Chapter 272

"Idiot! Who told you he'd be earning his keep by playing piano? Have you been using that pathetic logic all this time? Is that why you keep disappointing me?"

The man flinched but remained still, taking the impact directly. The porcelain mug shattered against his forehead, scattering fragments across the marble floor. Crimson trails mixed with dark coffee dripped down his cheek as he mumbled incoherently, fear rendering his words unintelligible.

Julian leaned back in his leather chair, fingers forming a steeple beneath his chin as he contemplated his next move. "Search every residence with a piano. Investigate families who bought used ones—trace their origins precisely."

The man's expression brightened with sudden realization. "Genius as ever, Mr. Montclair!"

After an awkward pause, he ventured cautiously, "The resort recently tapped into the mountain hot springs. Perhaps you'd like to stay and recuperate for a few days?"

Julian hesitated, a melodic feminine laugh echoing in his memory. Against his usual judgment, he gave a noncommittal grunt. "Hmm."

The man beamed. "I'll prepare your private suite at once!"

Julian's gaze flickered to the blood still seeping from the man's temple, his face twisting in revulsion. "Clean yourself up. You're disgusting."

The man practically glowed with relief, bowing repeatedly as he backed out of the study.

Alone, Julian retrieved his phone. He opened WhatsApp, thumb hovering over the chat interface for an eternity before exiting without typing a single character.

Vivian wandered through the familiar streets of Willowbrook, noting how many childhood landmarks had vanished—replaced by glossy storefronts or boarded-up windows. She'd always imagined bringing Adrian here someday—walking these same cobblestones, sharing her favorite bakery's cinnamon rolls, pointing out where she'd scraped her knee learning to ride a bike.

Two years of marriage, yet this simple wish remained unfulfilled. Now that they were both in Willowbrook together, she'd hoped to finally bridge that gap, to smooth over the unspoken regrets between them. But everything had changed—especially them. Some fractures never truly healed, leaving only ghosts of what might have been.

Her feet carried her to the wrought-iron gates of her old elementary school. The candy shop that once sold licorice ropes for a quarter now boasted organic smoothies. She bought some street vendor's grilled skewers instead, the aroma transporting her back to after-school snacks. As the setting sun painted the brick buildings gold, memories of Emberglow County surfaced, and she turned toward Eleanor's apartment.

The moment Vivian opened the door, spicy aromas assaulted her senses—ginger, garlic, and something burning. To her astonishment, Adrian emerged from the kitchenette coughing violently, his face flushed scarlet beneath the ridiculous frilly apron tied around his waist. She froze in the doorway, certain he'd have retreated to the Harbor Grand after their explosive argument.

Yet here he stood—not just present, but attempting to cook. The apron should have looked absurd on his six-foot-two frame, but somehow the contrast between the domestic fabric and his sharp jawline worked. Sometimes it wasn't the garment that mattered, but the man wearing it. Without his usual tailored shirt, the apron's ties emphasized his narrow waist, the sight unexpectedly intimate amidst the steam and smoke.

When Adrian finally stopped choking, he glared at her with watery eyes, voice hoarse. "Water. Now."