Chapter 73: Watching Him Move On
Adrian turned, about to warn her to stop, that he would throw her out if she didn’t.
But before he could speak, she moved quickly, pushing him back onto the bed and leaning in, pressing her lips against his, determined and unyielding.
For a second, Adrian didn’t resist.
He tried to respond, tried to convince himself to feel something, to accept it, to move on, to forget Matteo.
He closed his eyes, searching for a spark, a reason to stay. He tried, but there was nothing, no fire, no pull, only the hollow realization that he was forcing a lie.
He broke the kiss abruptly, pushing Iris away with a frantic strength. He didn’t say a word as he scrambled out of the bed and bolted for the door.
"Adrian! Where are you going?" Iris screamed, her voice shrill with frustration, but he didn’t look back.
He spent the rest of the night in another room, staring at the ceiling as the silence pressed down on him.
He thought of Matteo, how open he had been, how much he had given without holding back.
After everything... I should have gone to him, Adrian whispered into the dark. I should have asked him the truth.
We both needed that...
But then the doubt crept back in like poison.
What if it were true? What if he really did abandon me?
Matteo returned to the estate. Mark was finally home, and they sat down for dinner together. Matteo went through the motions of a normal evening, carefully hiding the pain from what had happened at the cinema.
He knew that if he told Mark he had lost his temper and tried to force something with Adrian, Mark would only blame him for making things worse.
He kept his voice calm as he talked about business, but the mask was beginning to crack. Mark watched him over the rim of his glass, his eyes narrowing.
"Is everything all right, Teo?" Mark asked quietly. "You’re... quieter than usual."
"I’m fine," Matteo said, a tight smile on his lips. "Just a long day. Work drained me."
Mark didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. "Go get some rest, then."
"Alright. Goodnight, Mark." Matteo stood up and headed upstairs, his shadow trailing behind him like a heavy shroud.
Upstairs, in Tony’s dimly lit room, he sat back in a chair, slowly swirling a glass of amber liquid. A knock came at the door.
"Come in."
One of the guards from the cinema, who had seen Matteo walk out of the restroom looking shattered, stepped inside.
"I have something to report."
Tony’s eyes lifted slowly. "Speak."
The guard didn’t hesitate. He told him everything, the confrontation, the slap, and how Adrian had rejected Matteo.
Tony listened, a slow, dark satisfaction spreading across his face. He let out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoed through the room.
"He rejected him?" Tony chuckled, shaking his head as he looked at the guard. "The great Matteo, reduced to begging for attention, only to be slapped."
He took a long sip of his drink, his eyes gleaming with a predatory confidence.
"Let them play their little games of cat and mouse," Tony said, his voice cold and controlled. "Let Matteo chase after that boy like a wounded dog, begging for attention. No matter how long he runs after him... they’ll never end up together."
He leaned back, a slow smirk forming on his lips.
"In the end, Matteo... you’ll be mine. And he’ll forget all about that innocent, pretty face."
He let out a low, dark laugh. "You can go," he added curtly.
The bodyguard bowed and left the room, leaving Tony alone with his ambitions.
The next day, a different version of Matteo Marcone emerged. The restless energy he had once spent chasing Adrian was now poured into his empire.
He became cold. Efficient. Distant.
The only thing he dealt with was Adrian’s damaged phone. He had it repaired, bought a new one to go with it, and sent his men to deliver them.
No note. No message. No looking back.
He simply cut the cord.
Meanwhile, Adrian matched his coldness. That morning, he stood before Iris, his eyes so cold they left no room for argument.
"Don’t ever repeat what you did last night," he said. "And I don’t want you around me for a while. I need to focus."
Iris tried to plead, to play the victim, but Adrian walked away before she could say anything. He skipped breakfast and left the house, insisting they go to work separately.
When he arrived at the studio parking lot, he glanced around without thinking.
The space where Matteo usually waited was empty.
Throughout the day, the memory of the restroom encounter played on a loop in his mind, but he forced himself into his sketches.
That evening, as Adrian came down to the parking lot and moved to get into his car, Matteo’s men approached and handed him a package.
Adrian took the package, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of Matteo, but there was no one.
He wanted to ask about him, the question burning on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it and stayed silent.
Once inside his car, he opened the package. He found his old phone, fully restored, alongside a brand-new one. No note. No explanation. Just a silent return of his property.
Desperate to drown out his thoughts, Adrian met Charles and Frank at a club later that night. They drank heavily, the loud music providing a temporary shield against his own mind. Frank sensed the tension but knew better than to push for answers while Adrian was in such a volatile state.
When they were done and heading toward the parking lot, the group fell silent as they reached the parking lot, just before getting into their cars.
At that moment, Matteo stepped out, surrounded by his usual security, but he wasn’t alone.
Beside him stood a young man, slim, tall, and striking. He laughed as he wrapped an arm around Matteo and handed him his cross-body bag. Matteo took it with an easy, genuine smile.
It was Frank who saw them first, nudging Charles and Adrian to look.
As Matteo laughed, he lifted his head, his gaze moving over the group before landing on Adrian, locking with his for a brief second.
But there was nothing there. No longing. No anger. No pain.
He looked away just as quickly, as if Adrian were nothing more than a stranger in the crowd.
He guided the young man into the car and followed after him, the door closing behind them.
The engine roared to life, and the car pulled away without a single backward glance.
Adrian felt a cold hollow open up in his chest. Sensing the barrage of questions about to come from Charles and Frank, he spoke quickly. "Goodnight, guys. I’m exhausted."
Before Charles could even open his mouth to ask what that was about, Adrian had already climbed into his car and signaled his driver to move, leaving his friends standing there.
Frank turned to Charles, giving a cynical shrug. "I told you Matteo would get bored with him soon. Adrian isn’t exactly fun to be with, and a man like Matteo needs someone with more life, more attitude, like that guy he was with tonight."
"Adrian shouldn’t have trusted someone like Matteo in the first place." Frank Added.
Charles looked at Frank, his silence heavy with disapproval. He didn’t argue; he simply muttered a cold "Goodnight" and walked toward his own car, leaving the words hanging in the air.
Inside the car, Matteo’s mood shifted the moment the doors closed. The smile he’d been wearing vanished, replaced by a momentary, haunting emptiness. But he forced himself to snap out of it. What is the point? He thought bitterly. He clearly doesn’t want me. He leaned back against the leather seat, telling himself they both deserved something better than the constant pain of the last few weeks.
When Adrian got home, his mind was a storm of intrusive thoughts. Seeing Matteo with someone else and knowing exactly how they might spend the night, made something twist painfully inside him.
It was the same closeness he had once wanted from Matteo... the same thing he had longed for before everything fell apart.
And now, Matteo would give it to someone else.
The memory of the restroom hit him again, Matteo standing there, asking for the truth... and him pushing him away.
Now this, it felt like a physical blow.
He picked up the phone, his thumb hovering over Matteo’s contact. He dialed the number, then hung up before it could ring. He typed out three different messages and deleted them all.
Finally, summoning a sliver of desperate courage, he sent a simple text: Did you get home safely? Thank you for the phones.
Matteo’s phone buzzed on the nightstand moments later. He read the message, his expression unreadable, and sent back a reply that was brief and clinical: Yeah. You’re welcome.
That was it. Seeing the short, dismissive response, Adrian felt a wave of hot shame wash over him. He cursed himself for reaching out, for being the one to break the silence. He dropped the phone onto the nightstand and forced himself to close his eyes, though sleep felt miles away.
Adrian tried to convince himself that the stranger was just a one-night distraction. But over the next three days, the reports kept coming.
Frank, who somehow always seemed to be everywhere, kept updating him.
He had seen them at dinner.