Chapter 2
The next morning hit like a cold shower. I'd barely slept, but I forced myself up at 7:00 AM. Adam was already in the kitchen, scrolling through his phone while nursing black coffee.
Sophie sat at the marble counter while I packed her lunch. Everything felt sharp today. Brittle.
I watched Adam from the corner of my eye. His fingers moved quickly across the screen, but he kept pausing on one particular contact.
"Work calls starting early?" I kept my voice casual.
"Time zones," he said without looking up. "You know how it is."
Bullshit. I'd seen enough of Adam's work patterns to know better.
His phone rang, and I caught the name before he turned away: Caroline.
"I need to take this." He walked toward the balcony, voice already softening in that intimate way I'd thought was mine.
Sophie bit into her toast, oblivious. "Daddy talks to Mommy every morning now."
I kept my voice casual. "Does he?"
"Uh-huh. He uses his special voice." She swung her legs thoughtfully. "Oh, and remember the other night when you asked if I had bad dreams? Daddy was the one making noise. He kept saying 'Caroline' over and over."
The knife twisted deeper. That explained why I'd slept so restlessly.
Adam's head snapped toward us through the glass. Our eyes met, guilt flickering across his face.
He ended the call and came back inside. "I'll be late tonight. Some things to handle."
I nodded, forcing a smile. "Of course."
As he disappeared into the elevator, that familiar ache settled in my chest. Another day of pretending everything was normal.
Central Park was gorgeous in the fall, but I barely noticed. Sophie pumped her legs on the swing while I stood behind her, lost in thought.
Around us, real families played together—normal people living normal lives where nobody had to pretend.
"Maya," Sophie said suddenly, "Mommy called last night. She asked about you."
My hands faltered on the next push. "She did?"
"She wanted to know if you're nice to me, if you make me happy." Sophie twisted to look at me, those Adam-blue eyes serious. "I told her you're like a real mommy. That you love me and Daddy loves you, so we're a family."
The swing slowed as I stopped pushing. "Sophie..."
"That's what families are, right? People who love each other and live together?"
I wanted to tell her it wasn't that simple. That love could be messy and unfair. That sometimes people use love as a bandage for wounds that won't heal.
Instead, I said, "Sweetheart, you know I'm just your tutor, right?"
Her face fell. "But you live with us. And Daddy holds your hand when he thinks I'm not looking."
How much had this kid seen?
"Adults are messy, Sophie."
"But caring is love, isn't it?"
Out of the mouths of babes.
All afternoon, I wrestled with myself. Part of me wanted to hide in my room, nurse my wounds like a wounded animal. But the other part—the part that had fought tooth and nail to get where I was—refused to go down without a fight.
It was Adam's birthday. If I was going to lose him to Caroline anyway, at least I could force him to face what he was throwing away.
By 7:00 PM, I'd transformed the dining room into something magical. Candles, wine, his favorite tiramisu. I even put on the blue dress he'd once said made my eyes look like whiskey.
One last chance. One final test to see if there was anything real between us.
I checked my reflection one more time, nerves jumping under my skin. The vintage watch I'd bought him—a 1960s Omega I'd found at an estate sale—sat wrapped in tissue paper, waiting.
The elevator dinged at 7:30, and I smoothed my dress, heart hammering.
Adam walked in looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. His tie was already loosened, and he barely glanced at the candles, the wine, the effort I'd put into everything.
"Happy birthday," I said, trying to inject warmth into the words.
His eyes swept the room with what looked like annoyance. "Maya, what's all this?"
"I wanted to celebrate. It's your birthday."
"You didn't need to..." He was already pulling out his phone, checking messages. "Look, I appreciate the thought, but—"
"Adam." I stepped closer, placed my hand on his arm. "It's your birthday. Can't we just have dinner? Talk?"
He looked at me then, really looked, and I saw something cold flicker across his face. "About what?"
The question hung between us like a challenge. About LA. About Caroline. About what I mean to you beyond convenient sex and childcare.
Instead, I said, "Us."
"Maya." His voice went gentle in that careful way that preceded rejection. "We've talked about this. What we have works. Let's not mess with it."
"Mess with it?" The words came out sharper than I intended. "Is that what caring about someone is to you? Something to avoid?"
"We have an arrangement—"
"Fuck your arrangement!" The words exploded out of me. "I'm not some service you subscribe to, Adam. I'm a person. I have feelings."
His jaw tightened. "And I've been clear about what I can offer."
"Great sex and a nice apartment?" I laughed, but it came out broken. "How generous of you."
"Maya—"
"No." I stepped back, putting space between us. "You know what? Forget it. Forget all of this."
I started blowing out candles, hands shaking. The romantic atmosphere I'd worked so hard to create felt pathetic now. Desperate.
"Maya, stop." His hand caught my wrist. "You're overreacting."
"Am I?" I turned to face him. "Tell me something, Adam. When you went to LA last week, did you tell Caroline about me?"
His silence was answer enough.
"Right. Because I don't exist in your real life, do I? I'm just the help who happens to sleep in your bed."
"That's not—"
"True? Then prove it. Tell me what I am to you. Not the arrangement, not the convenience. What am I?"
He stared at me for a long moment, and I saw the exact second he chose his answer. "You're Sophie's tutor," he said quietly. "And you're very good at your job."
The words hit like a physical blow. I nodded slowly, pride bleeding out of me.
"Got it. Message received."
I walked past him toward my room, but his voice stopped me at the doorway.
"Maya, don't make this more difficult than it has to be."
I didn't turn around. "Wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Sterling."
I escaped to my room, but sleep was impossible. At 11:45 PM, I lay staring at the ceiling, listening to Adam's muffled voice through the thin wall.
He was on the phone again. With her.
"Caroline, I know this is challenging... but Sophie needs us both."
I pressed my ear to the wall, hating myself but unable to stop.
"I've been thinking about what you said last week... about trying again."
My heart stopped.
"I can wait until you're ready. We have history, we have Sophie... these things matter."
History. The one thing I could never give him. The shared past, the legitimate claim, the socially acceptable love story.
I was just an interruption in their narrative.
"I miss what we had," he continued, voice thick with emotion I'd never heard him use about me. "Maybe we were just going through a rough patch."
The conversation continued, but I'd heard enough. I rolled onto my side, pulling a pillow over my head to muffle my crying.
Eighteen months of being a complete fool. Eighteen months of thinking I actually mattered to him.
At 12:30 AM, familiar footsteps stopped outside my door. The soft knock that usually made my pulse race.
"Maya? I know you're awake."
I closed my eyes tight. "I'm not feeling well tonight, Adam."
"Open the door. Let me check on you."
"I just need to rest."
A pause, then his voice sharpened. "You're being childish."
The accusation stung, but I didn't move. "I really need to sleep."
"Maya." That dangerous edge crept in—the tone he used when things didn't go his way. "I hope you're not playing some kind of game here."
Game. Like everything between us was strategy and manipulation.
"No games. Just tired."
His footsteps retreated, frustration radiating through the door.
Good. Let him wonder what it feels like when someone doesn't automatically say yes.
The next morning, his note sat on the kitchen counter: "Back Sunday. Keep Sophie's schedule normal. -A"
No explanation. No warmth. Just instructions.
I crumpled the paper and made a decision.
Time to leave here.