Page 127 of Legacy
“He gave you his number?” I demand.
She doesn’t answer.
She picks up the mugs from the counter and rinses them, calm, unaffected.
“Adriana.”
She still doesn’t look at me.
“You’re still ignoring me?”
She finishes rinsing the mugs and turns, wiping them dry. Then, without a word, she walks back to the living room, kneels beside the coffee table, and begins stacking her papers again.
I follow.
“Look, I get it. You’re upset You’re hurt. Fine. But you don’t get to cheat.”
That freezes her.
Her hands still mid-motion.
She turns her head slowly, her eyes locking onto mine.
And I wish she looked furious.
I wish there was something.
But there’s nothing.
Not heat. Not hate. Not even pain.
Just cold, hollow indifference.
Her voice is silent, but the look says it all:You’re not worth reacting to.
I hate it more than anything.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, unsure who I even am anymore.
She doesn’t respond.
Just continues gathering her documents, organizing her little fortress of detachment.
“You don’t have to leave the room,” I add, trying to hold onto something—anything. “I just want to talk.”
But she gathers her things anyway.
Starts walking.
I reach for her wrist, instinct taking over.
She stops.
Just stares at my hand wrapped around her skin like I branded her.
No panic. No struggle. Just… nothing.
The kind of nothing that cuts deeper than rage.
