Tasha's palms were slick with sweat. She rubbed them against the sides of her dress, trying to appear composed, though her heart was pounding hard enough to echo in her ears.
She stood in front of the large, glass-paneled door of Adam's house—a sleek, modern mansion that reeked of elegance and intimidation. Everything about this moment felt too big, too real. Her throat tightened.
Adam turned to her, his warm brown eyes filled with reassurance. "She's going to love you," he said softly, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You're smart, kind, and beautiful. Just breathe."
Tasha tried to smile, but it came out shaky. "What if she doesn't?"
"She will. Trust me."
The front door opened before she could respond.
A tall woman in her late forties stood at the threshold, dressed in a fitted navy blouse and high-waisted cream trousers, her heels clicking faintly on the marble tiles. Her hair was styled in a smooth chignon, and her sharp eyes—piercing and cold—narrowed the moment they landed on Tasha.
Her expression dropped.
Tasha froze.
Their eyes locked.
Time stopped.
Recognition hit like a lightning bolt.
Her.
The woman from Paris.
The argument. The insults. The rage.
The woman who had called her a classless girl trying to act expensive.
The woman Tasha had snapped back at in fury, calling her a bitter, self-absorbed snob with too much money and too little empathy.
No. No. No.
Tasha stumbled a step backward, her lips parting in disbelief.
Adam's mother looked just as stunned—but the shock quickly twisted into something darker. Her face hardened.
"You," she breathed, voice sharp with venom.
Adam turned to his mother, confused. "Mom?"
"You're dating her?" The woman's voice rose with each syllable.
Tasha felt like the ground beneath her was splitting open. Her chest constricted, her breath shallow.
"You brought this girl into my house?" Adam's mother hissed, eyes blazing.
Adam blinked. "Wait—what are you talking about?"
"This is the uncultured brat I told you about! The one who attacked me in Paris like a madwoman!"
Tasha's voice cracked as she tried to speak. "I didn't know— I had no idea—"
But his mother cut her off, stepping forward like a storm. "Don't play innocent now. You insulted me, humiliated me in public like some street girl with no manners! And now you dare to walk into my home and smile like nothing happened?"
Adam stepped in between them, jaw clenched. "Mom, stop it. You're completely out of line."
"I'm out of line?" she laughed bitterly. "You should be ashamed, Adam! Bringing home a girl who disrespects your own mother! Have you lost your mind?"
Tasha's hands were shaking. "I didn't know she was your mother," she whispered, looking at Adam, eyes wide and glistening. "I swear, Adam, I didn't know—"
"And even if she didn't," Adam snapped, turning to his mom, "you don't get to speak to her like this. She didn't deserve that back then, and she doesn't deserve this now."
"She's not good enough for you!" his mother shouted. "She's nothing but a spoiled, arrogant little girl pretending to belong in a world she clearly doesn't!"
That broke her.
Tasha let out a choked breath, blinking rapidly to stop the tears—but it was useless.
"Adam… I can't," she whispered, backing away.
"Tasha, wait—" He reached for her hand, but she pulled away, shaking her head.
"I need to go."
And with that, she turned and ran down the steps, the front door still wide open, her heels clicking violently against the stone as she fled the house, her vision blurred by tears.
Her world had collapsed in less than five minutes.
________
The echo of Tasha's footsteps vanished down the driveway, leaving a painful silence in her wake.
Adam stood frozen at the door, staring at the spot where she had just been. His hands were balled into fists, his chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. His mother turned toward him, arms crossed, looking far too composed for the damage she had just done.
"That girl," she began coldly, "is not fit for—"
"Stop," Adam cut in, his voice low and shaking with restrained fury. "Just stop right there."
His mother's eyes narrowed. "Don't raise your voice at me."
"I'll do worse if you say one more word about her."
Her brows shot up. "Excuse me?"
"You just humiliated her. In my home. In front of me." His voice cracked with rage. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
His mother's face contorted, lips tightening, her cheekbones rigid. "She humiliated me first. In Paris. Or did you forget that part?"
"I don't care what happened in Paris. You don't treat people like that. You don't treat her like that!"
She laughed, short and sharp. "So now you're defending her over your own mother? Do you even know who she is?"
Adam stepped forward, eyes blazing. "I know exactly who she is. She's smart. She's strong. She makes me happy. And she has more class in her little finger than you've shown today."
His mother's face flushed red, a twitch in her jaw as her hands clenched at her sides.
"She attacked me."
"She stood up for herself," he fired back. "You looked down on her then, just like you did now. She didn't even know you were my mother. She came here scared and nervous, trying her best to make a good impression—and you ripped her apart."
His mother's voice turned cold as steel. "If she can't handle me, she can't handle this family."
Adam stared at her, disgusted. "Then maybe I don't want to be part of this family."
Her eyes widened, just for a second. But then they sharpened again.
"You're choosing her over your blood?"
"I'm choosing respect," Adam growled. "Something you've forgotten."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them hung heavy in the air—thick, suffocating. His mother's lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something—an apology, maybe—but pride got the better of her.
She turned away.
Adam shook his head in disbelief, his voice quieter now, but laced with pain. "You don't get to ruin the best thing in my life and pretend you're doing it out of love."
Then he stormed out the front door, slamming it behind him.
His only thought now was Tasha—and praying he wasn't too late to fix what had just been shattered.
______________
The wind cut against her skin as she stumbled down the street, her vision blurred with tears she couldn't hold back anymore. Tasha's chest heaved, the sobs coming out ragged and broken. Her legs felt like jelly, but she kept moving, clutching her phone in a trembling hand.
Her heart was shattering, piece by piece, with every replay of what had just happened. The coldness in that woman's eyes. The venom in her words. The way Adam had looked—caught between her and his mother, helpless.
She had never felt so small… so humiliated.
Tasha finally reached Ryan's building and buzzed the door. He answered almost instantly.
As soon as he opened the door, his smile faded.
"Tasha?" His brows drew together, his voice filled with alarm. "What happened?"
Tasha's lips quivered, her mascara smudged around her eyes, face pale and soaked with tears. She didn't say a word—she just walked in, closed the door behind her, and collapsed into his arms.
Ryan caught her instinctively, holding her tight. "Hey—hey, what's going on?" he asked softly, gently guiding her to the couch.
She dropped into the cushions, her hands shaking as she covered her face. "It was her," she choked out. "Adam's mom… she was the woman from Paris."
Ryan's jaw dropped. "Wait—what?"
Tasha nodded, sobbing. "I didn't know… I swear I didn't know. The moment she saw me, she looked like she wanted to throw me out. And then she—she said horrible things, Ryan. Right in front of Adam."
Ryan sat down beside her, stunned. "She what?"
"She called me classless. Told me I wasn't good enough for him. She treated me like I was dirt," Tasha whispered, her voice hoarse from crying.
Her face crumpled again, brows pulled tight, lips trembling. She buried her face in her hands. "I ran. I couldn't breathe. I just… ran."
Ryan's expression darkened with anger, but his voice remained gentle. "Tasha… I'm so sorry. That's messed up. No one—no one—should speak to you like that."
Tasha looked up, her eyes swollen and red. "Was she right?" she whispered. "Am I really not enough for someone like Adam?"
"Don't you dare ask that," Ryan said firmly, cupping her cheeks and forcing her to look at him. "You are more than enough. She was cruel, and she was wrong. You're amazing. And if Adam has even half a brain, he'll know it too."
Tasha stared at him, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. Only pain lived in her eyes now—a mixture of disbelief, betrayal, and unbearable shame.
"Ryan," she murmured, voice cracking, "I think I messed everything up."
Ryan gently pulled her into a hug again. "No," he said. "She messed it up. Not you. And if Adam loves you—really loves you—he'll fight for you. You just focus on breathing. On healing."
Ryan blinked rapidly, jaw clenched, trying to keep himself from completely breaking down. Seeing Tasha like this—shattered, mascara streaked down her cheeks, voice cracking between sobs—was like a knife straight to his chest.
He had never seen her this way.
Tasha, the girl who lit up every room. The girl who laughed loudly, who loved recklessly, who carried the weight of her past like a silent war but never let it show.
And now she looked like she had nothing left.
Ryan's throat burned. He tilted his head slightly to the side so she wouldn't see his expression—his eyes reddening, his mouth pulled into a tight, pained line.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to storm over to Adam's house and tell his mother exactly what he thought of her.
He wanted to fix everything for Tasha.
But he couldn't.
So instead, he just held her.
He brushed her hair gently away from her tear-soaked face, fingers shaking slightly. His heart ached in a way words couldn't reach. He would've done anything—anything—to take her pain away.
When she finally pulled back a little, her eyes were puffy and red, her lower lip trembling.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice barely audible.
Ryan shook his head immediately. "Don't be. Please, don't apologize for being hurt."
He looked into her eyes, and in that moment, something inside him cracked a little deeper.
"Seeing you like this…" he paused, voice low and tight, "It's killing me, Tasha."
Her eyes welled again.
"I'm just tired," she said, her voice fragile. "I'm so tired of fighting. Of proving myself to people who don't even want to see who I am."
Ryan exhaled slowly, pressing his forehead to hers for a brief second—his voice a whisper now. "Then don't prove yourself to anyone. Just breathe. Just let me be here. That's enough."
And in that quiet moment, no explanations were needed.
It wasn't just comfort.
It was Ryan's silent, aching vow:
I'm here. For as long as you need me. Even if it breaks me.
____________