We were materialists. But in that moment, Adrian's desperation had felt a hundred times more sacred than our wedding vows.
His gaze dropped to the suitcase at my side. The confusion hardened into ice.
"You're leaving?" He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me whole. "Just because I was two hours late?"
A dry laugh scraped up my throat.
"This is the tenth time, Adrian."
"Ten times you've stood me up for Zoe Preston."
"Last time, you claimed she was exhausted from researching my case. So you stayed at her apartment all night to *care for her*."
"The time before that, you said a patient's family slapped her because she was trying to find me a heart donor. So you abandoned me to *comfort her*."
"And this time?" I tilted my head. "What's the excuse today?"
The temperature around him plummeted. "Fiona Mason, do you have no heart? Zoe is my junior. Everything she does—everything *we* do—is for *you*."
*Ding.*
The elevator doors slid open. Zoe Preston rushed out, her face arranged into a mask of frantic worry. Her gaze ping-ponged between us, and her expression shifted—disapproval dripping from every pore.