The first thing I felt was warmth.
Not the soft heat of sunlight streaming through the curtains, but the solid, consuming warmth of the man lying beside me.
Adrian.
His arm was draped over my waist, his body curved into mine as if guarding me even in sleep. My skin still tingled where his lips had been, my body sore in places that only made me remember how he had touched me, how he had whispered my name like it was a prayer and a curse all at once.
I should've felt shame. Fear. Something other than this bone-deep ache that wanted him all over again.
I turned slightly, careful not to wake him. His face in sleep was softer, the sharp lines of his jaw less severe. His lashes cast shadows over his cheekbones. He looked nothing like the ruthless mafia boss the world feared. He looked… human.
But reality hit like a blade.
He wasn't mine.
And when his phone buzzed on the nightstand, I knew it before I even saw the name flashing on the screen.
Clara.
His fiancée.
The sound sliced through the fragile cocoon of warmth we'd spun. I froze, the guilt crashing over me like icy water. My pulse quickened, panic clawing at my chest.
Adrian stirred, his eyes fluttering open. When they landed on me, something unreadable flickered there before he reached for the phone. He didn't answer—just silenced it, jaw tightening.
"She's looking for you," I whispered, unable to stop the bitterness threading through my voice.
His gaze snapped back to mine. Dark. Dangerous. But beneath the steel, there was something else—something that almost looked like regret.
"I don't want to talk about her," he said flatly. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my face, but the gesture was laced with tension. "Not when you're here."
I pushed his hand away, sitting up, pulling the sheet around me like a shield. "But she exists, Adrian. You can silence her call, but you can't erase her. Or the fact that I…" My voice broke. "I just made the worst mistake of my life."
His jaw clenched. He sat up too, his hand gripping my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. "Don't you dare call last night a mistake." His voice was low, rough, trembling with emotion he couldn't hide. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you."
My chest tightened, tears stinging my eyes. "Wanting me doesn't change the truth."
We sat there in silence, the sheets twisted between us, the weight of what we had done pressing down like a curse.
Finally, he let go, raking a hand through his hair. His eyes were wild, conflicted. "You don't understand. Clara is—" He stopped himself, his mouth snapping shut.
"She's what?" I demanded, my heart pounding.
But he didn't answer. Instead, he stood, pulling on his shirt, the muscles in his back tense. "Get dressed. I'll have Luca drive you home."
And just like that, the walls slammed back up.
I sat there, my body still aching from him, my heart splitting in two. I had given myself to a man who belonged to someone else.
And worst of all—I wanted him still.