Married. Again. Chapter 2

Two days later, on Saturday, Adrian was home, a rare occasion. He was on the living room floor with our daughter, Lily, building a sprawling LEGO city while I prepared a fruit platter in the open-plan kitchen.

The doorbell rang.

I dried my hands and went to answer it.

A courier stood on the doorstep, holding an enormous bouquet of lush, crimson roses. Each blossom was a perfect, velvety red, their arrangement radiating a calculated, dramatic beauty. Tucked among the flowers was a stark, black envelope.

"Delivery for Adrian Blackwood," the courier said.

I signed for them and took the heavy bouquet.

The color was blinding.

He had written in his blog that she loved red roses. They were, in her words, like her "fierce, fearless love."

"Wow! They're so pretty!" Lily cried, running over. "Did Daddy get those for you, Mommy?"

Adrian looked up from his LEGOs. The moment he saw the flowers in my arms, his face changed. He practically lunged across the room, snatching the bouquet from me with such force that a shower of petals rained down on the floor.

"Who sent these?" he demanded, his voice tight, a tremor running through it.

"A courier dropped them off. They're for you," I replied coolly, watching every muscle in his face twitch.

He ripped the black card from the bouquet. After a single glance, his face turned ashen. He crushed the card in his fist and forced a stiff, unnatural smile for our daughter.

"Lily, sweetie, can you go play in your room for a little bit? Mommy and Daddy need to talk."

Lily's face fell. She looked from his strained face to my calm one, but she obeyed, shuffling back to her room.

The second her door clicked shut, the strained warmth vanished from his face, replaced by a storm of barely contained fury.

He lowered his voice to a feral hiss. "Evelyn! This was you, wasn't it? What the hell did you send her?"

I met his blazing eyes, a cold, mocking smile touching my lips.

"What did I send her? I simply returned something that was left in my house to its rightful owner. What's the matter? Was she so moved by your 'old keepsake' that she felt compelled to return the favor so quickly?"

"You—!" The veins in his temple pulsed. He took a step forward, his hands clenched as if to grab me, but he stopped himself. "Why would you do that? I told you, it's over between us! This just confuses things! It makes her think—"

"Think what?" I let out a soft, mirthless laugh. "That you're still pining for her? That you sent her a secret message? Adrian, you know it's not over, and so does she. Otherwise, why would a single mug send her into a tailspin? Why would she send you these... what was it? Fierce, fearless red roses?"

I used the exact phrase from his blog.

His pupils contracted, his eyes widening as if he were seeing me for the first time. In that gaze, beneath the rage, a new emotion was dawning: pure, unadulterated fear.

He was finally realizing that the woman standing before him was no longer the emotional, predictable wife he thought he could placate and control.

"Evelyn, we need to talk about this," he said, taking a deep breath, trying to reclaim his authority. His voice was ragged with a desperate, suppressed anxiety.

"Talk about what?" I tilted my head, my tone a cruel mix of innocence and malice. "Should we talk about how your relationship was 'all emotion, no physical contact'? Or about how she's such a sweet, innocent girl who only wanted you to return to your family? Or perhaps we should talk about how I'm supposed to gratefully accept these flowers, arrange them in a crystal vase, and admire them every day as a monument to your great, tragic love story?"

Every word was a shard of ice, expertly aimed to shatter his fragile composure.