HIS STRIPPER, HIS WIFE novel Chapter 134

Chapter one hundred and thirty four

Banca

As Lentered the car, I saw Adrian standing there at the front of the door, watching me with his hands in his pockets and his straight face. I wished he would stop the car so we could talk about the issue from the day before. I held his gaze for a second longer hoping he would change his mind and knock oft the window himself.

He didn’t, he just stood there as the driver pulled off, watching the car move until the gate covered him from view.

I faced forward again, Felix glanced at me once through the rearview mirror but didn’t say arlything, which I was grateful for. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, not even small talk about the event or how good the food had been.

The time of the ride home didn’t help, it felt longer than it actually was, my mind kept replaying little pieces of the nigh the way Adrian’s hand was on my waist when he found me with Ryan like he was marking territory without saying a word

By the time we got to my place, it was already past eleven. I said a quiet thank you to Felix, who nodded and waited until I was inside the gate before driving off. My apartment was dark and silent when I let myself in.

I dropped my bag by the door and kicked off my heels, sighing at the relief of my feet finally being free. My gown felt heavier than it had all night, so I peeled it off almost immediately and pulled on an old t-shirt, one that didn’t smell like perfume and cigar smoke from the event.

1 sat on the edge of my bed for a while, just staring at nothing, before I remembered my phone. I picked it up and typed out a quick message to Adrian.

“I’m home already.” I stared at the screen after sending it, half expecting an instant reply the way he usually did, but the message just sat there, delivered, unread, for what felt like forever.

I put the phone down and went to wash my face, and when I came back, there was finally a reply.

“Okay take care” That was it. No teasing, nothing like are you okay, no question about whether I enjoyed the event or if I needed anything.

I read it twice, trying to find something warmer hidden in it, but there was nothing. I typed out a reply, deleted it, typed it out again, deleted it again. In the end I just left it, tossing the phone onto the other side of the bed like it had personally offended me,

A minute later I picked it up again, unable to help myself, and I saw the three dots pop up under our chat. He was typing something. My chest did a stupid little flip, and I sat up straighter, waiting to see what would come through.

The dots disappeared and no message came. I waited, staring at the screen until my eyes started to hurt, refreshing the chat like a new message would magically appear if I looked hard enough.

I fell asleep still holding the phone, because I woke up the next morning with it wedged under my pillow and a stiff neck to

show for it.

Work that day started normal enough. I got in a few minutes late because of traffic, there was a mini block and that had decided to test my patience, but nobody said anything since I still beat the official start time by some minutes. I settled at my desk, pulled up the files I needed to review, and tried to focus, though my mind kept circling back to last night

Around midmorning, one of the front desk girls walked up to my desk with a small brown package in her hands.

“This one just came for you,” she said, dropping it on my desk. “The rider didn’t even want to drop it with anybody, he was asking specifically for Bianca before he agreed to hand it over.”

“Okay, thank you.” I said, only half paying attention, already reaching for my letter opener without much thought. I assumed it was something from one of the vendors we worked with, or maybe a delayed delivery from something I ordered online

HIS STRIPPER IS WIFE

and forgot about

ecled back the tape and opened the flap, and it took a second for my brain to actually process what I was looking at

There were photographs, several of them, printed on thick paper, professional quality. It was photos of me, on stage with my costume at Velvet Nights.

My stomach dropped so fast I thought I might actually be sick right there at my desk. I flipped through them quickly my hands shaking, my mind racing to catch up with what my eyes were seeing. The angles made it painfully clear what I was doing. My face was covered, but anyone who knew me would recognize me instantly

Underneath the last photo was a small folded note, and I pulled it out with shaky hands.

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