The door shut behind them, the echo far too loud in the silence that followed.
I sat frozen on the velvet sofa, the ghost of his words replaying in my mind like a cruel melody. She's no one.
No one.
The sting settled deep, colder than I expected, like ice spreading through my veins. I should have left right then, walked out and reminded myself what I already knew—that his world wasn't mine. That women like Vivienne fit beside him, not maids who'd once scrubbed champagne stains from marble floors.
But I didn't move. I couldn't.
Because even as the ache twisted in my chest, I couldn't shake the look in his eyes when he'd said it. That brief flicker of something—conflict, regret, maybe even pain—that betrayed the lie in his voice.
If he truly believed I was no one, why had it looked like the words hurt him too?
The minutes dragged. My reflection stared back at me in the glass wall, pale and fragile against the glittering city. For the first time, the view didn't take my breath away. It only reminded me how far from his world I really was.
Finally, I rose, determined to leave before the weight of it broke me. My hand hovered near the elevator button when the door opened again.
Adrian.
Alone this time.
His shoulders were tense, his tie loosened, his expression unreadable as his gaze locked on me.
"You stayed," he said quietly. Not a question. A statement.
I swallowed, my voice unsteady. "Should I have left?"
His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. "You should have run the moment you met me."
Something in his tone—dark, rough, almost pleading—made my heart stumble.
"Then why do you sound like you wish I hadn't?" I asked.
The silence stretched between us, electric, dangerous. And in that silence, I realized something I shouldn't have—this wasn't fear pulling me closer to him. It was something far worse.
The silence clung to the room like smoke, thick and suffocating.
Adrian's eyes didn't leave mine. His jaw was tight, his fists flexing at his sides as though he were fighting something invisible.
I should have turned away. I should have kept my distance. But instead, I stepped closer.
"Why does it hurt you to say I'm no one?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, trembling and raw.
His nostrils flared. "Because you're not," he said harshly. His voice cracked like a whip, low and cutting through the quiet. "You're not no one, and that's the damn problem."
My breath caught.
In two strides, he was in front of me. His hand shot out, catching my wrist—not gentle, not rough, just enough to anchor me there when my instinct screamed to run.
"You don't belong here," he said, his voice a dark growl. "You don't belong in my world, and I sure as hell don't belong in yours. But the more you look at me like that…" His grip tightened slightly, his head dipping low, his lips near my ear. "…the harder it is to let you go."
My pulse thundered, every nerve alive under his nearness.
"I'm not afraid of you," I whispered, though my voice trembled.
He let out a sound that was half laugh, half curse. "You should be."
Before I could answer, his mouth crashed onto mine.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't tender. It was fierce, consuming, a clash of hunger and fury that stole every ounce of breath from me. My hands rose instinctively, pressing against his chest, meaning to push him away—but instead, I curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.
The city glittered beyond the glass wall, a thousand lights burning, but none of them compared to the fire igniting inside me.
When he finally tore his mouth from mine, his forehead rested against mine, his breath ragged.
"This is a mistake," he rasped, his thumb brushing the inside of my wrist like he couldn't help himself. "But tell me to stop, and I will."
I opened my mouth, but no words came. Because I didn't want him to stop.
Not now. Not ever.