All night the tempest spent its fury on the penthouse. Rain hammered the floor-to-ceiling windows, and between lightning flashes, Adrian appeared just long enough to be delineated before them: a dark figure standing still, hands clasped behind his back.
Elena sat curled in the armchair across the spacious room, knees drawn close, the weight of the flash drive in her pocket pressing into her like a hidden blade. Whenever she moved, she felt its presence — cold, unrelenting, an incessant reminder of a decision she had not made yet.
"Are you going to tell me," Adrian finally asked, his voice low but edged like broken glass, "why you were in my office at three in the morning?"
The feeling in her chest tightened. She had been careful-about how she thought. "Couldn't sleep," she said, forcing a shrug. "I went to get a drink. The bar's near your office."
He turned then, slowly and with purpose, gaze glinting in the pale light. "You're lying."
It was not an accusation. It was a verdict.
Elena's pulse kicked hard, but she did not look away. "And you would know, wouldn't you? Seeing that you've lied to me since the very day we met."
For a flicker of time, interest on his face burned hotly - not guilt, but something rather dangerous. "Careful, Elena. There are sharks in these waters. And you, you are bleeding."
Before she could give a retort, his phone rang. A quick glance at the caller ID let him know to step away and answer. His voice dropped into an urgent murmur. Elena strained her ears to catch bits and pieces: shipment not secure, possible leak — but the pounding of her own heartbeat drowned him out.
Upon his return, the gloomier expression remained on his face. "We're going to the docks," he said, already putting on his coat.
"The docks? At this hour?"
He shot her a look that said obviate any further discussion. "You wanted into my world, Elena. Here it is."
The docks smelled of salt and diesel and of something metallic, something like blood — faint but unmistakable. Men in deep, dark coats glided past like shadows with low and hurried voices. A shipping container stood open somewhere, its insides hidden under tarps.
"What happened?!" Adrian demanded, as they neared.
"Two crates gone," one of his men replied. "Security footage wiped clean. No trace of forced entry."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "Inside job."
Elena's stomach churned. This was the kind of moment she had envisioned where the rumors about him — uttered in hushed, fearful tones — became real.
He ordered everyone to leave the container but one man — tall, wiry, and looking like he wanted nothing more than to sink into the shadows. "You had the keys," Adrian said, the voice low.
The man stammered about being set up. There was no response from Adrian. He just reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife, a graceful thing in polished steel, spinning it in his fingers.
Elena's breath hitched. She ought to have looked away. Instead, she didn't.
The sound of the knife sliding loudly and almost satisfyingly into the man's body was heard, and then quietly it became nothing there at the dock.
Adrian turned his gaze to lock on hers. "You still think I'm the villain?"
Her throat was parched. "I think..." She stepped closer, wind from the storm stinging her hair across her face. "…you're exactly what you have to be."
Something shifted in his expression — hunger, yes, but something else. Something more dangerous.
And then he kissed her. Hard. Brutal. Like a man claiming not just a body but a choice.
When he broke away, his hand slipped into her coat pocket — and she realized too late what he would find there.
The flash drive.