The next morning, the city seemed smaller somehow, as if the penthouse had absorbed the chaos below and left me suspended in Adrian's orbit.
He was already in the office when I arrived—immaculate, commanding, the air around him taut with authority.
"Good morning," I said cautiously.
"Morning," he replied, eyes sharp, assessing. "You slept?"
I nodded, aware that every movement was noted, weighed, analyzed.
"Your schedule begins immediately," he continued. "No delays. No excuses."
"Yes, sir," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Good," he said, leaning back. His gaze lingered longer than necessary. "I expect total focus. Mistakes are costly."
I swallowed. The warning wasn't just professional—it was personal.
Hours passed in a blur of calls, appointments, and notes I struggled to keep straight. Every time I faltered, he was there—quiet, exacting, unyielding. The power he wielded was tangible, and it pressed against me like a weight.
During a break, he appeared in the doorway, holding two cups of coffee. "You're tense," he observed.
"I'm adjusting," I replied, stiffly.
"Adjusting isn't enough," he said softly. He placed a cup on my desk, and for a heartbeat, our fingers brushed. My pulse leapt, heat spreading to my cheeks. He didn't comment, didn't pull away. Just watched.
"Remember the rules," he murmured. "Answer when I call. Don't lie. And don't—" His gaze darkened—"—fall in love with me."
I nodded, words failing me. The reminder, though simple, carried an unspoken weight that made my chest ache.
He left, and silence swallowed the office again, but the memory of his presence lingered, almost unbearable.
Later, while reviewing notes, I realized something: survival here required more than obedience. It demanded anticipation, intuition, constant awareness of him, of how he might respond to every gesture, every glance.
And I hated how thrilling it was.
By the time the day ended, my hands ached, my mind raced, and yet, I couldn't stop thinking about the faint, unreadable curve of his smile. About the way his gaze lingered, claiming space I didn't know I'd offered.
I reminded myself fiercely: this was a contract. Nothing more.
But the more I tried to resist, the more I felt the pull—magnetic, suffocating, inevitable.
Adrian Blackwood didn't just run a company. He ran me.
And I wasn't sure I wanted to escape.