Chapter 4 No.4

Adriana began to build a wall.

It started with her phone. She muted the group chats with Gifford's family. She unfollowed the society blogs that breathlessly documented every Stanton move. She created a digital silence, a space where she didn't have to see his face next to hers.

The quiet was a relief.

But the attacks didn't stop. They just became more personal.

A text message arrived from an unknown number. It was a photo. Gifford and Jovita, sitting at a small, romantic table in a restaurant Adriana and Gifford used to call "their spot." Jovita was smiling, her head resting on Gifford's shoulder.

Adriana stared at the image. She felt... nothing. A dull, empty space where the pain used to be.

She deleted the photo and blocked the number without replying. The numbness was a victory.

A few days later, she ran into an old family friend at the gallery.

"Adriana, darling!" the woman chirped. "You and Gifford are still the perfect couple. The way he speaks of you, so much respect. It's lovely to see."

Adriana smiled. "Things change."

The woman looked confused.

"He was my whole world once," Adriana heard herself say, the words cool and distant. "But you can't build a life on a foundation of lies. It was an illusion."

She walked away, leaving the woman staring after her, mouth slightly agape. It was the first time she had spoken the truth aloud. It felt like breathing after being underwater for a very long time.

That night, she dreamed.

She was young again, on a windswept cliff with Alexzander. He was holding her hand, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. The sun was warm on her face. He was asking her to go with him, to build a life that was theirs, messy and real.

In the dream, she said yes.

She woke up with tears on her cheeks. The warmth of the dream faded, replaced by the cold reality of her bedroom. The pain wasn't gone. It was just buried.

She sat up, wiping her eyes. She finally understood. The tragedy wasn't that Gifford had betrayed her. It was that he had given her a beautiful cage and convinced her it was a home. That he had sold her a dream, and then methodically, cruelly, dismantled it piece by piece.

The next morning, she began to pack.

Not clothes. Memories. She went through her drawers, her closets, collecting every gift Gifford had ever given her. A diamond necklace for their first anniversary. A first edition book of poetry. A delicate music box that played their wedding song.

They were beautiful things. Empty things.

She placed them all in a large velvet-lined box.

Gifford found her in the dressing room, the open box between them.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"Cleaning," she said simply.

His eyes fell on the necklace. He picked it up. "This was for our anniversary. It cost a fortune."

He looked at her, expecting a reaction. Remorse, perhaps. Or gratitude.

"It's just a thing, Gifford," she said. "It doesn't mean anything anymore."

His face tightened. He couldn't understand. For him, value was measured in dollars, in status. He couldn't see that he had rendered all of it worthless.

"I don't have time for your moods, Adriana," he said, dropping the necklace back into the box with a careless clatter. "I have a board meeting."

He turned to leave.

"The gala is next Friday," he said over his shoulder. "Don't forget."

She looked at the box of meaningless treasures. It was the final confirmation she needed.

He hadn't just broken her heart. He had broken their entire world. And he didn't even notice the pieces at his feet.