Lara told herself she wouldn't think about last night.
She wouldn't think about Adrian's quiet, tired voice.
She wouldn't think about the way his mask had cracked—just for a moment.
And she definitely wouldn't think about the fact that she had spent half the night watching him read, instead of going back to her room like she should have.
But no matter how much she tried to ignore it, something had shifted between them.
And the worst part?
She didn't know how to feel about it.
————-
The next morning, Lara entered the dining room, expecting things to be the same as always—cold, distant, formal.
Adrian was already there, dressed in a crisp dark suit, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.
His expression was unreadable as he scrolled through his phone, his free hand absently tapping against the table.
Nothing seemed different.
And yet, as soon as she stepped into the room, his eyes flicked up, sharp and knowing.
Lara's stomach twisted.
There was no trace of the man she had seen last night—the one who read classic literature in the dark, lost in his own thoughts.
Now, he was Adrian Sinclair again. The cold, powerful businessman.
The man who had forced her into this marriage.
Lara lifted her chin, refusing to acknowledge the strange disappointment curling in her chest.
"Good morning," she said, her voice carefully neutral.
Adrian didn't immediately respond. He studied her for a second too long, then nodded. "Morning."
Lara poured herself a cup of coffee, taking the seat opposite him. The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy.
She hated it.
Hated that she was aware of him in a way she hadn't been before.
Hated that she kept remembering the way his voice had softened when he spoke about the past.
Hated that she almost wanted to ask him about it.
Instead, she focused on her coffee, stirring it unnecessarily long.
"I didn't know you read," she said finally, keeping her tone casual.
Adrian smirked slightly, taking a sip of his drink. "I didn't know you cared."
Lara rolled her eyes. "I don't."
"Liar."
She scowled, but he had already turned back to his phone, the conversation dismissed like it was nothing.
And that should have been the end of it.
Except it wasn't.
Because later that evening, she found herself in the library again.
And so did he.
It was unintentional—at least on her part.
She had only meant to browse for a book, something to distract herself from the fact that this penthouse still felt more like a cage than a home.
But the moment she stepped inside, she realized she wasn't alone.
Adrian was there again, this time without a glass of whiskey in his hand.
He stood near the fireplace, flipping through another book, his tie loosened just enough to make him look… less intimidating.
Still powerful. Still impossibly put together.
But not untouchable.
He looked up as she entered, his gaze lingering.
"You're back," he said, like he had been expecting her.
Lara hesitated, gripping the edge of the bookshelf. "So are you."
Adrian closed his book, tilting his head. "This is my house."
"Unfortunately."
His lips twitched, almost like he was amused. "Careful, wife. You almost sound like you enjoy our little arguments."
Lara scoffed. "I don't."
Adrian stepped closer, the air between them shifting. "No?"
"No."
She didn't.
She shouldn't.
But the way her heart started pounding told a different story.
His gaze dropped, just for a second, to her lips.
It was barely noticeable—so quick that she might have imagined it.
But she hadn't.
And that realization sent a jolt of something dangerous through her.
Lara swallowed, forcing herself to hold her ground. "Why do you do that?"
Adrian raised a brow. "Do what?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Act like this."
"Like what?"
"Like you enjoy messing with me."
Adrian was silent for a moment, studying her like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
Then, to her surprise, he chuckled.
It wasn't mocking.
It wasn't cruel.
It was genuine.
And for some reason, that made it even worse.
"I don't enjoy messing with you, Lara," he said, his voice lower than before.
Lara frowned. "Then what do you enjoy?"
Adrian's smirk faded slightly, replaced by something more serious.
Something more real.
But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.
And suddenly, he was Adrian Sinclair again—the unreadable, untouchable man she had married.
He stepped back, breaking the tension between them as easily as if he had flipped a switch.
"I should warn you," he said casually, "there's an event this weekend. You'll need a dress."
Lara blinked at the abrupt shift. "What?"
"A charity gala," he explained. "We're attending as a couple."
Lara stiffened. Right. The contract.
She had agreed to this.
To playing the role of his wife in public.
Still, the thought of standing by his side, pretending to be something they weren't, made her stomach turn.
"Fine," she said tightly.
Adrian nodded. "I'll have something sent over for you to wear."
Lara bristled. "I can choose my own dress."
He looked at her for a long moment, then—surprisingly—nodded. "As you wish."
And just like that, the conversation was over.
Lara watched as he turned back to his book, as if nothing had happened between them.
As if the air between them hadn't just crackled with something neither of them wanted to name.
She wanted to tell herself that she didn't care.
That none of this mattered.
But as she left the library that night, her heart still racing in her chest, she knew she was lying to herself.
Because for the first time since this marriage began…
She wasn't sure she hated Adrian Sinclair anymore.
And that?
That was more dangerous than anything else.