Part 81
(Alex's POV)
By the time Alex arrived, Moonlight Brew didn't look like a sleepy countryside café anymore.
It looked like a shrine.
Dozens of fans crowded around the entrance, their laughter mixing with the smell of roasted coffee beans and rain-soaked soil. Banners fluttered between parked scooters, camera flashes pulsed like lightning, and voices overlapped in breathless excitement.
"He's really here!"
"Oh my god, he smiled at me!"
"He actually made my drink!"
Alex's grip tightened around the steering wheel, her nails leaving tiny crescent marks in her palm. She sat there, engine off, watching through the windshield as Adrian stood behind the counter — unmasked, uncovered, unafraid.
The morning light hit his face just right, soft and golden. He was smiling — the same easy, practiced smile that made people fall for him years ago. But this time, it wasn't for the cameras or the stage. It was for them — these strangers who giggled and filmed and reached out across the counter like he was something holy.
Alex's jaw clenched.
Every time one of them leaned into hand him their cup, she imagined pushing their hands away.
Every time he laughed, she could almost hear her own pulse roaring in her ears.
How could he laugh like that?
How could he look so comfortable surrounded by them, when he used to flinch at every flash of a camera, every whisper of a fan's name?
He was supposed to be broken — still searching, still haunted.
Still hers.
A gust of wind rattled the car window. One of the fans stepped out from the café, clutching a cup that said "Made by Adrian" written in his handwriting. She squealed into her phone, showing off the signature.
Alex's breath hitched. Her heart twisted painfully. That handwriting used to belong to her — private notes, hidden flowers, quiet messages under his door.
Now he was writing it for everyone.
She leaned back in the seat, the faint glow of the café's sign reflecting in her eyes. From her distance, she could see his mother behind the counter too — smiling proudly, touching her son's shoulder like she owned that calm, safe world he'd built for himself.
The longer Alex watched, the more that calmness burned.
Adrian had rebuilt himself without her.
He was living, smiling, laughing — as if she had never existed.
Her lips curved into something between a smirk and a snarl.
She whispered softly, almost tenderly,
"You can play your little barista for them, Adrian… but they don't know you like I do."
Her fingers brushed the camera in her lap — a long-lens DSLR she'd carried for moments like this. She lifted it slowly, focused through the lens, and snapped a photo.
Click.
Through the glass, she caught him mid-smile, eyes bright, unaware.
Click.
Another — this time, as a fan reached over the counter and brushed his hand.
Alex exhaled shakily, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a tremor.
Jealousy coiled through her veins, electric and sharp.
But beneath it, there was something worse — resolve.
She closed the camera, slid it back into her bag, and started the car.
"You can't hide behind coffee and smiles forever," she murmured, voice trembling with something darker than anger. "When they leave, I'll still be here."
The car pulled away slowly, tires crunching against gravel.
Through the rearview mirror, Moonlight Brew glowed like a beacon — and in its warmth, Adrian laughed again.
Alex didn't smile back.
She just whispered, almost tenderly,
"Enjoy the peace while you can."