Fake Date, Real Fate Chapter 70: The Storm That Wore My Name

ADRIEN’S POV

What the hell did I just do?

I shouldn’t have left her.

I drove as fast as I could down the road, my eyes focused on the wet sar of taillights and street lamps in front of , but I couldn’t concentrate on anything but her face.

The way her expression shattered when I said those words.

When I called her a gold digger.

God.

I held the steering wheel so tight my fingers felt numb.

Why did I say that?

I knew it wasn’t true—not really. Not deep down. But I said it anyway, like I was trying to hurt her. Like I wanted to rip sothing open.

She looked at like I wasn’t even human.

she just looked... destroyed. Like I’d confird her worst fear. Like I’d taken sothing already fragile and stomped on it with everything I had.

Then the sky cracked open above . It started with a low rumble, but then rain fell—heavy and sudden—across the windshield faster than the wipers could work. I cursed under my breath.

The rain wasn’t just falling; it was an angry, silver sheet slamming down, reducing visibility to near zero. Headlights ahead and behind beca distorted halos in the downpour. The rhythmic thud of the wipers was a frantic heartbeat against the drumming on the roof.

My mind raced, the earlier argunt playing on repeat. Stupid. So stupid.

I glanced at the clock. She’d still be out there. That bus stop was miles from her place. She didn’t even have a jacket. Fuvk

Shit, shit, shit. I slamd on the brakes, the tires screaming in protest as I slid against the wet asphalt. The car bumped to a stop halfway across the lane. Horns blared behind , angry and furious. I didn’t care.

My heart hamred against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. I wrestled the steering wheel as I pulled a terrible U-turn, the rain pouring down around . Cars swerved to avoid like I was bait. I heard horns honking now in a thunderous array of noise because I didn’t care about them. Nothing mattered to except getting back to her.

The journey back felt agonizingly slow. Every raindrop was a hamr blow, each flash of lightning a stark reminder of her standing alone in this storm.

I didn’t even care that I was speeding or that my tires hydroplaned slightly. I just had to get back.

Get back and... what? Apologize? As if that would fix anything?

I imagined her sitting at the bus stop, cold and shivering, and pale with fear. That image made a vise around my chest tighter hold.

When I finally spotted the bus stop, I slowed down. I squinted the rain-stained windshield, air thick in my throat, waiting for a miracle.

There she was.

Her little body was curled up on the bench, her arms wrapped around herself and her hair stuck to her cheeks. Crying.

Crying really hard.

My stomach twisted.

God, I hurt her.

Not just annoyed her. Not just pissed her off.

I hurt her.

What the hell is wrong with ?

I slamd the gearshift into park, not even bothering to pull fully to the curb.

I killed the engine and just sat there, frozen behind the wheel, rain pounding on the roof like it was trying to bury the silence.

I sat there watching her. Watching the way her shoulders shook with silent sobs. She looked so small, so utterly heartbroken. It was all my fault. Every single one of those aching drops of misery was branded with my na.

She didn’t see yet. Her arms were over her knees, her hair was pulled way over her face just to hide the fact her knees were drawn up like she was trying to fold herself into nothingness.

I forgot how to breathe.

Shit.

I really hurt her that badly?

Well I did accused her of scheming.

Called her calculating.

Called her a gold digger.

I couldn’t even recognize myself at that mont.

But I saw what it did to her.

I should’ve stopped.

Should’ve shut up when I saw the first tear.

But I kept going.

And now look at her.

God, I’m such a fucking asshole.

I ran both hands through my hair, gripping the back of my neck as if I could snap myself out of this guilt.

I wanted to fix it. Desperately.

But what do you do...

when you’re the damn storm?

I felt the heaviness in my chest like a stone lodged under my breastbone. Everything I’d felt - the anger, the baseless accusations... it felt like years ago, like I had taken a poisonous fog into my lungs and exhaled it all over- her. Now here I was, clarity wrapping around like this storm. Should I go to her?

Would she even want to see ?

What if I just... waited a bit? Let her catch her breath for a minute

Let her cry.

Let her be angry.

Let her feel anything that didn’t involve .

But I also knew this: I wasn’t leaving her there. Not again.

Even if she scread. Even if she threw things. Even if she hated for the rest of her life—

I wasn’t driving away without her.

I’d carry her to the damn car if I had to.

I needed to make this right. Sohow.

I reached into the backseat and grabbed the big, sturdy umbrella I rarely used, fumbling with the handle.

I felt clumsy, my fingers moving awkwardly, numb with guilt and shaken by the cold that was seeping into just by sitting there.

The rain continued, surging and hamring against the car roof, a loud clattering that covered everything except the frantic throbbing of my ears. I took a giant breath, the air in the car stale and thick with my own regret.

I reached for the door handle. It felt like it would be an irreversible motion, like opening a door I may not be able to close again. My hand hovered over the handle. What if she told to go away? What if she just looked at with that sa destroyed look and stayed silent? What if she hated ?

God, she should hate .

I pushed the fear down; my only motivator was the desperate, clawing desire to ease her pain even though I was the cause of it. To get her out of the rain. To just...be there.

I pushed the door open.

The cold rain hit like a hard punch the instant I stepped out. The rain soaked through my shirt, shocking and penetrating right to my bones, but I didn’t care. I didn’t even really feel it. All I saw was her.