~Narrator’s~

“If you're going to play house, Reo, you could at least pretend to enjoy it.”

Adele’s voice floats like honey but lands like acid. She’s curled up in Reo’s penthouse living room with her legs stretched, and a silk robe draped around her like she owns the damn place.

Her face is glossed and contoured to perfection, and there's a faint trail of bergamot and manipulation in the air.

The table in front of her is covered in ridiculous baby things. There are tiny white booties, an expensive imported bottle sterilizer, and even a gold-trimmed rattle she definitely didn’t buy for the baby she’s not carrying.

She’s grinning like...