutes,” Julian teased, nudging me.

I forced a laugh. “Just business,” I lied.

He raised an eyebrow. “Business or the wife you didn’t tell anyone about?”

I shot him a warning look, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. But seriously, man, you seem... off.”

Off. That was one way to put it. I checked my phone again. Still no call. Still no message.

By the time the event ended, I’d made half a dozen attempts to reach her. Each went straight to voicemail. As I drove home, the quiet of the car was deafening. I didn’t want to admit it, but her absence felt... wrong.

Back at the house, I parked in the driveway and sat in my car for a moment, staring at the darkened windows. She’s fine, I told myself. She should be home.

And yet, as I stopped by her room, my chest felt heavy. The coffee cup was still where I’d left it. Untouched. I dialed her line again and voicemail once more.

Slipping into bed, I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts a tangled mess of worry and denial.

I don’t care where she is. I don’t. I just need her back before my mum figures this is a charade.

But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself.