The Billionaire's Two-Faced Escort Wife-Chapter 104: The Funeral

The graveyard was a landscape of biting wind and heavy silence. St. Jude’s was secluded, the ancient oaks standing like sentinels over the weathered headstones. True to her word, Mrs. Devereux had ensured the space was empty of the vultures—no reporters with long lenses, no board members with hollow sympathies. Just the earth, the sky, and the crushing finality of a casket lowered into the ground.

​Adrian stood by the fresh mound of earth, the single white lily in his hand trembling. His eyes were raw, the skin around them tight from days of salt and grief. He didn’t look like the Executive Secretary of a multi-billion dollar firm, nor the radiant Adrienne. He looked like a boy who had lost his entire world.

​He lowered himself into a squat, his fingers grazing the cold, polished granite of the headstone.

​"I hope you’re in a better place, Mom," he whispered, his voice catching in the wind. "I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry for everything. I love you."

​He stayed there until his legs grew numb, making a silent vow to the grass and the stone. He would be strong. He would find a way to exist without the masks, without the debt, and without the shadow of the Devereux name. He stood up, wiped his eyes with a shaking hand, and began the long walk toward the cemetery gates.

​Adrian’s pace slowed as he reached the exit. Parked directly across the narrow road was a black sedan he knew by the purr of its engine alone.

​Alexander stood by the hood. He wasn’t wearing his usual armor—no tie, no cufflinks, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his hair windblown. He looked devastated. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was gaunt, the sharp lines of his jaw shadowed by several days of stubble. He looked like a man who had been burning alive from the inside out.

​"Adrian," Alexander called out. The name wasn’t a command this time; it was a plea, a broken sound that barely carried across the pavement.

​Adrian stopped, his hand tightening on the strap of his bag. He didn’t move toward the car. "I told you not to look for me, Alexander."

​"I know," Alexander said, taking a cautious step forward, his hands open as if to show he was unarmed. "I didn’t come to bring you back. I didn’t come to talk about contracts or corporations."

​"Then why are you here?" Adrian’s voice was hollow. "I just buried my mother. I have nothing left to give you. The divorce is final. The secret is safe. Let me go."

​"I can’t," Alexander rasped, his voice cracking. He gestured vaguely toward the cemetery. "My mother told me what she did. She told me she knew about you... about everything. She told me that she loved you, Adrian. Not the girl in the dress, but the person who looked after her son."

​Alexander moved closer, stopping just a few feet away, respecting the invisible line Adrian had drawn in the dirt.

​"I’ve spent every second since the hospital hating myself," Alexander whispered. "I realized that while I was playing my games, while I was being a ’tycoon,’ you were fighting a war for her. Alone. And then I let Sebastian take you... I let you think I hated you."

​"It doesn’t matter anymore, Alexander," Adrian said, a fresh tear escaping and tracking through the dust on his cheek. "She’s gone. The reason for the lie is buried back there. There is no ’us’ to save because there was never an ’us’ that wasn’t built on a foundation of deceit."

​"That’s not true," Alexander insisted, his blue eyes burning with a desperate, frantic sincerity. "The way you felt in that lounge... the way I feel right now... that isn’t a lie. I’m not here as your boss. I’m not here as the CEO. I’m just a man who realized too late that he’s absolutely nothing without you."

​Adrian looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the raw, jagged edges of the man. The power was gone. The arrogance was gone. There was only grief, mirrored and reflected.

​"I need to go," Adrian whispered, his voice failing him. "I need to find out who I am when I’m not your secretary or your wife. I can’t do that if I’m looking at you."

​He turned to walk away, but Alexander’s voice stopped him one last time, filled with a terrifying, quiet resolve.

​"I’m going to wait, Adrian. I don’t care if it takes a year or a decade. I’m going to spend every day becoming the man who deserves to stand beside you without a contract. I’ll be right here when you’re ready to be seen."

​Adrian didn’t look back. He kept walking, his heart a heavy, aching stone in his chest, leaving the richest man in New York standing alone in the shadow of the cemetery gates.

___

Six months had passed, and the frantic, gold-plated chaos of Manhattan felt like a fever dream Adrian had finally woken from. Now, the rhythm of his life was dictated by the soft clinking of glassware and the low hum of a quiet pub in a coastal town.

​Adrian stood behind the counter, a white cloth in hand, methodically wiping down a glass until it gleamed. He was a waiter, a barista, a man of simple tasks. He was doing fine... almost.

​By the end of his shift, exhaustion weighed heavily on his bones. He had spent his morning working at a local clothing store, and his evening here; he needed all the rest he could get to keep the shadows of the past at bay. But as he worked, that familiar, prickling sensation returned—the feeling of being watched. He’d felt it for six months, a ghost at the edge of his vision, but whenever he looked around, he found only regular customers laughing, dancing, and nursing their drinks.

​"Table nine needs a round, Adrian," a familiar voice broke through his thoughts.

​Adrian looked up and smiled at Jacob.

​In a surprising twist of loyalty, Jacob had quit his high-paying job at Devereux Corp the moment he found out Adrian was leaving. He had followed him to this quiet life, sharing a small, cramped apartment and splitting the rent. Jacob was the only bridge left to Adrian’s old life, a real friend who didn’t care about "Adrienne" or the CEO.

​"On it," Adrian nodded, balancing a tray of drinks.

​The feeling of being watched intensified as he crossed the floor, a phantom gaze trailing over the line of his shoulders. He ignored it, politely serving the drinks and retreating back to the safety of the bar.

​"Hey," Jacob leaned in, whispering over the music. "Found out we got new neighbors next door. Some sweet, loving couple. Moved in this morning."

​Adrian sighed, rolling his eyes as he polished a fresh glass. "Great. More domestic bliss to witness. Honestly, Jacob, I find the whole concept of relationships exhausting and boring now. Give me a quiet book and a double shift any day."

Jacob smiled and slowly nodded, "We got ten more minutes." He gently patted Adrian’s shoulder and walked away.

​When the shift finally ended, the two friends trekked home, the cool night air refreshing against their tired skin. They picked up takeout on the way, the bags crinkling in the silence of the street.

​They reached their apartment building and stepped into the elevator. Midway up, the doors hissed open to reveal a young, vibrant woman. She stepped in, her smile bright enough to light up the small space.

​"Hi! You guys must live here too," she chirped, introducing herself. "I’m Becky. I just moved into the sixth floor this morning."

​Jacob grinned, ever the social butterfly. "Nice to meet you, Becky. We’re in 6B."

​Becky’s eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, wow! Then we’re literally neighbors! I moved in today with my husband. You have to meet him—he’s just finishing with the last of the boxes."

​The elevator reached their floor and the doors opened. Becky practically bounced out, gesturing for them to follow. "Wait, wait! Let me introduce you. It’s so rare to find nice neighbors."

​Adrian felt a strange, cold knot form in his stomach. He wanted to get to his room, to eat his lukewarm noodles and sleep, but he didn’t want to be rude to Jacob’s new friend.

​Becky ran to the door of 6A and pulled it open. "Honey! Come meet the neighbors! They’re the ones from the ones the landlord mentioned that works in the pub!"

​A second later, a man stepped out into the hallway. He was dressed simply in a t-shirt and jeans, a smudge of dust on his cheek, but the sheer, commanding power of his presence was unmistakable.

​Adrian’s heart stopped. The takeout bag slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

​Standing there, looking more handsome than he had in the tailored suits of a CEO, was Alexander Devereux.

​Alexander didn’t look at Becky. He didn’t look at Jacob. His blue eyes, no longer icy but burning with a quiet, triumphant heat, locked onto Adrian’s stunned face.

​"Hello, neighbors," Alexander said, his voice a low, familiar rumble that sent a thousand memories rushing back into the hallway. "I’m the husband."

​Becky beamed, looping her arm through Alexander’s, completely unaware of the earthquake she had just triggered. "This is my husband, Alex. Isn’t he just the best?"

​Adrian stared, his breath hitching. The feeling of being watched for six months... the anonymous rent support... the sudden move-in. It hadn’t been a ghost. It had been the man who promised he would wait until Adrian was ready to be seen.

​Alexander tilted his head, a small, imperceptible smirk playing on his lips—the look of a man who had finally tracked down his most precious prize.

​"Nice to meet you, Adrian," Alexander murmured, his gaze never wavering. "I hope we become very good neighbours."