Lara had planned to be cold, distant—to treat this marriage like a contract, nothing more.
She had told herself that she would endure Adrian's presence for a year and then walk away, untouched.
But life had a cruel sense of humor.
Because one night, she saw something she wasn't supposed to.
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The city skyline stretched beyond the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, bathed in a soft, golden glow from the streetlights below. The silence in the apartment was thick, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional distant honk from the traffic far below.
Lara had spent the last two hours tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep. It wasn't a new problem—ever since the wedding, her mind had been restless, constantly turning over the mess her life had become.
She had told herself that it didn't matter. That this wasn't real. That Adrian was nothing more than a businessman who had forced her into this marriage for reasons she still didn't fully understand.
But lately, something had been shifting.
It wasn't obvious, not in the way he treated her. He was still as controlled and unreadable as ever. But there were moments—small cracks in his perfect armor.
And tonight, she saw one.
Lara had intended to grab a glass of water and go back to bed. She hadn't expected to find Adrian awake.
He was sitting on the couch, one arm resting along the back, a tumbler of whiskey in his other hand. His dark hair was slightly tousled, like he'd run his fingers through it one too many times. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing just a hint of his chest.
But it wasn't his appearance that stopped her in her tracks.
It was the book in his lap.
Lara had never seen Adrian Sinclair read before.
Not in the weeks they had been married. Not in the months before when she had known of him only from a distance.
Yet here he was, a thick, leather-bound book open before him, his long fingers absently tracing the edge of a page.
She could tell it wasn't just for show—he wasn't idly flipping through it, wasn't using it as some kind of aesthetic prop. He was reading.
Lara's gaze flicked to the cover. The title was embossed in gold lettering, but she could only make out part of it in the dim light. It was a classic—one she had read before, though she never would have imagined him reading it.
Adrian must have sensed her presence because he looked up, his sharp blue eyes locking onto hers.
"You're staring," he murmured. His voice was low, rough from either exhaustion or the whiskey in his glass.
Lara crossed her arms over her chest. "I wasn't expecting to see you… reading."
His lips curled slightly, though it wasn't quite a smirk. "You assumed I didn't read?"
She lifted a shoulder. "I assumed you were too busy controlling the world to bother with books."
Adrian chuckled, a sound so soft she almost thought she imagined it. He glanced down at the book in his hands, running his fingers along the spine. "I used to read all the time," he admitted. "Before."
Before what?
Lara wanted to ask, but she hesitated. She knew he wouldn't answer—not if she pushed too hard.
Instead, she stepped closer, tilting her head as she tried to see what he was reading. "That's The Count of Monte Cristo, isn't it?"
Adrian's eyes flicked up to her, his expression unreadable. "You've read it?"
Lara let out a quiet scoff. "Of course. It's a classic revenge story. A man loses everything and spends years meticulously plotting his revenge. Seems fitting for someone like you."
A shadow passed over his face, so quick she almost missed it.
"Maybe," he said. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, his gaze lingering on her longer than necessary. "Or maybe I just like a good story."
Lara didn't know what possessed her to move closer, but she did. There was something almost… human about him in that moment. Less of the cold, calculated businessman and more of a man with thoughts, regrets—memories that haunted him.
For a long moment, they sat in silence.
Adrian went back to his book, and Lara stood there, unsure why she hadn't walked away yet.
Eventually, she sighed and sat down on the opposite end of the couch, pulling her legs up beneath her.
Adrian didn't comment. He simply turned the page.
She watched him for a while, fascinated by the way his expression changed ever so slightly as he read. His brows would furrow at certain passages, his fingers would tighten around the edges of the pages when something intense happened.
Lara had never thought of him as someone who could get lost in a book.
And yet… here he was.
Finally, she broke the silence. "So, do you relate to him?"
Adrian looked at her over the top of his book. "To Edmond Dantès?"
She nodded.
He leaned back against the couch, exhaling slowly. "Maybe."
"That's not an answer."
Adrian tilted his head, studying her. "And what about you, Lara? Do you relate to him?"
She frowned, caught off guard by the question. "No," she said after a moment. "I don't think I could dedicate my whole life to revenge."
"Even if someone took everything from you?"
Lara hesitated. She thought of her family, her café, the life she had almost lost because of the choices he had made for her.
And yet…
Revenge had never crossed her mind.
"I don't think it would be worth it," she admitted quietly.
Adrian hummed, as if considering her words. "No. I don't suppose it would."
Something in his tone made her stomach twist.
He wasn't just talking about Edmond Dantès anymore.
Lara had spent the past few weeks convincing herself that Adrian was nothing more than a man who craved control. That his entire existence was centered around power and money.
But tonight, she saw something else.
She saw pain.
Regret.
Loneliness.
She should have ignored it.
She should have pretended she didn't see the way his fingers tightened slightly around his glass, like he was holding onto it for dear life.
But for the first time since this nightmare started…
She saw a glimpse of the man behind the mask.
And that terrified her more than anything else.