The consequences arrived quietly—but they arrived all the same.
Adrian's name dominated the morning news cycle, wrapped in polite speculation and sharpened by rumor. Analysts spoke of "uncharacteristic decisions," of "emotional influence," of a man once untouchable now suddenly… human.
I watched from the kitchen island as he ended another call, his expression unreadable.
"That was the board," he said calmly.
"And?" I asked, though my chest already felt tight.
"They're questioning my judgment."
Because of me, the words went unspoken but heavy.
Adrian crossed the room and rested his hands on the counter, caging me in gently—not possessive, just present. "Say it," he said softly.
"I never wanted to be the reason you lost anything," I admitted. "Your power. Your standing. Your—"
"My illusion of invincibility?" he finished. A faint smile touched his lips. "That was overdue."
"But they won't stop," I said. "They'll keep pushing until you choose differently."
"I already did."
The certainty in his voice was terrifying—and comforting.
Later that day, I felt it more sharply. At a luncheon meant for introductions and alliances, conversations shifted when I approached. Smiles tightened. Curiosity edged into judgment.
She doesn't belong.
She changed him.
She's temporary.
I slipped onto the balcony, needing air, needing distance from a world that still didn't know what to do with me.
Adrian followed minutes later.
"You don't have to stay," I said quietly, staring out at the city. "Not like this. Not if it costs you everything."
He was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "I spent years building an empire designed to protect me from loss."
I turned toward him.
"And in the end," he continued, "it protected nothing that mattered."
His hand found mine, grounding. "If this world won't accept you, then I'll change the world I stand in."
Emotion burned behind my eyes. "And if they force you to choose again?"
He leaned closer, forehead resting against mine.
"Then I'll choose you again," he said. "Every time."
And in that moment, I understood the real cost of his choice.
Not power.
Not reputation.
But the courage to keep choosing love in a world that punished it.