CHAPTER 85: BROKEN

Ella’s stomach bottomed out, her pulse shrieking in her ears as Adrian froze, his lips a hair’s breadth from hers.

For a second, all she could hear was her own ragged breathing—and the soft chime of the bell above the door still echoing through the café like a warning shot fired too late.

Slowly, deliberately, Adrian lifted his head, his hand dropping from Ella’s cheek like it was scalded, his jaw tightening as he turned toward the entrance.

He already knew who it was.

Of course, he did.

He’d seen Nicholas at the gala weeks ago—standing behind Ella like some immovable, protective wall of sleek power and quiet menace. Watching them. Watching him. Adrian had felt it even then, that calculating gaze sliding over him like a scalpel.

But this was the first time they’d met face to face.

Not in passing. Not across a crowded room.

Now there was no crowd. No excuses. No pretense.

Only them.

Nicholas stood there in black, like a walking threat in a tailored suit, coat unbuttoned, lean frame draped in power the way other men wore cheap cologne. The faintest shadow of stubble lined his jaw, his dark hair slightly disheveled like he’d run his hands through it in frustration—or worse, calculation. The rain from outside hadn’t even dared touch him properly.

But it was his eyes that did it.

Not furious. Not storming.

No.

Worse.

Icy. Sharp. Deadly.

Ella’s throat constricted. The air in the room shifted—electric, suffocating, a storm gathering on the edge of calm.

Adrian straightened his spine like a fool, puffing himself up, muscle memory of fragile pride kicking in. His lips twisted into that arrogant smirk that used to make girls melt at university, the one that had once made her weak.

It only made her nauseous now.

"Hello" Adrian muttered, his tone defensive, uncertain despite himself.

Nicholas smiled.

Slow. Humorless.

Like a predator indulging the mouse before the kill.

"Hello?Do you know who I am?" Nicholas murmured, voice pitched like silk over broken glass. Deadly polite. Politeness sharpened into a blade.

Ella’s heart pounded, her body frozen, her mouth working uselessly for words that wouldn’t come.

Adrian’s smirk flickered, the arrogance slipping like a mask struggling to stay upright. "I know who you are," he sneered. "I saw you at the gala."

He added the word like it was poison on his tongue. Gala. The night the whole façade of his perfect life had started cracking, publicly, humiliatingly—and this man was part of it.

"You’re the rich lover. Nicholas Carter," Adrian spat, venom coating the word now. "The one dragging her into scandals."

Nicholas’s smile widened by a fraction, though his eyes stayed flat, clinical, cold.

"Close," Nicholas said softly.

Ella blinked.

Wait. What?

Nicholas took a slow, deliberate step inside the café, the door swinging shut behind him like the sound of a gavel. Final. Inescapable.

"I’m not her lover," Nicholas continued, his voice velvet and sharp, every syllable laced with quiet control.

Adrian smirked, like he thought he’d won something. "No? Then what are you?"

Nicholas didn’t glance at Ella. His gaze stayed fixed on Adrian like he was studying a weak point before a takedown.

"I’m her husband."

The words hit the room like a detonation.

Ella physically flinched.

Adrian’s face—broke.

The bravado shattered, disbelief flooding in to fill the cracks. "You’re lying," Adrian breathed, eyes wide now, full of confusion trying to claw its way into anger before it crumbled completely. "You’re lying."

Nicholas’s head tilted with detached amusement, like he was watching a particularly unimpressive performance. "I don’t lie," he said softly. "Not about this."

The implication hung in the air like smoke.

Ella could practically hear Adrian’s thoughts trying to reassemble themselves, failing over and over.

Married. To Ella. To HER.

And the worst part?

Nicholas looked proud of it.

There was no shame. No apology. Only possession. Quiet, devastating, permanent.

Adrian shook his head slightly, like trying to shake off the weight of the humiliation clinging to him like wet clothes. "She wouldn’t—"

"Ella," Nicholas interrupted, curling her name around his tongue with devastating intimacy, "doesn’t owe you explanations."

Ella’s throat worked helplessly. She should say something. Should explain. Should untangle the mess of the past and present knotting together into something hideous right here in front of them.

But she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Could only watch.

Adrian’s jaw clenched, the muscles twitching under his skin. "She can speak for herself."

Nicholas took another step closer, slow and effortless, predatory elegance in motion. His voice dropped an octave, velvet layered over something brutal.

"True. But she doesn’t need to."

That was it.

That was the moment Adrian’s composure truly fractured.

Because Nicholas wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t insecure.

He was certain.

Certain in the way kings are certain of their crowns.

Adrian’s fury dissolved into desperation. His gaze snapped to Ella, pleading now, begging for something—recognition, pity, regret, love, anything—to prove he still mattered to her in some way.

"Ella—"

"Go," she whispered, voice raw, broken, exhausted.

Just that.

Just go.

Adrian stood there for one last miserable beat, his pride bleeding out in front of both of them, the weight of his mistakes catching up to him all at once.

Then, with one last glare—childish, petty, powerless—he shoved past Nicholas, shoulder bumping Nicholas’s chest like a toddler hitting a wall.

Nicholas didn’t move an inch.

The bell chimed softly behind Adrian as he disappeared into the night.

And then...

Silence.

Not peace.

The loud kind of silence. Heavy. Messy. Filled with things neither of them could name yet.

Ella was still frozen, her whole body trembling, hands numb, heart cracked into sharp, uneven pieces.

Nicholas just stood there, watching the door like he could still see the ghost of Adrian’s arrogance hanging in the air.

Finally, he turned his head to her.

And for the first time since she’d met him...

Nicholas looked hurt.

Not angry. Not smug. Not victorious.

Hurt.

Real, raw, exposed hurt.

His voice, when it came, was quiet, careful, like he wasn’t sure if it would work properly. "Were you going to kiss him?"

Her breath caught. God.

"I wasn’t—I didn’t—" she stammered, shame curdling like acid in her throat, tears stinging behind her eyes. "It wasn’t—"

But he didn’t look furious.

He looked like someone had betrayed him.

Disappointment flickered behind those beautiful, dark eyes, restrained and sharp as ever—but this cut deeper than any temper.

And as the last echo of the bell faded and the door stilled...

Ella realized something devastating.

Adrian had broken her once before.

But this?

Watching Nicholas look at her like that?

This might break her even more.