The forced relaxation was driving me insane.
The quiet hum of the refrigerator was suddenly the loudest sound in the apartment.
I'd spent the entire day alternating between staring at the ceiling and trying to convince Adrien that I was perfectly capable of working. He wasn't buying it. Not one bit.
"Just… twenty minutes! I just need to check on that proposal," I'd pleaded earlier, only to be met with his signature stern look. He hadn't even had to say anything. He just raised one eyebrow, and I deflated.
Now, the evening sun cast long shadows across the living room.
Adrien was still here.
Not just here—he'd practically annexed the living room, one arm stretched across the back of the couch like he owned the place, laptop in hand, eyes scanning stock charts like he wasn't the same man who spoon-fed me strawberries twelve hours ago.
I hobbled in quietly, half limping, half sneaking. I knew he heard me—he always did—but he didn't move.
