Emilia's POV
Her heart thudded like a drum as she slid into the back seat of the sleek black car. The leather was soft under her palms, the scent of expensive cologne filling the air—the same intoxicating scent that clung to her boss.
Adrian Volkov slipped in after her, his broad frame overwhelming the space. The door shut with a soft click that sounded far too final.
"This isn't necessary," she muttered, hugging her bag to her chest. "I could have taken the bus."
Adrian turned his head, those dark, unreadable eyes locking on hers. "The bus? At night? In this city?" He gave a humorless chuckle. "You're more naive than I thought."
Her cheeks heated. "Maybe I'm just independent. Not everyone needs to be rescued, Mr. Volkov."
"Rescued?" His lips curved in that infuriating smirk. "I wasn't rescuing you, intern. I was preventing myself the headache of filing a missing-persons report when you inevitably wander into trouble."
She glared at him. "You're unbelievable."
"And yet here you are," he replied smoothly, stretching one arm along the back of the seat so close she could feel the heat of his body.
Her pulse betrayed her, fluttering wildly. She shifted away, pressing against the door, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he rattled her.
The car purred down the street, city lights flashing across his sharp profile. Emilia stole a glance at him—at the way his jaw clenched as though he carried secrets too heavy for anyone else to bear, at the scar along his knuckle that looked like it came from something far more violent than a paper cut.
He's just a playboy, she reminded herself fiercely. Arrogant. Dangerous. And completely off-limits.
So why did the air between them feel like it might catch fire at any second?
Adrian's POV
Adrian shouldn't have picked her up.
He should have left her at the bus stop, let her stumble through the city on her own. That was what he did with people who didn't matter. And Emilia shouldn't matter.
But when he saw her standing there, her hair glinting under the streetlights, her wide eyes scanning the shadows like prey waiting for a predator—something in him snapped.
She didn't belong on dark streets. She didn't belong in his world at all. And yet, here she was, pressed against the car door like a cornered kitten, glaring at him with fire he couldn't look away from.
"Relax," he murmured, eyes still on her. "I'm not going to eat you."
She rolled her eyes. "Good to know."
His lips twitched, fighting a grin. She was stubborn. Clumsy, naive, infuriatingly innocent—but stubborn. It was almost… refreshing.
The car slowed suddenly, and Adrian's instincts flared. His gaze flicked to the tinted window. Two black SUVs had pulled into the lane behind them, headlights too bright, too close.
Matteo's voice echoed in his head from earlier: The Russians aren't happy.
"Change the route," Adrian ordered the driver, his tone sharp.
Emilia blinked. "What's going on?"
"Nothing you need to worry about," he said, voice clipped.
Her brows furrowed. "That didn't sound like nothing."
He ignored her, pulling out his phone. "Matteo. Now."
Emilia's lips parted, confusion swirling in her eyes as she watched him. She didn't understand—and she couldn't. If she knew what those SUVs meant, if she knew who Adrian really was, she'd run screaming.
And maybe that was exactly what he should want.
Emilia's POV
The sudden tension in the car made her stomach knot. Adrian had shifted—his casual arrogance gone, replaced by something harder, sharper.
His voice was low but commanding as he spoke in Italian to whoever was on the phone. She couldn't catch the words, but she didn't need to. The steel in his tone said enough.
She bit her lip, stealing another look at him. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw tight, every inch of him radiating danger.
For the first time, Emilia realized there was more to her boss than the arrogant playboy exterior. Something darker lurked beneath. Something she wasn't sure she wanted to understand.
"Adrian?" she whispered, the name slipping out before she could stop it.
His gaze snapped to her, and her breath caught. For a heartbeat, she thought she saw something raw in his eyes—fear, maybe, or fury—but then the mask slammed back into place.
"Stay quiet, Emilia," he said softly, and for once, she obeyed.
Adrian's POV
The SUVs eventually turned off, disappearing down a side street. His muscles loosened slightly, though he didn't let it show.
He couldn't risk Emilia seeing too much. Not yet.
When he finally spoke, his tone was back to that lazy drawl. "See? Nothing to worry about."
She gave him a sharp look. "You don't actually expect me to believe that, do you?"
He smirked. "Believe whatever helps you sleep at night, intern."
Her frustration was delicious. The way her lips pressed together, the way her chest rose and fell as she tried not to snap at him—it was almost enough to make him forget how close danger had just brushed against them.
Almost.
Because the truth was, she was already in danger. Not from the Russians. Not from the streets.
From him.
Emilia's POV
By the time the car pulled up in front of her apartment, Emilia felt like she'd been holding her breath the entire ride.
She shoved the door open quickly. "Thanks for the ride," she said stiffly, eager to put distance between them.
Adrian leaned out slightly, his voice low and smooth. "Careful walking upstairs. Wouldn't want you tripping and breaking your pretty little neck."
Her head snapped toward him, cheeks flushing. "You're impossible."
"And you're cute when you're mad," he replied easily, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Emilia huffed and stormed away, but she didn't miss the way his gaze lingered on her until the door shut behind her.
Inside, Lily was sprawled on the couch with popcorn. "You're late," she said, grinning. "And blushing. Oh my god, what happened?"
"Nothing," Emilia lied quickly, tossing her bag down.
But as she collapsed onto the couch, her heart still racing, she knew the truth.
Adrian Volkov was dangerous. And she was already in far deeper than she wanted to admit.