The house had never felt so empty. Even the hum of the refrigerator sounded intrusive. It was slicing through the quiet like a blade. Bella wandered from the bedroom to the living room, back to the kitchen. Her hands trailed along surfaces, trying to find herself in a place that felt alien.
One week; one week left before she could escape. A week before she could escape the weight of her mother's betrayal and the lingering chaos. But every hour crawled, slow, deliberate, and heavy.
Her mornings were the hardest. She would wake, chest tight, staring at the ceiling until the white paint blurred. She thought to herself, How am I going to survive today? Repeated itself like a drumbeat in her skull. She tried to occupy herself.
Chris's absence lingered like a shadow. Her mother's coldness pressed against her spine. And Adrian's messages buzzed like a lifeline she didn't know if she deserved.
Breakfast was mechanical: toast, tea, and eggs. She ate them in silence, staring out the window at the street, watching people move with a rhythm. Sleep was fitful, interrupted by flashes of her mother's hand and her own sobs from the night before. Chris's soft and grounding voice, Adrian's coaxing whispers. She would drift, only to wake in panic, clutching her phone. She needed contact, needed someone—anyone—to anchor her to reality.
Her mother's absence was deafening. After the confrontation, she hadn't lingered, hadn't tried to repair anything. She went out, came back tired, ate, and disappeared into herself. The house had become a mausoleum of stillness. Bella caught herself glancing at the clock as though watching time could speed it up. But it refused to cooperate.
By mid-morning, Adrian's texts would start coming in. First casual—"Morning, sleepyhead. Still surviving the silent torture chamber?" —then insistent: "Bella… talk to me. I can hear the storm in your quiet." She resisted at first, fingers hovering over the screen, heart hammering. I can't. Not now. But the weight of loneliness pressed heavier, and then she unlocked her phone.
"Hey," she typed, fingers trembling.
"Hey yourself," came the reply almost immediately, followed by a FaceTime request. She hesitated with her hair still tangled, her eyes rimmed with last night's tears. Curiosity and habit pulled her in. The screen lit up, and Adrian's face filled it, half-grinning, half-concerned.
"You look like hell," he said, voice playful, teasing—but not cruel. His eyes softened when he saw the bags under hers and the flush from crying. "But, hey… I like this kind of chaos. It suits you."
Bella tried to smile. It felt weak, but the corners of her lips twitched.
"You're a nightmare," she muttered, voice cracking.
"Maybe," he conceded, leaning closer to the camera. "But I'm your nightmare. And I promise, I come with snacks."
He had this way of blending mischief with warmth and teasing with empathy, and Bella couldn't help but lean into it. She let him pull her into little games: TikTok dances she could do that broke her waist. Experimenting with food in her kitchen, where flour ended up everywhere but the pan. These silly challenges left them both laughing until tears mingled with laughter. For the first time in twenty-four hours, she forgot. She forgot that her mother's shadow lingered only outside the door.
Chris was a ghost hovering at the edge of her consciousness. He texted, and he called once in a while. Always in the mornings, with a clipped, practical concern: "Hey, hope you slept okay. I'm running late for a meeting. Everything's going to be fine. Don't worry." His words were comforting, but there was a cold distance she could feel in the space between them. He couldn't see her, couldn't hear the tremor in her voice, and couldn't watch the tears she hadn't shed yet.
Adrian, chaotic, mischievous, attentive—he could. And so, though she knew Chris was the one who had caused this storm, she found herself reaching for Adrian. She leaned into the warmth and humor he offered.
By afternoon, boredom gnawed at her. One week felt infinite. She tried content creation to occupy her mind. Funny reels, short videos, and mini vlogs of herself talking to the camera. She was trying to make sense of the chaos around her. Adrian was always a ping away. He watched her experiments, laughing with her, teasing her when things went wrong.
"You just put sugar in the salt jar again," he whispered over FaceTime, laughing so hard his shoulders shook.
Bella groaned. "I'm doomed. This is a disaster. Disaster, Adrian. Please send help."
"I am help. And maybe a little chaos," he countered, grinning. "But I promise, chaos is therapeutic when I'm involved."
And in those moments, she allowed herself to forget the underlying turmoil. She forgot Chris's absence, her mother's distance, and the week of purgatory ahead. She forgot Williams, the confrontation, and the anger that still throbbed in her chest. She laughed until she cried, until the muscles in her cheeks ached. Then, she realized the hours had somehow passed without her noticing.
The quiet always returned with a severe ache and unanswered questions. She stood between two men, torn by tension. Men who existed on opposite ends of her emotional spectrum. Adrian was always near, teasing, making her laugh. Chris, responsible, distant, apologetic, yet restrained. He was a reminder of the consequences and chaos that had led her here.
One night, after a particularly long FaceTime session. The one where Adrian had convinced her to try making an ice cream sundae. Bella collapsed on her bed, exhausted, her phone pressed to her chest.
"You know," Adrian said, his voice less teasing now, almost intimate, "I can't fix what's broken. I can't make the past disappear. But I can be here. I can be the one to remind you that even if the world's upside down, you're still you. Still amazing. Still… strong."
Her eyes stung with tears, and she whispered, "I… I only want all this to stop. The fighting, the anger, the guilt… I want… peace."
"You'll get there," he said. "Not today, not tomorrow… but someday. And I'll be here while you do it. I'll be annoying, I'll be messy, I'll make you scream at me, but I'll be here."
She laughed through tears. "You're relentless."
"I'm your relentless," he said, voice low, with a half-smile she couldn't see. "Deal with it."
Meanwhile, Chris's sporadic texts began to frustrate her. "Heading out. Hope you're okay. Don't forget to eat. Love you." She stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He was responsible, he was serious, but he wasn't here—he wasn't really here. Her heart ached. For the man she trusted, half for the playful, chaotic energy Adrian brought into her days.
Bella's mind spun in circles. She tried to focus on movies while eating popcorn—but even they couldn't erase the lingering shadows. She kept glancing at her phone, at the texts, at the missed calls, feeling the tug of both men in different ways. Adrian pulled her toward the present, toward laughter and small joys.
Adrian called her one evening, insisting on a FaceTime "mission." She rolled her eyes but couldn't resist.
He guided her through a series of exercises to keep her mind active. Exercises like cooking a new recipe while narrating it like a food show host. Bella laughed more than she had in days. She felt lighter, even if only for moments.
"You know," Adrian said after she finished frosting a cake. This time she didn't smear it everywhere. "I think you're healing, slowly. But you are. You laugh. You create. You breathe. That's proof."
Bella leaned back, letting the weight of his words sink in. "I'm… trying," she whispered.
"Yes, you are," he replied, voice soft and unwavering. "And that's enough for now. Let's survive the week, okay? Together."
And together, they filled the house with laughter, chaos, and small triumphs. But even Adrian's playful energy couldn't erase the shadow of Chris's absence. That nagging pull remained, a reminder that one week was still one week. The storm she had survived yesterday could very well return tomorrow.
It was late when Adrian finally hung up. He left Bella in her room, the soft glow of her phone screen illuminating her face. Her body ached from laughing, cooking, dancing, and crying. She lay back, staring at the ceiling, the quiet returning—but this time, it was different. It wasn't oppressive. It was the calm after a storm, a brief pause, a chance to catch her breath before the next wave hit.
Her phone buzzed once more. A text from Chris: "Call me when you can. Need to talk."
Bella's hand froze. Part of her wanted to answer immediately, to hear his voice. She needed an explanation to feel anchored once more. Another part of her wanted to ignore it, to leave him waiting. She wanted to protect herself from the familiar sting of absence.
She stared at the phone, heart racing, chest tight, and mind spinning. One week, one week left. And already, the emotional rollercoaster seemed endless.
And then—Adrian's name lit up on the screen again. He was calling, FaceTime, to see if she's asleep. She stared at both notifications. Her breath froze between desire, loyalty, and the beautiful chaos of love and pain.
Bella's thumb hovered over the screen.
Who would she reach for first?
Her heart pounded. The house was silent. Her mother's room down the hall remained closed.
Bella realized that whatever choice she made next could change everything.