The morning at Wolfe & Co. felt strangely quiet without Adrian's sharp footsteps echoing across the marble. Talia had already prepared his breakfast and left it on his desk when the intercom buzzed.
His voice, unusually low, came through.
"Talia… come here."
She found him in his private office apartment — a sleek, minimalist space connected to his office — lying back on the leather sofa, suit jacket discarded, tie loose. His skin was pale beneath the flush of fever, hair slightly damp at the temples.
"You're sick," she said, her voice laced with concern.
"I'm fine," he muttered, though the faint tremor in his tone betrayed him.
"No, you're not." She placed the back of her hand gently against his forehead — the contact sent a jolt through both of them. His eyes flicked up to hers, holding them for a second longer than necessary.
Adrian was on the leather sofa, shirt half-unbuttoned, skin glistening faintly with the fever that had driven him here instead of his usual commanding post behind his desk.
"You should be in bed," she said gently.
His voice was husky, slower than usual. "I am in bed… in my own way."
She set the tray on the side table and knelt beside him to pour water. When her fingers brushed his, both of them froze for a beat too long. His gaze locked on hers, dark and unguarded — the kind of look that said he wasn't just seeing her as his employee.
"You're burning up," she murmured.
The company doctor came and went, leaving instructions and medicine. Talia stayed, lifting the glass to his lips, her other hand steadying the back of his neck. She could feel the heat radiating from him, could smell the faint trace of his cologne under the fever's sharp edge.
When she set the glass down, he didn't let her move away immediately. His fingers caught her wrist — warm, strong, almost pleading without words. Her pulse jumped under his touch.
The tension between them was electric, unspoken, teetering on something dangerous.
And then — the sharp click of heels on marble.
Cassandra swept in without knocking, tall and flawless in a cream silk dress. "Adrian, darling, I—" She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes falling on Talia by the sofa. Her perfectly painted mouth twisted into a faint, amused smirk.
"Oh. I see you've got… help."
Talia straightened immediately, lowering her gaze.
Cassandra walked to the coffee table, ignoring her entirely. "Be a dear and get me something light to eat. A salad. Or whatever you can manage."
Talia's grip tightened around the tray, her throat dry. Before she could answer, Adrian's voice cut through the room — cold, flat, controlled.
"She's not here for you, Cassandra. She's just a cleaner. A maid."
The words stung, slicing deeper than she expected, especially after the warmth in his eyes just moments ago. Talia swallowed hard, forcing her face into neutrality as she turned to leave, her heart pounding with a confusion she hated.
Behind her, Cassandra's soft laugh filled the room. But Adrian wasn't smiling. He was watching Talia walk away, and the flicker in his eyes was nothing Cassandra could ever understand.
Cassandra lingered by the sofa, her perfume settling in the warm air of Adrian's private apartment. She'd come straight from her car without knocking, her heels clicking softly against the marble as she placed a hand on his forehead.
"Oh, darling," she murmured, the sympathy in her tone thick and rehearsed. "You're burning up. Why didn't you call me sooner?"
Adrian lay propped against the cushions, the light from the half-drawn curtains cutting sharp angles across his face.
"I'm fine," he muttered, voice low, hoarse. "The doctor already came."
But Cassandra wasn't listening to the answer — not really. Her hand drifted from his forehead down his chest, nails grazing through the thin fabric of his shirt. "You work yourself too hard. You should let me take care of you."
She sat beside him, close enough that her thigh brushed his. "And maybe… we could spend the evening together. Just us." Her lips curved into the faint, knowing smile she always used when she wanted something more than his attention.
Adrian's gaze flicked to the glass of water on the table — the one Talia had set there earlier. His fingers twitched against his knee.
"I'm not in the mood, Cassandra," he said flatly.
She pouted, leaning in. "You're never in the mood anymore."
He didn't respond. The truth was, her touch no longer lit the spark it once did. What she was offering felt transactional now, a pattern he could predict before it even began.
Almost on cue, she sighed and tilted her head. "By the way, I've had a few… unexpected expenses this week." Her tone shifted — softer, coaxing. "You wouldn't mind helping me out, would you?"
Adrian finally looked at her, his eyes unreadable.
"How much?"
She smiled, triumphant in the space between his question and her answer. "Just enough to cover a few bills. I'll write it down."
Before Adrian could answer, there was a gentle knock at the door.
"Come in," he said.
Talia stepped in quietly, balancing a tray — a plate of fruit, warm tea, and a small bowl of soup Cassandra had demanded minutes ago. She set it on the low table, glancing at Adrian but avoiding lingering under Cassandra's sharp gaze.
"Well, well," Cassandra said, looking Talia up and down like she was an amusing afterthought. "So you're the one Adrian's been keeping around to play nursemaid. How sweet." Her voice dripped with patronizing charm. "I guess it's easier than hiring someone… professional."
Talia's lips tightened, but she stayed silent, placing the napkin neatly by the soup.
"Oh, don't look so serious, darling," Cassandra added, leaning back on the sofa with a smirk. "I'm sure you're very good at… whatever it is you do. Cleaning? Fetching tea? Making beds?" She chuckled under her breath.
Adrian's jaw tightened. "That's enough, Cassandra," he said, his voice carrying a weight that cut through the air. "She's here because I asked her to be."
Cassandra glanced at him, surprised by the edge in his tone, but quickly masked it with a laugh. "Relax, love. I was just teasing."
Talia murmured a polite, "Excuse me," and stepped out, but not before Adrian's eyes followed her to the door, something unspoken passing in the air between them.
Once she was gone, Cassandra leaned in closer to him again, her perfume heavy. "Now… about those bills."
Adrian's gaze drifted back to the door.
"How much?" he repeated, but his voice was cold.
She smiled, triumphant in the space between his question and her answer. "Just enough to cover a few bills."
He leaned back, his expression as cold as the ice melting in the untouched glass on the table. "Leave the amount with my assistant."
For a moment, something in Cassandra's eyes tightened — a flash of irritation — but she smoothed it over with another sweet smile, pretending his detachment didn't sting. She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, but he turned slightly, letting it land closer to his jaw.
She didn't notice. Or maybe she did, but chose to ignore it.
As she rose to leave, her heels clicking again against the marble, Adrian's eyes drifted briefly to the door — the one Talia had slipped through hours earlier.
And for the first time that night, his fever felt less like sickness and more like something else entirely.