The rain came suddenly that afternoon.
Gray clouds rolled in like soldiers marching, and the garden turned into a sea of glistening green.
Hazel stood on the balcony, arms crossed over her sweater, watching the downpour soak the roses below.
She didn't cry often.
But today was one of those days.
Maybe it was the way Adrian's mother still looked at her—like she was a guest wearing someone else's skin.
Maybe it was the phone call she accidentally overheard about the "marriage renewal review."
Maybe it was just… the loneliness.
She wiped her face, annoyed at herself.
"Stop crying," she whispered. "You got a mansion, a hot silent husband, and a team of butlers. You're living the weirdest Cinderella dream ever. Pull it together."
But the tears kept coming.
Until—
She heard footsteps.
She didn't need to turn around to know it was him.
Adrian.
He never knocked. He just appeared, like rainclouds or… miracles.
He stood beside her, watching the rain in silence.
She sniffed. "Do you always sneak up on people during their emotional breakdowns?"
He didn't answer.
Of course not.
She sighed. "I'm okay. Just hormones. Or vibes. Or maybe I'm allergic to wealth."
Still no reply.
But he reached into his coat pocket and handed her a folded napkin.
She laughed through her sniffles. "Why do all your comforting tools involve linens?"
Still, she took it.
And then, without warning—
He spoke.
Sort of.
"E—"
She froze.
Turned to him.
"What?"
His lips had moved.
Barely.
Shaped into a single letter.
"E—" he tried again.
Nothing came out.
But the soundless tremble on his face—the sheer effort behind that small movement—was enough to punch the air out of her lungs.
He was trying to say her name.
Erin.
He clenched his fists, jaw tight, throat trembling with a word that wouldn't come.
Hazel reached up slowly and touched his cheek.
"Hey," she whispered. "It's okay. I heard it. I heard you even if it didn't come out."
He looked away, ashamed.
She stepped closer.
"No one's ever tried that hard for me before," she said, voice breaking. "Not even in my own life."
He flinched.
And she finally let herself cry.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just quiet tears running down her face, as she leaned her forehead against his chest.
And for the first time—
Adrian held her.
Not awkwardly.
Not reluctantly.
He wrapped both arms around her.
Tight.
Like he was afraid she'd disappear.
⸻
Ten minutes later, they were still standing there.
No words.
Just rain. Warmth. Breath.
And silence that no longer felt empty.
Hazel whispered into his chest, "Next time… say the whole thing."
He nodded once.
And for the first time…
She believed he would.