Chapter 37
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ADRIAN lay on the plush couch in Vivian’s sitting room, his arm draped over his eyes, his mind heavy with a storm of thoughts. The evening had started with laughter and drinks at his office, his friends had filled the air with noise, banter, and alcohol. But when the noise died and the last glass was emptied, loneliness crept in gain. After clearing a few documents from his desk, instead of heading home, he found himself driving to Vivian’s apartment.
He had arrived about an hour ago. Vivian, ever quick to read him, had taken one look at his face and known exactly what he wanted, it was not words, not explanations, but comfort. Without a word, she disappeared into the kitchen, and the sounds of sizzling oil and clattering utensils soon followed.
Now, the smell of fried plantains and roasted chicken wafted into the living room, rich and inviting, mingling with the faint scent of her vanilla-scented candles.
Adrian’s eyes were still closed when Vivian stepped out, a tray in her hands. On it was a steaming plate of golden fried plantains, tender roasted chicken with a drizzle of pepper sauce, and a side of sautéed vegetables. A tall glass of chilled water sat beside it. She placed the dish carefully on the dining table, exhaling as though she too carried the weight of his burdens.
Wiping her hands on her apron, Vivian walked over to him and sank into the space beside him on the couch. Her perfume lingered softly between them.
“Hey, my love,” she began gently, her voice sweet and deliberate. “I made something for you. You should come eat.” She smiled, her dimples deepening as she studied his tired face. “You look drained p>
Adrian opened his eyes slowly, staring at the ceiling for a moment before turning his head toward her.
“Yeah. Yeah, but mine is just… all over the place,” he muttered.
Her brow arched, her tone cautious but curious.
“Is your wife… still fighting with you p>
He let out a sharp scoff, shaking his head. A silence followed before he finally said, “You know she hasn’t said a word to me… for a couple of days now p>
Vivian pulled a face, her lips pursed in a pout.
“Mm,” she mouthed, almost mockingly.
Adrian rubbed his face with both hands.
“I mean, I know I messed up. But I didn’t know that missing one school event would make things go this bad p>
Vivian gasped dramatically.
“Wow! One event! After everything you have done for her? Listen, that woman should be thanking God for having a man like you. You literally break your back for that home p>
Adrian’s voice rose with frustration.
“I do everything, Vivian. I pay the mortgage, the electricity, the water bills, school fees, groceries, car maintenance, hospital bills, every damn thing. But one mistake, and suddenly I become the villain p>
Vivian leaned closer, shaking her head in disdain.
“That is because she is ungrateful. All she does is sit at home and complain. She doesn’t see you, she doesn’t
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appreciate you p>
He sighed deeply, his tone softening as though defending Amelia against his own anger.
“She has been holding it down at home too, Vivian. She is always there for Hazel – ”
But Vivian cut him off sharply.
“But you pay for everything,” she pressed. “And what is her contribution? Judgement. Criticism. Babe, listen, you are a provider, a selfless one at that. You even care when most men don’t. What you deserve is peace, Adrian. Peace p>
He leaned back into the couch, a weary sigh escaping his lips.
Vivian reached for his hand.
“Listen to me, any woman that has you should worship the ground you walk on. If she doesn’t, then someone else will.” She shrugged, as if offering herself as the obvious alternative.
The room fell into silence, only the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen filling the gap. Adrian stared at the ceiling again, lost in his thoughts, while Vivian studied his face like it was a map she had memorized.
Finally, he spoke.
“It is like I’m always being pressured. No matter what I do, I’m never enough p>
Vivian let out a soft sigh, her eyes glistening with an almost rehearsed tenderness.
“The truth is, she doesn’t see your worth anymore. But baby, I’m here. I see you. I see everything p>
Her voice dwindled into quietness before she suddenly reached for the pillow he rested on, pulling it away gently. Sliding closer, she wrapped her arms around him, her warmth pressing into his side.
“Once you are done eating, I will help you forget everything. You don’t have to be under pressure, okay? Alright p>
Her eyes roamed his face, admiring the shape of his lips, the depth of his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered her head and pressed her lips against his, soft and lingering. When she pulled back, her voice was a whisper.
“Come eat, my love, okay p>
She helped him sit up, her hand clasped around his. He let her, too drained to resist.
“No pressure,” Vivian said, brushing his arm gently. “Just eat and be refreshed p>
Together they walked to the dining table, their fingers interlaced, a picture of intimacy. Adrian sat down, Vivian pulling out the chair for him like a devoted partner. She slipped into the seat beside him, her eyes never leaving
his face.
He uncovered the plate, the steam rising in fragrant curls. Picking up his cutlery, he cut into the roasted chicken and began eating. Vivian rested her chin on her palm, smiling at him all the while, her gaze steady, satisfied, like a woman watching a plan unfold perfectly.
Amelia stood in the bathroom, her silk night robe tied neatly at the waist, sleeves folded slightly above her elbows. She leaned toward the sink, gently massaging her face with a foamy cleanser, her movements unhurried and graceful. The cool water splashed over her skin as she rinsed, droplets clinging to her cheeks before she dabbed them away with a soft white towel.
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Next, she reached for her jar of night cream, scooping a little onto her fingertips and smoothg it over her face, working it into her skin with slow, circular motions. She brushed her teeth afterward, humming faintly as she did, her reflection staring back at her from the mirror. When she was done, she ran a comb through her hair, gathering it into a loose bun.
Satisfied, Amelia smiled faintly at the woman staring back at her, though tired, yes, but still standing. She hung the towel on the rack, flicked off the bathroom light, and pushed the door open.
As she stepped out, still humming softly, she froze. Right there at the doorway, leaning against the frame, was her husband, Adrian.
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Olivia Harris
Olivia Harris is an emerging author celebrated for her captivating romantic and steamy novels. With a talent for crafting deep emotional connections and fiery chemistry between her characters, Olivia’s stories offer readers an escape into worlds filled with passion, intrigue, and heart-stopping drama.