Noah Wellington had never been good at lying.
Which made it unbearable to carry the one truth he could never tell—
That he was in love with Adrian Smith.
It had started years ago, quietly, like all the dangerous feelings do.
It was Adrian’s smile at first—sweet and shy, a little crooked when he was nervous. Then his laugh, boyish and pure, like he hadn’t been touched by the world yet. But mostly, it was the way he treated Sarah.
Like she was the only person in a room full of stars.
Every word, every gesture, the way he held open her car door, the way he remembered the tiniest things she liked—how her tea needed just a hint of lemon, how lilies made her smile after a long day.
Noah watched from the sidelines, craving a love like that.
Not from anyone else.
From him.
And Sarah? She was chasing shadows. Boy toys, late-night flings, giggles laced in lipstick and lies. Adrian never questioned. Never doubted.
That’s what broke Noah the most.
Watching someone so genuine… be fooled over and over.
He wanted to scream. Tell him. Shake him.
She doesn’t love you. She never did.
But instead, he stayed silent. Because Adrian was happy. Or at least, he believed he was.
Until today.
Noah had spotted him the moment he entered the lobby—Adrian with his signature messy hair, clutching a bouquet of lilies and a wrapped gift bag. His eyes held a sparkle, that rare, tender light.
God.
He still looked so innocent.
Noah had stepped into the elevator just in time, hoping to stall him.
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“Join me for coffee?” he asked, too casually.
“I’ve waited long enough,” Adrian said, polite but eager. “Maybe later.”
The elevator door began to close. Adrian disappeared behind it.
Noah exhaled sharply, pulled out his phone.
“Adrian’s here,” he muttered into the receiver.
His jaw clenched. He had to warn Sarah. Matt was with her, and Adrian… Adrian didn’t deserve this.
Noah turned on his heel and left.
Upstairs
The room had gone cold.
Adrian stared at the worn, brown leather shoes half-tucked beneath the kitchen cabinet. His fingers trembled as he reached down and pulled them out.
And there it was.
Tiny gold lettering stitched near the heel: MW
Matt Wilson.
His best friend. His brother in everything but blood.
The man he’d trusted with every secret.
Sarah froze. Her breath hitched.
“It’s not what you think,” she whispered, stepping forward.
But the air shifted, and from the hallway behind her, a voice cut through the tension like a blade.
“Stop pretending,” Matt said, stepping out of the bedroom. Shirtless. Calm. Cruel.
“Adrian’s not stupid. He knows exactly what’s going on.”
Sarah’s face turned white.
She stormed towards Matt and raised her hand to slap him, fury etched into her features. But Matt caught her wrist mid-air.
“Don’t act shocked,” he hissed, shoving her away from him roughly. She stumbled backward, crashing into the counter.
That was when Adrian moved.
Something inside him snapped like a taut wire. He lunged at Matt, fists swinging, rage blind and raw.
“You son of a—!” he snarled, his knuckles connecting with Matt’s jaw.
The fight turned brutal fast.
Matt was stronger, heavier, but Adrian fought with fire. Blood dripped from his nose, his lip was split, but still—he struck again and again, driven by betrayal, by heartbreak.
Furniture crashed. A vase shattered.
Sarah screamed, begging them to stop, but the room was already in chaos.
Finally, with one final surge of strength, Adrian shoved Matt into the wall and growled, panting through blood and fury, “Don’t you ever touch her again. Don’t you ever show me your face.”
Matt groaned, dazed.
Adrian turned, stumbling back to Sarah, hands still trembling.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, brushing a lock of hair from her face.
That was when he heard it.
Bang.
The sound rang through the apartment like thunder.
Adrian staggered backward.
He looked down.
Blood was blooming across his shirt like a crimson flower.
His breath caught in his throat. Everything slowed.
The pain came late—sharp, blooming in his side. His legs gave way.
He collapsed to the floor, gasping. The world spun. The lights dimmed at the edges. He could taste metal—copper, blood, fear.
Somewhere in the background, someone was screaming his name.
And then—footsteps. A door slamming.
A voice—frantic, broken.
“ADRIAN!”
Noah.
He was too late.
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