The silence stretched between us after his words — That isn't fear.
He was right. It wasn't.
But before I could respond, the door to the lounge opened again.
A woman stepped in.
She didn't knock. Didn't wait. She walked in as though she owned the place, and in a way, maybe she did.
Tall, poised, dressed in a midnight silk gown that clung to her body, she carried herself like royalty. Her dark hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, her lips painted blood red.
Her eyes found Adrian instantly, and her smile curved like a blade.
"There you are."
Something in my chest twisted, sharp and ugly.
Adrian didn't flinch, didn't look surprised. He only exhaled slowly, almost tiredly, before straightening. "Vivienne."
The name hit me like a blow.
She crossed the room, ignoring me completely, and slipped her arm around his without hesitation, as though it belonged to her. And maybe it did.
Her hand rested over his chest, fingers splaying against the fabric of his shirt. Her lips brushed his cheek, her perfume cloying and sweet in the air.
I realized then — this was the kind of woman who belonged in his world. Not me.
"Who's this?" Vivienne's voice was smooth, but her gaze finally flicked to me, sharp and assessing. Not curious. Not threatened. Just dismissive.
Adrian's jaw tightened, his eyes flicking to mine, unreadable.
"She's no one," he said.
The words should have cut me. And they did. But worse than the sting was the way my heart lurched at the possibility that he believed them.
Vivienne smirked, satisfied, before tugging him toward the door. "Come. We have business to discuss. Your father's been waiting."
Her tone was commanding, intimate, practiced — as though she had every right to direct him. And he let her.
I watched them leave, my chest hollow, my pulse pounding with a mix of hurt and something darker.
I was no one. That's what he'd said. And maybe he was right.
But the way his eyes lingered on mine as he stepped through the door… it told a different story.
One I wasn't sure I was strong enough to believe.
The door shut behind them, the echo reverberating through the lounge like a gunshot. I stood frozen, staring at the polished wood as if I could still see the outline of their bodies pressed together.
No one.
The words branded themselves into my chest, hot and merciless. I hated how much power they carried. I hated even more that despite them, I wanted him.
I sank into the nearest chair, my hands trembling as they gripped the armrest. The silence now wasn't comforting—it was suffocating, every second stretching out, mocking me.
Vivienne. Even her name was perfect, rich with elegance I could never mimic. She had walked in like she belonged, like she had been born into his world of wealth and shadows. And maybe she had.
I was the girl from the other side of the city, the one who worked until her fingers bled, the one who scraped by while men like Adrian looked down from glass towers.
And yet he'd pulled me into his orbit.
And yet he'd kissed me.
And yet he'd touched me like I was everything.
A bitter laugh escaped my throat, sharp and ugly in the stillness. Maybe I was no one. But then why had his gaze lingered on mine? Why had his voice—low, rough, filled with an edge I couldn't name—wavered, just for a fraction of a second, when he said it?
The door opened again.
My breath caught, half-hoping, half-dreading.
But it wasn't Adrian.
It was Marco—the broad-shouldered man who had shadowed Adrian from the moment I first met him. His dark suit was immaculate, but there was an ease in his stance that told me he was more weapon than decoration.
His eyes, cool and assessing, landed on me.
"You shouldn't be here." His voice was low, clipped. Not cruel, but not gentle either. "This is his private lounge."
"I didn't exactly invite myself," I shot back, more bitterly than I intended.
His brow arched, but he didn't press. Instead, he stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him with deliberate care.
"He doesn't… let people in," Marco said after a pause, his gaze steady on mine. "Not like this."
The words stirred something restless in me. "You mean he doesn't usually hire maids and then… kiss them?"
His lips twitched, not quite a smile. "No. He doesn't usually let them survive the week."
Ice flooded my veins. I stared at him, unsure if he was joking—or if Adrian's world was darker than even I had imagined.
Before I could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall. Heavy. Sure.
The door swung open.
Adrian stepped inside, his expression unreadable, Vivienne nowhere in sight. His tie was slightly loosened now, his jacket gone, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows. His eyes found mine instantly, as though I was the only thing in the room worth noticing.
"Leave us," he told Marco without looking away.
Marco hesitated, gaze flicking between us, but then he gave a curt nod and slipped out, the door closing softly behind him.
Adrian's silence was heavy. The kind that pinned me to the chair, made my chest tighten.
Finally, he spoke.
"What did you hear?"
The question wasn't casual. It was sharp, dangerous.
I swallowed hard. "Enough."
He took a slow step toward me, and then another, until the space between us felt suffocating. His hands braced on the arms of my chair, caging me in, his face so close I could feel the heat of his breath.
"Then you know," he murmured, his voice rough silk, "that she means nothing."
My pulse stumbled. "You didn't look like she meant nothing."
His jaw clenched, his eyes burning into mine with something I couldn't name—anger, desire, desperation all tangled together.
"She's a cage," he whispered harshly. "One I've been locked in since the moment I was born. But you…" His gaze flicked to my lips, then back to my eyes. "You're the fire that could burn it down."
I should have pushed him away. I should have demanded answers.
But when his mouth crushed against mine, all I could do was drown.