Late Night Confessions

There’s something different about living with someone you once used to hate that makes time stretch in strange ways. It becomes like two days just in a day.

It’s been three whole days since the contract was signed. Two days since the press release. One since I almost dumped coffee all over Adrian’s million dollar desk. (Okay, I did but it was a little.)

We haven’t argued today surprisingly, which feels like we are moving forward. In other words I will use just one word, progress or calm before a very specific kind of storm.

He is on his laptop again arranging some deal, some merger, something I don’t think I will ever understand because it’s written in numbers instead of words.

I’m across the living room sketching different things that cross my mind in silence, pretending the sound of his typing doesn’t drive me a bit insane.

He looks up suddenly. “You have been on that for an hour.”

“It’s called working,” I say, not looking up at him.

“So am I.” He said.

“Yeah, but I’m doing it quietly.”

He exhales, long suffering. “You have always had an attitude problem since I know you.”

“And you’ve always had a god complex,” I shoot back.

There’s a pause. I hear the soft click of his laptop closing.

“Come again?” he says.

I glance up. He’s watching me, that unreadable look on his face the one that says he’s amused but might also fire me if I were an employee.

“I said”

“I heard you.” His voice is calm, but there is a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I just wanted to see if you’d repeat it.”

“I would. Happily.”

“You are now braver than I remember.”

“Maybe I just stopped caring what you think.”

He leans back in his chair, eyes still on me. “You always cared what I thought.”

That one lands harder than it should. I drop my pencil, suddenly aware of how close the air feels.

“You don’t know me anymore, Adrian.” I said with a forced frown.

“Maybe not,” he says. “But I remember enough.”

“Don’t romanticize memories,” I tell him. “It’s unreliable.”

He laughs quietly. “That sounds like something you read just to sound smart.”

“I am smart.” I said defensive.

“I didn’t say you weren’t.” He said looking straight at me but it feels he is looking into my soul.

“Then what are you saying?”

He stands. Walk over. Stops a few feet away from me, like he’s testing how close he can get without setting something off between us.

“Just that you hide behind clever words when never you are scared,” he says softly.

I blink twice. “Excuse me?”

“You did it in college. You’re doing it now.”

“That is very rich coming from you.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Please.” He said with a scuff “Your entire personality is hiding.”

That finally cracks something. He smiles, but it’s tight around the edges. “You think you know me that well?” She said with her emotions written all over her.

“I think I knew you once. Before you decided ambition mattered more than people.” He said

The silence that follows is heavy.

He sits down across from me, elbows on his knees. “You really think that’s what happened?”

“I don’t think,” I say. “I remember.”

He nods slowly, like he’s deciding whether to say what’s next. Then he does.

“I didn’t take your design, Lia.”

I freeze. “What?”

“The project. The internship. Everyone said I stole it. I didn’t.”

“Adrian”

“I know what it looked like. But your father rejected my pitch the same week he approved yours. I was angry. I said things I shouldn’t have and I know better now. But I never touched your work.”

For a second, I can’t find my voice. The room feels smaller.

“Then why didn’t you say something?” Lia asked.

“Because you wouldn’t have believed me.”

“Maybe I would’ve.”

He meets my eyes. “No. You wanted someone to blame. And it was convenient for you to do it on me.”

It’s hard to argue with that, mostly because it’s not entirely wrong.

The city lights spill through the windows cold and glittering. I stare at them instead of him.

“You hurt me,” she said finally. Her voice comes out quieter than she expected.

“I know,” he says. “And I’ve hated myself for it longer than you think.”

Something in his tone cracks the edges of her anger. Not enough to forgive him. Just enough to make it harder to breathe.

They sat there, not looking at each other, both pretending not to notice how close the silence feels.

“Why me?” She asked after a while. “Of all the people you could’ve roped into this… business marriage.”

He looks genuinely puzzled. “You make it sound like I had a long list.”

“You probably do”

“I don’t.”

“Then why?”

He’s quiet for a second. “Because you’re the only one I trust not to sell me out.”

She laugh, sharp and disbelieving. “You trust me? After everything?”

He nods once. “Maybe I shouldn’t. But yes.”

“That’s insane.”

“Probably.”

They both go quiet again. The air hums between us.

“You really think this arrangement’s going to work?” She asked.

“I think it already is.”

“Based on what?” She said in disbelief.

He glances at her sketchbook. “You’re creating again.”

She stared at him. “That’s not because of you.”

“Maybe not. But it’s happening here. With me. So forgive me if I take a little credit.”

He says it so casually, and yet the words lodge somewhere under her ribs.

Later, he goes to the kitchen to grab water. She follow because she can’t stand sitting still with her thoughts.

He’s leaning against the counter, looking out over the city like it’s something he owns.

“You still drink black coffee?” She asked.

He glances over his shoulder. “You still draw shoes when you’re stressed?”

She make a face. “Don’t act like you know my tells.”

He smirks. “You tap your pencil when you’re thinking, chew it when you’re nervous, and throw it when you’re mad.”

She want to say something clever. Instead, she just blink. “You remember all that?”

“I remember everything about you,” he says quietly.

Something flickers between us. She hate that her pulse jumps.

“Don’t do that,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it sounds like you mean them.”

He doesn’t reply. Just watched her, expression soft but unreadable.

Eventually, she sigh. “We should set some boundaries.”

“Boundaries,” he repeats, amused. “Alright. What kind?”

“For starters, don’t touch my stuff.”

“Define ‘stuff.’”

“My workspace. My clothes. My just don’t.”

“Noted.”

“And no more making decisions for me.”

“That one might be harder.”

“Adrian.”

He holds up his hands. “Fine. I’ll try. No promises.” He finally said.

I shake my head. “You’re impossible.”

“You married me anyway.” He said with a smirk.

“That was blackmail.”

“Details,” he says.

It’s past midnight when she finally retreat to her room. She lied there for a while staring at the ceiling, trying to replay the night in a way that makes sense.

He said he didn’t steal my work. He sounded like he meant it.

But Adrian always sounds like he means everything. That’s part of the problem.

Still… something felt different tonight. Softer. Like the man I used to know was still in there somewhere, buried under suits and power and guilt.

I shouldn’t care.

I tell myself I don’t.

But when I finally fall asleep, I dream of the way he said my name quietly, like it still meant something.