Chapter 7

Justin stood in the doorway, one shoulder pressed against the frame, his expression deliberately unreadable though his knuckles whitened against the coffee mug he gripped. He had just overheard her phone call with her mother, the hushed, tense conversation that had ended with Adaline's abrupt goodbye.

"So, Michael wants you back?" he asked, his voice calm yet probing, the question hanging in the air between them like a fragile thing.

Adaline stiffened, her spine straightening almost imperceptibly before she let out a deep breath that seemed to deflate something within her. "He doesn't want me back, Justin," she said, meeting his gaze directly. "He just doesn't want to lose control over me. There's a difference." Her voice carried the weight of history in those final words.

"Why won't you take Michael back?" he pressed, his voice measured but curious, eyes never leaving her face. "He clearly wants you. You could go back to your home, your life—"

Adaline let out a dry laugh that held no humor, cutting him off. "My life? That's funny, Justin." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous habit she'd never managed to break. "That life was never mine to begin with."

Justin leaned back against the counter, setting down the untouched coffee. His eyes tracked her movements with an intensity that might have unnerved her weeks ago. "Then what was it?"

"A cage," she murmured, fingers absently tracing patterns on the marble countertop. "A beautifully crafted one, but a cage nonetheless. One where I was nothing more than a pawn in someone else's game." Her voice dropped almost to a whisper at the end, as though speaking the truth aloud still frightened her.

Justin studied her for a long moment, his expression softening almost imperceptibly before he nodded once. "Noted." The single word somehow conveyed understanding rather than dismissal.

Adaline placed the steaming cup of coffee in front of Justin before turning back toward the kitchen. The hardwood floor was cool beneath her bare feet as she moved with practiced ease, her mind drifting to the past with each step. Cooking had always been her solace, something she had shared with her father before he passed—standing on a stool beside him at the stove, learning to coax flavors from simple ingredients, his patient voice guiding her hands. He was the only person who had ever truly seen her, truly cared for her without expectation. After his death, her mother had wasted no time transforming grief into opportunity, turning Adaline into a tool—a means to secure wealth and status, no matter the cost to her daughter's spirit.

As she stepped into the kitchen's warm glow, Maria, the household's longtime maid, approached her hesitantly. The older woman's eyes, kind but cautious, met Adaline's. "Ma'am, I—"

Adaline shook her head with a small, genuine smile—the kind that rarely appeared these days. "Don't call me 'ma'am.' I'm just a fellow cook in this kitchen." She reached for an apron hanging on a nearby hook.

Maria hesitated, her fingers twisting the edge of her uniform. Then she glanced toward the sitting room where Justin was lifting the cup to his lips. Her expression turned apologetic, eyebrows drawing together. "I'm so sorry, but I was supposed to tell you..." she lowered her voice slightly, "Mister Justin doesn't drink coffee. Not since his time overseas."

Adaline's eyes widened slightly. "Oh." The simple sound carried confusion and something else—disappointment in herself for not knowing this basic fact about him.

She instinctively turned to retrieve the cup, but before she could take a step, Maria continued, "He prefers tea. Earl Grey in the morning, chamomile in the evening. I should have warned you earlier." Her weathered hands smoothed her apron nervously.

Adaline let out a small sigh, shoulders relaxing slightly. "It's alright. I'll make some tea instead." She reached for the kettle, wondering what other small details about Justin she had yet to discover—and why it suddenly mattered so much to her to learn them.

Adaline rushed back into the sitting room, fresh tea in hand, only to stop short when she saw Justin tilting the coffee cup back, draining the last drops. Her mouth fell open slightly.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," she blurted, the steaming teacup now awkward in her grip. "I didn't realize—Maria just told me you don't drink coffee."

Justin set the empty cup down with deliberate care. "It's fine," he said, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of amusement. "The coffee was okay." His fingers drummed once against the table's surface before he stood, straightening his jacket with a practiced motion.

"Marcus will assist you to the court tomorrow," he said, his tone shifting to something more formal and businesslike. "For the divorce proceedings." He paused, watching her reaction carefully. "He'll drive you there and wait until it's finished."

The words hung between them, heavy with implications neither seemed ready to address. Justin checked his watch, a subtle signal that the conversation was concluding.

"Thank you," Adaline replied, not quite sure what else to say.

He nodded once, then turned to leave. His footsteps echoed against the hardwood floor, each one creating distance between them until the sound of the front door closing announced his departure.

Adaline stood there for a moment longer, staring at the empty coffee cup, before returning to the kitchen, the untouched tea still in her hand.

Maria looked up immediately, concern etched across her features. "I'm so sorry, ma'am," she said, wiping her hands nervously on her apron. "I would have told you sooner. Did sir refuse the tea? Was he angry?"

Adaline set the tea down with a small smile. "It's fine. He actually finished the coffee." She glanced at Maria. "And please, don't call me 'ma'am.' I reminded you already."

Maria nodded, but her expression remained uncertain. "I'm sorry, Ms. Adaline. It's just that Mister Justin specifically said we should all respect you—the cleaners too." Her eyes widened slightly. "But what surprises me is that he finished your coffee. I've worked here for eight years, and he's never liked coffee since he returned from abroad. He always refuses it, no matter who offers." She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping. "I'm surprised he finished yours."

Adaline felt heat rise unexpectedly to her cheeks. "He was probably just being polite," she said, though something in her tone suggested she wasn't entirely convinced by her own explanation.

"Perhaps," Maria replied, though her knowing smile suggested she thought otherwise. She busied herself with the dishes, leaving Adaline to wonder why Justin would drink something he apparently disliked—and why that small gesture made her heart beat just a little faster.