By morning, the fire in Adrian's study had gone out—but the heat between them hadn't.
Nora woke in her suite, curled up in a silk duvet with a pounding in her chest that had nothing to do with caffeine withdrawal. She hadn't meant to fall asleep in his study. But Adrian hadn't stopped her, either.
In fact, he'd draped a blanket over her before leaving. She wasn't sure which part unsettled her more—his warmth or how much she liked it.
Downstairs, the penthouse was already alive with movement. Men in suits paced quietly through the living room, murmuring into earpieces. A laptop displayed satellite images. A tray of untouched espresso sat beside a pistol on the counter.
Yep. Just another normal morning.
She grabbed an apple and tried to pretend she didn't notice the gun.
Dax—the sarcastic bodyguard she'd only met in passing—gave her a once-over as he passed through the kitchen.
"You sleep here now?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "Or are you just emotionally attached to danger?"
"I'm the nanny," she replied sweetly. "And apparently, the emotional support human."
He smirked. "Careful. That job has a short shelf life around here."
"Why? What happened to the last nanny?"
Dax paused. "She fell in love with him."
Nora blinked.
"And?" she prompted.
"And disappeared," he said, walking off before she could ask if that meant "moved away" or "buried in the Hudson River."
Great.
---
At noon, she found Adrian in the operations room—another high-security chamber in the back of the penthouse that felt more like a war bunker than a home office. Giant screens glowed with data: names, cities, offshore accounts, and something that looked dangerously close to a drone feed.
"Did I interrupt a coup?" she asked, leaning against the wall.
Adrian didn't look up. "Your sarcasm doesn't mask your questions, Nora."
She stepped closer. "So answer one."
He paused. Then: "The list Fiona mentioned? I encrypted it. Split it into five locations around the globe."
"Smart."
"Necessary."
"Still dangerous," she added. "She said they want it."
"They always want something."
Adrian finally looked up, his gray eyes stormy. "You, for example, want answers."
"Damn right I do."
He stood and closed the laptop. "Then you'd better start learning how to handle the truth."
She followed him out of the room, through the corridor, past priceless artwork and security panels disguised as abstract décor.
He stopped in front of a door she hadn't noticed before. Unmarked. Sealed.
"What's behind here?" she asked.
Without a word, he pressed his thumb to a hidden scanner. The door hissed open.
Inside was a room unlike any other in the penthouse. No luxury. No marble. No view.
Just photos.
Hundreds of them, pinned on walls and boards—some torn, some bloodstained. Maps with red string. Blueprints. Journal pages. Obituaries.
It was a war room.
"This," Adrian said, "is everyone I've ever trusted… and everyone who made me regret it."
Nora stepped inside slowly. Her eyes darted across faces—some smiling, some scribbled over with red Xs. Notes in languages she didn't speak. Pinned documents with classified stamps. A surveillance photo of a man who looked vaguely like a senator.
And right in the center—one photo circled in black ink.
Her.
She stared at it.
"I'm flattered," she muttered, "but also mildly horrified."
"I ran a background check the moment you submitted your application," Adrian said quietly. "Not because I didn't trust you… but because I couldn't afford to."
"You really do keep files on everyone," she whispered.
"No," he said. "Only on people who matter."
She turned to him slowly. "Is that supposed to be romantic or terrifying?"
"Both."
He stepped closer, and suddenly the air shifted.
"You're not the same woman who walked in here last week pretending to know how to make baby formula," he said.
"That woman wasn't pretending," she replied. "She was desperate and underqualified."
"And now?"
"Still desperate," she murmured. "Just… involved."
Their eyes locked, and something hot sparked between them.
He didn't touch her. Not yet.
But he was close enough that she could smell his cologne—smoky, dark, expensive. His jaw tensed, his hands clenched like he was holding back a flood.
"I shouldn't want you here," he said.
"But you do," she replied, voice barely above a whisper.
A beat passed.
Then another.
And then, finally, he reached out—his hand brushing the side of her neck, tracing a line just below her jaw.
It wasn't rough. It wasn't demanding.
It was careful.
Intimate.
"Tell me to stop," he said.
She didn't.
Instead, she leaned in—and kissed him.
It wasn't slow.
It wasn't sweet.
It was months of tension colliding all at once. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. Her fingers threaded into his hair. There was no hesitation, no question. Just fire.
And then—
BANG.
A sharp sound echoed from somewhere in the penthouse.
They broke apart instantly. Adrian's head snapped toward the hallway. Nora's heart hammered.
"That was a gunshot," she said.
Adrian was already moving. "Stay here."
"Like hell I will!"
He gave her a look. The kind of look that said people who disobey me end up in files, not weddings.
But Nora was already following him.
They moved fast, down the corridor, past the living room—where Dax was crouched behind the kitchen island, gun drawn.
"What happened?" Adrian asked.
"Sniper," Dax said. "From the adjacent building. Missed."
Nora ducked instinctively.
"Security jammed the feed right after the shot," Dax added. "Whoever it was, they're gone."
Adrian cursed under his breath. Then he turned to Nora, eyes blazing. "You're done walking around unguarded."
She raised an eyebrow. "I thought I was invisible?"
"Not anymore," he said. "Someone just put a target on your back."
---
Later that night, Nora sat on the edge of her bed, staring out the window. She couldn't see the sniper. She couldn't see the threat.
But she could feel it.
It wasn't just that she was in danger. It was that she mattered now. To someone who didn't know how to admit it.
Her phone buzzed.
Adrian:
> "I'm sorry about earlier."
"About the kiss or the sniper?"
"Both."
She hesitated.
Nora:
> "Let's talk about it in the morning."
"But next time you kiss me, don't stop."
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
And then:
Adrian:
> "I wasn't going to."