The Kiss That Shouldn't Have Happened
The sound of the door slamming echoed through the marble hallway like a thunderclap. Elena stood there, her breath ragged, her hands trembling at her sides. Adrian's words still burned in her chest, sharp, deliberate, unforgiving.
"You don't get to accuse me of feeling nothing," he'd said.
"Then stop acting like it," she'd thrown back.
That was before he turned away, before she pushed, before he finally snapped.
Now silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. The kind that made the air feel too tight, like even breathing was a risk.
Elena's pulse wouldn't slow. She hadn't meant to provoke him, not really, but every time they spoke, she felt trapped between wanting to break through his armor and wanting to throw it back in his face.
She turned toward the window, the city lights shimmering faintly through the rain-streaked glass. The storm outside had grown worse, wind howling, lightning slashing through the sky. The Vale mansion, for all its grandeur, felt colder than ever.
Behind her, she heard footsteps, slow, deliberate.
"Running away already?" Adrian's voice came from the shadows.
She didn't turn. "You think standing here changes anything?"
He moved closer, his tone low. "You think shouting does?"
"That's rich," she said, spinning to face him. "Coming from a man who doesn't raise his voice, but somehow manages to make everyone around him feel small."
Adrian's eyes darkened, unreadable. "Careful, Elena."
"No," she said, stepping toward him. "I'm done being careful. I'm done pretending this..." she gestured between them "isn't eating me alive."
He didn't flinch. "You're the one who wanted this deal."
"I wanted to save my brother. Not lose myself."
Something flickered in his expression, guilt, or maybe recognition. Then it vanished, replaced by that same impassive calm that drove her insane.
"Elena," he said softly, almost warningly, "you knew what this was."
"Did I?" she whispered. "Because I'm starting to think I never understood you at all."
He exhaled slowly. "Understanding me isn't part of your obligation."
She laughed, hollow and sharp. "Obligation. That's what I am to you, isn't it?"
"You're my wife," he said evenly.
"On paper."
His jaw tightened. "You think that makes it meaningless?"
"Doesn't it?" she challenged. "You treat marriage like a contract, not a connection."
He stepped closer, the space between them shrinking. "And what would you know about connection, Elena? You hide behind pity and pride. You think self-sacrifice makes you pure."
She froze. "Don't."
"You think because you gave up your freedom, it makes you noble. But what you really wanted was control. A chance to rewrite the story, to be the savior for once."
Her throat tightened. "You don't get to twist this."
"Then stop lying to yourself," he said, voice sharp now. "You didn't marry me out of love, or hate, or desperation. You did it because it gave you power. The kind you never had before."
She felt the sting of tears, but she refused to let them fall. "You think you've figured me out?"
"I think I've seen enough."
She laughed again, bitterly. "You're unbelievable. You talk about control like it's poison, but you're addicted to it. You control everything, everyone, even me. Especially me."
Adrian's gaze flicked to her lips. "Is that what you think?"
"It's what I know."
They stood there, breathing hard, inches apart. The storm outside roared, lightning flashing across the glass, illuminating his face, sharp, conflicted, dangerous.
"Say it," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"Say what you really want to say."
Her voice shook. "That I hate you."
"Liar."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
He took another step forward, until she could feel the heat of him. "You don't hate me, Elena. You hate that you can't stop wanting the man you swore to despise."
Her pulse spiked. "You're delusional."
"Am I?" His voice dropped lower. "Then why are you still standing here?"
She tried to look away, but his hand caught her wrist, not roughly, but firmly enough to stop her from retreating. His thumb brushed her pulse, steady and calm while hers raced out of control.
"Adrian...." she began, but the rest of her sentence vanished when his other hand touched her face.
It was the smallest movement, a hesitant stroke along her jaw, as though he was testing how far he could go. Her breath hitched. He shouldn't touch her. Not like this. Not after everything.
"Stop," she whispered. But she didn't move.
His eyes searched hers, not cold this time, but conflicted. "You don't really want me to."
Her chest rose and fell. "You don't know what I want."
"I do now."
And then he kissed her.
It wasn't the calculated kiss from the press conference, this one was raw, unrestrained. The kind that shattered the space between fury and desire. His hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until she couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't remember why this was wrong.
She melted against him, her fingers gripping his shirt, the tension between them unraveling into something neither of them could name. His scent, dark, clean, expensive, filled her senses, his breath warm against her skin.
When he finally broke away, they were both trembling.
"This shouldn't have happened," she breathed.
He looked at her, eyes darker than she'd ever seen them. "Maybe not. But it did."
For a long moment, neither spoke. Rain battered the windows. Thunder rolled.
Then she stepped back, shaking her head. "You can't keep doing this."
"I'm not the only one doing anything," he said quietly. "You kissed me back."
"That was a mistake."
"Was it?"
She hesitated, that second of silence was all the answer he needed.
He exhaled, then turned away. "You should get some sleep."
"Don't walk away from this."
"I'm not." His voice was low, steady. "I'm protecting what's left of our sanity."
"You mean your control," she said bitterly.
He paused at the doorway, his back to her. "Call it what you want. But I don't make promises I can't keep, Elena."
"And what promise is that?"
He looked over his shoulder, eyes unreadable. "That I won't fall for you."
The words hit harder than she expected. He left before she could respond, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall.
Elena stood alone, heart pounding, mind spiraling. The taste of him still lingered, the heat of his touch branded into her skin. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't decide which terrified her more, the kiss itself or how much she wanted another one.
She didn't sleep that night.
Every creak in the house, every distant sound, reminded her of him, the man who could tear her apart with a glance, then leave her shivering in the wreckage. The man she swore she'd never fall for.
By morning, the gossip columns were already ablaze. Pictures of them at last night's gala had surfaced, the perfect couple, his arm around her waist, her smile flawless. No one knew that behind those photos was a war she wasn't sure she could win.
When she entered the dining room, Adrian was already there. Calm. Composed. Reading the paper like nothing had happened.
"Elena," he greeted without looking up. "You're late again."
She sat down quietly. "Rough night."
His eyes flicked up briefly. "You look tired."
"So do you."
Neither spoke for a while. The silence between them was no longer cold, it was dangerous. It hummed with something alive, something unspoken.
Finally, he folded the paper and stood. "I have a meeting downtown. You'll attend the charity luncheon with Mrs. Larrimore. The driver will take you."
She nodded faintly. "And tonight?"
He hesitated. "Tonight, you'll stay home."
Her brow furrowed. "Why?"
"Because I said so."
Her temper sparked. "You can't just..."
He cut her off with a look that silenced her. "Elena. Not today."
He left before she could argue again, his absence somehow heavier than his presence.
By afternoon, the mansion felt empty. She walked through the halls aimlessly, her thoughts looping back to that kiss, the heat of it, the pull, the danger. Every instinct told her to forget, to bury it under duty and distance. But her heart wouldn't listen.
When she reached the balcony overlooking the east garden, the storm had finally cleared. Sunlight filtered through the clouds, painting the world gold.
And for the first time, she admitted the truth to herself, she was falling. Against her will. Against her reason.
For the man she'd married for all the wrong reasons.
The man who swore he'd never love her back.