Elena hadn't seen Adrian since the press conference. After that kiss on the balcony, he'd vanished, no word, no message, not even a sound of footsteps in the long, marble halls. The mansion, for all its opulence, felt like a cage carved from gold.
A part of her wanted to believe that kiss had meant something, a slip in his armor, a flicker of humanity.
But the rest of her knew better. Adrian Vale didn't make mistakes. Every word, every gesture, every glance was deliberate. And if he'd kissed her, it wasn't affection. It was a message.
A reminder of who held control.
"Elena," Nora's soft voice came through the door. "Mr. Vale has requested your presence in the west wing study."
Elena turned from the window, startled. "At this hour?"
"Yes, ma'am. He said it was important."
She glanced at the clock, nearly midnight. Her pulse quickened, though she couldn't say why.
After a moment's hesitation, she grabbed her robe and stepped into the corridor. The lights had been dimmed, casting the hall in long, haunting shadows. Every portrait seemed to watch her as she walked, men and women of the Vale lineage, all sharp eyes and cold smiles.
When she reached the west wing, she paused before the heavy oak door. From the other side came muffled voices, low and clipped, one of them unmistakably Adrian's.
She shouldn't listen. She knew that.
But curiosity was stronger than fear.
"…No, I said discreetly," Adrian's voice was firm, controlled, but colder than usual. "If word leaks, the board will turn on me before the quarter ends."
Another man replied, voice tense. "Understood, sir. But the insider information, if it's true, then someone in your circle's been selling...."
"Find them," Adrian cut in. "Quietly. I won't tolerate betrayal again."
Again.
The word lingered, sharp as glass.
There was a pause, then footsteps. The door opened suddenly, and a man in a dark suit brushed past her without a word. He didn't even glance her way. When she turned, Adrian was already staring at her.
"Eavesdropping?" His voice was calm, but his eyes, those dark, merciless eyes, betrayed annoyance.
"I wasn't....." she began.
He moved closer, each step deliberate. "You were."
Elena forced herself to stand her ground. "You called for me."
His gaze lingered on her face for a moment, then softened slightly. "I did."
He gestured for her to enter the study.
The room was vast, lined with shelves of old books and maps. A fire burned low in the hearth, casting a faint glow over the sleek mahogany desk. Papers lay scattered, stock reports, confidential files, and something that looked like… medical records?
He noticed her glance. "Don't," he said quietly.
She looked up. "Don't what?"
"Don't look for answers you're not ready for."
The cryptic words sent a shiver through her. "You mean about you? Or about this arrangement?"
"Both."
He poured two glasses of whiskey, handed one to her. She didn't take it.
"I don't drink," she said.
He set the glass down anyway. "Then hold it. It'll give your hands something to do while you ask the questions you've been holding back."
Her throat tightened. "You think I have questions?"
"I think you're drowning in them."
Their eyes met, hers uncertain, his unreadable.
The silence stretched, filled only by the crackle of the fire.
Finally, she spoke. "Why me?"
Adrian's expression didn't change. "Because you said yes."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one that matters."
Her voice rose slightly. "There were thousands of women who would've killed to stand beside you, Adrian. Women who would've understood this world. I was nothing, a barista barely holding her life together. You picked me. Why?"
His jaw tightened. "Because you were clean."
She blinked. "Clean?"
"No scandals. No connections to my rivals. No social media trail to dig through. You were invisible, Elena. And sometimes, invisibility is the strongest armor."
She almost laughed, but it came out hollow. "So that's what I am to you. Armor."
He didn't deny it.
A wave of anger rose in her chest. "You could've chosen anyone, but you chose the one person desperate enough to sign away her life for her brother's hospital bills."
He looked at her then, truly looked at her. "You think I don't know desperation? You think I've never made a deal with a devil?"
Something flickered in his tone, pain, faint but real.
Elena's anger wavered. "Who did you make yours with?"
Adrian turned away, staring into the fire. "That story doesn't end well."
Before she could reply, a sharp noise shattered the stillness, glass breaking, a dull thud, and then silence.
Adrian's demeanor changed instantly. The warmth vanished, replaced by steel.
He grabbed her wrist. "Stay behind me."
"What...."
"Now, Elena."
The next second, the lights flickered out. Total darkness.
She heard footsteps, not his. Heavy. Slow. Unfamiliar.
Her breath caught. "Someone's in the house....."
"I know."
Adrian moved soundlessly toward the door, pulled a small pistol from a concealed drawer in his desk. The sight of it made her pulse race.
"Adrian....."
He glanced back, voice low but commanding. "Stay quiet. And if I tell you to run, you run."
Before she could protest, the study door creaked open. A shadow slipped in, tall, dressed in black, mask covering his face. He moved with precision, like someone trained.
Elena froze.
Adrian stepped forward, weapon raised. "You have three seconds to tell me who sent you."
The intruder lunged.
Everything happened in a blur, a flash of metal, a sound of struggle. The gun fired once, deafening in the enclosed space. The man stumbled back, crashing into the desk, sending papers flying. Blood smeared across the polished floor.
Elena gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth.
Adrian disarmed the man in seconds, kicking the weapon away before pinning him down. "Who sent you?" he repeated, voice sharp as a blade.
The intruder coughed, blood trickling from his lip. "You'll find out soon enough. The past never stays buried, Vale."
Then he went limp.
Adrian's jaw tightened. "Damn it."
He rose, breathing hard, and grabbed his phone. "Get security to the west wing. Now," he barked into it before hanging up.
Elena still hadn't moved. Her body trembled, eyes wide. "Is he dead?"
Adrian's silence was answer enough.
She swallowed, the taste of fear bitter on her tongue. "What just happened?"
He turned to her slowly. "Someone sent a message."
"About what?"
He met her gaze, voice low. "About me. And about the things I thought I'd buried."
The room filled with the distant sound of approaching guards. Adrian crossed the space between them, stopping just inches away.
"You shouldn't have seen that," he said softly.
Her voice shook. "I didn't mean to...."
"I know."
He reached out, not to threaten, but to steady her. His hand brushed her arm, and she realized his fingers were trembling too.
That small detail, that he wasn't entirely unshakable, broke something open inside her.
"I'm fine," she whispered, even though she wasn't.
He studied her face, then exhaled slowly. "You're in this now, Elena. You understand that?"
She nodded, dazed. "I think I always was."
He almost smiled, but it never reached his eyes. "You're smarter than I gave you credit for."
The guards arrived, dragging the intruder's body away, muttering about cameras and blind spots. Adrian issued orders with mechanical precision, every inch the CEO who'd built an empire on control.
But when they left, and silence returned, he didn't go back to his desk.
Instead, he leaned against it, eyes closed, one hand pressed to his temple.
For the first time, he looked human.
Elena approached carefully. "You're hurt."
He shook his head. "Not enough to matter."
"Still," she said softly, moving closer. "Let me see."
He looked up at her, surprised, perhaps even conflicted. But he didn't stop her as she reached for him. There was a faint cut along his jaw, blood glinting in the firelight. Without thinking, she took a handkerchief from the desk and dabbed it gently.
His eyes followed every movement, dark and unreadable.
"You're not afraid of me," he said finally.
Elena paused. "Should I be?"
"Most people are."
"I'm not most people."
He smiled faintly, the first real one she'd ever seen. "No. You're not."
Her pulse quickened under his gaze. The air between them grew thick, charged.
She should've stepped back. She didn't.
"Adrian," she whispered. "Who was he?"
"A ghost," he said quietly. "From a life I thought I'd buried. And now that he's come back, so will the rest."
Her heart pounded. "Then tell me what's coming."
He shook his head. "You don't want to know."
"I do," she said, voice trembling but firm. "If I'm going to live in your world, I need to understand it."
Something in his eyes changed then, respect, maybe, or something deeper. He reached up, his fingers brushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
"Be careful what you ask for," he murmured, the same warning he'd given before.
But this time, she didn't pull away.
"I'm not afraid of the truth," she whispered.
He studied her face for a long moment, then leaned closer, slowly, deliberately, until his breath warmed her lips.
"You should be," he said softly.
And then he kissed her.
This one wasn't like before. It wasn't about power, or performance, or control. It was raw, unguarded, a collision of fear, relief, and something dangerously close to desire.
When he finally broke away, his forehead rested against hers.
"This changes nothing," he whispered.
But they both knew it already had.
That night, the rain didn't stop.
And neither did the questions that followed.