It was late Friday afternoon, and the golden light from Adrian's office window spilled across his desk as he signed the last document of the day.
Through the open glass door, he caught a glimpse of Talia in the hallway, carrying fresh flowers to the lobby — a task she'd taken upon herself to "make the place feel alive."
When she passed by, he called her name.
She stopped in the doorway, smiling shyly, the scent of her soft perfume drifting into the room.
"Talia," his voice was calm, almost too casual, "what are you doing this weekend?"
She hesitated. "Uh… just at home. Why?"
He leaned back in his chair, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Good. I'd like to have dinner with you. Not out… at your apartment."
Her eyes widened. "My apartment?"
"Yes," he said simply, the authority in his voice making it sound less like a request and more like a decision. "I'll take care of everything. My people will come by to decorate, set the table, and cook. You just… be ready."
Her pulse quickened. She bit her lip, trying to hide a smile. "Alright… I guess I'll be ready."
"Good," he replied, eyes lingering on her just a second longer than necessary. "Saturday night. I'll be there at eight."
The Next Day – Saturday Afternoon
Talia woke up with a rush of excitement she couldn't quite suppress. She cleaned every corner of her apartment until it gleamed, then laid out the outfit she'd chosen — a soft, form-fitting dress in deep wine red that brought out the warm undertones in her skin. She applied her makeup with care, the lipstick a shade bolder than usual, her hair falling in perfect waves.
By the time Adrian's people arrived, her heart was racing. They transformed her space into something almost unrecognizable — candlelit corners, a table set for two with crystal glasses, plates gleaming beneath the warm glow of fairy lights. The scent of rosemary chicken and buttery garlic filled the air.
When they left, she stood in the center of her living room, taking in the romantic scene. It felt like stepping into a dream… and the knowledge that he had made this happen for her sent a thrill through her chest.
By eight o'clock sharp, the faint sound of a knock echoed through Talia's candlelit apartment.
She smoothed her dress nervously before opening the door.
Adrian stood there — not just in a crisp black shirt with the top buttons undone, but holding a bouquet of deep red roses and a small, elegantly wrapped box.
"These are for you," he said, his tone softer than she'd ever heard.
Talia blinked, surprised, before accepting the flowers, their scent immediately filling the doorway.
"They're beautiful," she whispered.
"And this," he added, handing her the gift, "is for making my week… unexpectedly better."
Inside the wrapping was a delicate gold bracelet, thin and elegant, catching the candlelight as she held it. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came — just a quiet, grateful smile that felt far too genuine to hide.
As he stepped inside, the room seemed to shift. The soft lighting, the faint music, and the rich aroma of the dinner created an atmosphere that felt more like a slow-breathing dream.
They sat down, but halfway through the meal, Talia set her fork aside and asked gently,
"I've been wondering… what were your parents like?"
His hand froze on his glass. For a moment, he didn't speak. Then, in a voice quieter than usual, he said,
"My father… It was cold. Business came before everything. He left my mum for another woman. But my mother…" His jaw tightened, his gaze falling to the candle's flame. "She was the only warmth in that house. She taught me kindness. She made me believe in… love."
He swallowed hard, blinking quickly, but not before she caught the shimmer in his eyes.
"I lost her years ago," he continued, his voice breaking slightly. "And I still wake up expecting to hear her voice. Every year without her… feels heavier."
Talia's chest ached. Without thinking, she reached across the table and touched his hand.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I know what it's like to… to watch someone you love struggle. My parents… they've worked themselves to the bone just to keep us fed. There were nights we didn't know if there'd be enough food. And I've seen them cry quietly, thinking I didn't notice."
For a moment, their hands stayed together — no boss, no maid, just two people who understood loss in their own ways.
Adrian's gaze lifted to hers, and his voice softened.
"You're stronger than you think, Talia," he murmured, his thumb brushing her knuckles.
And with the roses still on the table between them and the bracelet glinting on her wrist, it felt less like a dinner and more like the beginning of something neither of them dared name.
After the last sip of wine, Talia stood to clear the plates, but Adrian stopped her, rising from his chair.
"Come here," he said quietly.
She hesitated, then stepped forward — and he pulled her into his arms.
It wasn't a quick, polite hug.
It was slow, lingering… the kind that makes the rest of the world fade away. His scent was warm and intoxicating, his heartbeat steady against her cheek.
When they finally stepped back, the air between them felt charged.
"Do you… want to watch something?" she asked, needing to fill the silence.
He nodded, so they moved to the couch, sitting close but not too close at first. She put on a lighthearted comedy, and within minutes, their laughter filled the room. Talia laughed so hard at one ridiculous scene that she leaned into him without thinking, and his chuckle rumbled low in his chest.
As the movie went on, Adrian's arm shifted slowly — at first resting along the back of the couch, then dropping casually until his hand brushed her shoulder.
She moved away.
A few minutes later, his fingers grazed the side of her arm, an almost absent-minded gesture… but deliberate enough to make her pulse quicken.
Her eyes stayed on the screen, but her mind wasn't on the movie anymore. She could feel the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric of her dress, his touch light but steady, lingering as if he was testing how close he could get.
And though neither of them said a word about it, the laughter had softened into something else entirely — a quiet, unspoken pull that neither of them wanted to end.
The movie played on, but the sound was a distant hum compared to the thunder of their heartbeats.
Talia could feel his warmth beside her — not just from his body, but from the way he was looking at her now.
It wasn't casual.
It wasn't friendly.
It was the kind of look that made a woman feel both exposed and cherished.
Adrian's hand, which had been resting lightly on her arm, slowly slid lower, his fingertips tracing an invisible path down to her wrist.
She swallowed hard, her breath hitching.
"You're… really beautiful tonight," he murmured, his voice husky, almost as if the words escaped before he could catch them.
Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
Instead, she turned slightly toward him, and for a moment they simply… stared. The space between them became a fragile, electric thread.
"Sir, why are we doing this? Why are you here?"
"Talia"
"Sir!"
"Can we allow words to fade for now" he whispered.
Then, almost cautiously, his hand drifted to her jaw, the pad of his thumb brushing her lower lip — a feather light touch that made her skin prickle.
Talia's chest rose and fell faster now. She could smell his cologne, feel the tension in his stillness, hear the faint tremor in his breathing.
She wanted to pull back.
She wanted to lean in.
Both urges fought, but the second one was winning.
The movie's laughter track echoed in the background as Adrian's thumb lingered on her lip, then traced along her cheekbone.
"You don't know what you're doing to me," he whispered.
Her heart nearly burst. She didn't answer — because her voice would betray her.
Instead, she held his gaze, and in that silence, everything between them shifted — not just attraction, but a dangerous, undeniable awareness.
Adrian's thumb lingered against her cheek, his eyes locked on hers as if searching for permission in the smallest flicker of her gaze.
Talia didn't move — not away, not closer — but her breath came faster, and that was all the answer he needed.
His hand slid to the back of her neck, warm and steady, and before she could think, he closed the distance.
The first brush of his lips was slow — almost hesitant — as if he was testing the moment.
But when she didn't pull away, when her lips softened under his, something inside him snapped.
The kiss deepened.
It became hungry, searching — years of discipline and control breaking apart under the weight of this woman in front of him.
Talia's hands, almost on their own, found his shoulders, holding onto him like she wasn't sure she'd remember how to breathe without him there.
Her heartbeat roared in her ears. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.
The world outside her apartment disappeared — no noise, no light, no reality except the taste of him, the heat of him, the way his fingers threaded into her hair.
When they finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, both of them were breathless.
"You have no idea," he whispered, still catching his breath, "how long I've wanted to do that."
Talia's lips curved into the faintest smile, though her pulse was still running wild.
She didn't trust herself to speak — not yet.
The air between them had shifted — warmer, heavier, charged with something unspoken but undeniable.
Adrian's gaze swept over her face as if memorizing it, then dipped to her lips again.
His hand, still at her waist, slid up her side in a slow, deliberate path. His fingertips traced the curve of her hip, the outline of her waist, before resting just below her ribcage.
"You're… breathtaking," he murmured, his voice husky enough to make her shiver.
Talia's breath caught. She didn't answer — couldn't — not when his other hand rose to the back of her neck, his thumb stroking just under her ear in a touch so gentle it felt like a secret.
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his body leaning into hers until the couch cushions gave way beneath them.
One of his hands began to move — slowly, carefully — brushing along the line of her shoulder. His fingers found the edge of her dress strap, playing with it, tugging just enough to let it slide down her arm. Now exposing her medium sized boobs.
His lips left hers only to trail soft kisses along her jaw, down to the hollow of her throat, now down to her boobs. Each one making her grip the fabric of his shirt tighter. She had never experienced such a sensation before. He gently sucked her exposed boobs as though his life depends on it. She let out soft moans.
"Talia…" he whispered against her skin, his breath warm. "Tell me if you want me to stop."
She shook her head, barely able to form words, her eyes searching for him with a mix of nervousness and desire.
That was all the confirmation he needed.
He kissed her shoulder, his lips lingering there as if savoring the taste of her.
Talia had never been this close to a man like him — not in his world, not with his kind of presence.
Her heartbeat was a wild, uneven rhythm she couldn't control.
She didn't quite know what to do with her hands, so they rested awkwardly on his chest at first, her fingers clutching his shirt as if it were the only steady thing in the room.
Adrian's eyes searched hers, as if looking for permission in the way she breathed, in the way her lips parted just slightly.
When she didn't pull away, he leaned in again, kissing her more deeply, slowly coaxing her to respond.
At first, she kissed him back hesitantly, the movement shy and tentative.
But as his hand caressed the side of her face, his thumb brushing her cheek, something inside her loosened.
She found herself leaning in, following his lead, matching his rhythm without thinking.
"I can stop," he whispered, his lips so close they brushed her skin.
She shook her head quickly, almost embarrassed at how much she wanted him to continue.
"I… I'm fine," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
A faint smile curved his lips, not in arrogance, but in quiet satisfaction.
Talia closed her eyes. She felt shy — almost overwhelmed — but there was sweetness in the way he touched her, as if he wanted her to enjoy every second.
Her hands moved without thought now, one of them resting lightly against his neck, feeling the steady beat of his pulse under her fingertips.
His fingers slowly traced the line of her abdomen, sliding beneath the fabric, skimming over her skin with a feather light touch that sent shivers racing down her spine. She gasped softly, eyes wide but shining with something new—curiosity, desire, and trust.
"Are you sure?" Adrian's voice was low, a husky whisper that vibrated against her ear.
Talia nodded her voice barely a breath. "Yes...."
Her innocence wasn't lost—rather, it made the moment more electric, more precious.
But then — in the midst of his hunger — he stilled. His hand trembled as it slid lower in between her legs, only to realize the truth in the way she stiffened, the hesitation in her eyes, the unspoken purity she still carried.
Adrian froze. His breath came ragged, his eyes locking onto hers. "Talia…" His voice was hoarse, torn between want and conscience. "You're… you've never done it?"
She swallowed hard, cheeks flushed, eyes shimmering. She didn't answer, but the silence was enough.
For a long moment, he hovered over her, fighting the war within himself. His body ached for her, yet something deeper — something he didn't expect — tugged at him. Slowly, painfully, he pulled back.
"I can't," he whispered, forehead resting against hers. "Not like this… not tonight. You deserve more than just my hunger. I want to wait… until it's the right time."
Her breath caught, heart pounding in both relief and confusion. His restraint felt heavier than his passion, a declaration she hadn't expected.
He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, then pulled her into his arms, holding her tight as if protecting her from both the world and himself.
The fire hadn't gone out—it only simmered, waiting, promising—but for now, all that filled the room was the sound of their mingled breaths and the tension of a love too strong to be rushed.
They didn't go further that night. Instead, they sank into the couch together, her head tucked against his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her.
The night grew quiet. The city outside hummed faintly, but inside her apartment it was only their breathing, slow and in sync. Adrian brushed a hand over her hair absentmindedly, as if committing the moment to memory.
"Sleep, Talia," he whispered.
And she did—safe, warm, cocooned in his embrace.
For the first time in years, Adrian Wolfe slept without restlessness. No dark thoughts of his empire, no ghost of his mother's absence, no demands from Cassandra's pretentious voice—just peace. Just her.