Noah’s I stared at Adrian across the office.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
The city lights outside the window had begun to blur into evening, and the silence between us felt heavier than it should have.
His last words kept replaying in my mind.
Maybe we do.
I knew more than I had told him.
Much more.
I knew about the mark.
I knew about that night.
I knew why I had spent two years keeping Ethan away from him.
What I didn’t know was why I had ended up at Adrian’s apartment afterward.
That part of my memory remained frustratingly unclear.
And I wasn’t ready to tell him everything.
Not yet.
I lowered my gaze.
“Adrian…” “Yes?” “About the photograph.” He waited.
“I don’t want to investigate the past anymore.” His eyebrows drew together.
“Why?” “Because every time I look for answers, something else happens.” “You deserve to know the truth.” “I already know enough.” That wasn’t entirely true.
But it was the safest answer I could give.
Adrian studied me for a long moment, the way he always did when he suspected I was hiding something — patient, unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world to wait me out.
“You know something.” My heart jumped.
“What makes you say that?” “Because you look terrified every time someone mentions that night.” I couldn’t answer.
My phone suddenly rang.
It was the daycare.
I answered immediately.
“Hello?” “Mr.
Everhart, Ethan has been asking for you.” I glanced at the clock.
“I’ll be there soon.” I ended the call.
Adrian stood.
“I’ll drive you.” “It’s across the street.” “I know.” I gave him a look.
He simply picked up his coat.
“Let’s go.” I couldn’t help sighing.
“You’re really stubborn.” “So I’ve been told.” After picking Ethan up, we returned to Adrian’s house because the security team still hadn’t cleared my apartment.
Ethan spent the evening playing with his blocks while Adrian worked nearby, papers spread across the low table, his sleeves rolled to the elbow.
Every so often Ethan would hold up a block for inspection, and Adrian would set down his pen just long enough to admire it before returning to his work.
It was strangely peaceful — the kind of quiet evening I hadn’t let myself imagine having with anyone.
Until Adrian suddenly stopped.
He pressed his fingers against his temple.
I noticed immediately.
“Are you alright?” “I’m fine.” “You look pale.” “I’m just tired.” I stood.
“Maybe you should rest.” He nodded.
For the first time, I noticed something different about him.
His usual scent-neutralizer wasn’t working properly.
I immediately understood.
His rut was approaching.
“Adrian.” He looked at me.
“I’m going upstairs.” “Why?” “Because you need space.” He seemed to understand what I meant.
“Thank you.” I picked up Ethan.
“Come on, sweetheart.” Ethan hugged his fox.
“Sleep?” “Yes.
Bedtime.” I carried him upstairs and settled him into bed.
When I returned downstairs, Adrian was still there.
He looked exhausted.
“You should go to your room.” “I will.” I hesitated.
“Goodnight.” “Goodnight, Noah.” I turned away.
Then I heard him say my name.
“Noah.” I stopped.
“What?” He looked at me for a long moment.
“I don’t know why, but sometimes I feel like I’ve already said goodbye to you once.” My chest tightened.
I forced a small smile.
“Maybe you did.” Then I walked upstairs before he could ask what I meant.
I closed the bedroom door behind me.
And only then did I let myself breathe.
Because I knew exactly what I hadn’t told him.
There had been a night when I stood in front of that same man and knew my entire life was about to change.
And I had spent two years pretending it never happened.
Two years of rehearsing a version of the truth that was small enough to carry alone, light enough that it wouldn’t crush either of us if it ever slipped.
But it was slipping now.
I could feel it, the way you feel a storm before the sky actually breaks.
I closed the door and leaned against it.
Adrian’s words were still in my head.
Sometimes I feel like I’ve already said goodbye to you once.
He didn’t remember.
Not everything.
But I did.
I remembered enough to know why I had run.
I remembered the mark.
I remembered the morning after.
I remembered waking up and realizing that I couldn’t stay in that city anymore.
What I couldn’t remember was what had made me go to Adrian’s apartment that night.
That one missing piece had bothered me for two years.
I walked toward Ethan’s bed and sat beside him.
He was sleeping peacefully, one tiny hand wrapped around his stuffed fox, his breathing slow and even in a way mine hadn’t been in days.
I brushed his hair away from his forehead, studying the small, familiar curve of his face — Adrian’s eyes, my stubbornness, and something entirely his own.
“Everything will be okay,” I whispered.
I hoped I was right.
I had told him that lie, or that promise, so many times over the past two years that I had almost convinced myself it was true.
But sitting there in the dark, listening to the rain against the window and the quiet murmur of the house settling around us, I wasn’t sure anymore which one it was.
A few minutes later, there was another knock.
I opened the door slightly.
Adrian stood outside.
“Can I come in?” I stepped aside.
He entered quietly and looked at Ethan.
“He’s sleeping.” “Yes.” Adrian stayed near the doorway.
“I wanted to check on you.” “I’m alright.” His eyes moved toward my neck.
The scent blocker was still in place, but my approaching heat made my scent stronger than usual, and I saw the moment he noticed — the faint tightening at the corner of his jaw, the way his gaze dropped and then deliberately lifted again, as if he were reminding himself where to look.
“You should rest,” he said.
“I will.” Neither of us moved.
Then Adrian’s phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
“My mother.” My stomach tightened.
“Are you going to answer?” “Yes.” He stepped into the hallway.
I didn’t mean to listen.
But the walls were quiet, and I could hear Evelyn’s voice faintly.
“Did you find the records?” Adrian’s expression changed.
“Yes.” A pause.
“No, Mother.
I haven’t opened everything.” Another pause.
His eyes hardened.
“Why are you telling me not to?” I couldn’t hear her answer.
Adrian looked toward the bedroom.
Then he lowered his voice.
“I’ll decide what I need to know.” He ended the call.
When he came back inside, I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
“What did she want?” “She asked about E-17.” I looked down.
“Does she know what happened?” “I don’t know.” “But she seems to.” Adrian didn’t answer.
I hugged my arms around myself.
“Maybe you shouldn’t investigate this.” “Why?” “Because some things are better left alone.” His eyes settled on me.
“Is that what you did?” My heart stopped.
“What?” “You left everything behind.” I couldn’t answer.
He continued quietly.
“You left the university.
You left the city.
You disappeared.” There was no accusation in his voice, only something quieter, closer to grief.
“I looked for you, you know.
For a while.” I hadn’t known that.
The admission landed somewhere soft and unguarded in my chest.
“I had my reasons.” “I know.” He looked at me for a moment.
“But I want to understand them.” I looked away.
“You don’t need to.” “Maybe I do.” Silence filled the room.
Then I whispered, “Adrian, whatever happened between us…
let it stay in the past.” His expression changed.
“Between us?” I immediately regretted my words.
“I didn’t mean—” “You did.” I looked at him.
He took a slow breath.
“I don’t remember everything, Noah.” My chest tightened.
“But I remember enough to know that something happened.” I said nothing.
He stepped back.
“I’m not asking you to tell me tonight.” I looked at him.
“Then what are you asking?” “The truth when you’re ready.” I swallowed.
I wanted to tell him.
I wanted to tell him that Ethan was his son.
That the mark on my neck wasn’t some meaningless scar.
That I hadn’t left because I hated him.
I had left because I was terrified.
But the words wouldn’t come.
They sat in my throat like stones, too heavy to lift, and I hated myself a little for the silence I kept choosing over him.
Instead, I whispered, “I’m sorry.” Adrian’s brow furrowed.
“For what?” I shook my head.
“Nothing.” He watched me for another moment before nodding.
“Get some sleep.” He turned toward the door.
“Adrian.” He stopped.
I almost told him.
Almost.
But I looked at Ethan instead.
“Goodnight.” Adrian looked at me.
“Goodnight, Noah.” He left.
I closed the door.
Then I sat beside Ethan again.
My hand moved slowly to my neck.
The mark was warm beneath my fingers.
I closed my eyes.
Down the hall, I could hear the faint creak of Adrian’s door, then nothing.
The house settled into its nighttime quiet, and somewhere beneath that quiet I could still feel the shape of everything unspoken between us, waiting.
Two years ago, I had promised myself that Adrian would never know.
But now he was beginning to remember.
And I was beginning to wonder how much longer I could keep my promise.
Noah is carrying way too many secrets, and Adrian is starting to realize that there is much more to their past than Noah is willing to say.
And that conversation at the end… “I don’t know why, but sometimes I feel like I’ve already said goodbye to you once.” Noah KNOWS what Adrian is talking about.
What do you think Noah is hiding from Adrian?
See you in Chapter 18!
— Ari1