Adrian Rothwell didn't get distracted. Not by women, not by money, not by anything. Distraction was weakness, and weakness destroyed empires.
He had clawed his way to the top by turning his heart to steel, by never letting desire cloud judgment. He didn't bend for beauty, didn't chase after ghosts. And yet—he couldn't stop thinking about her.
Elena.
The name curled in his mind like smoke, haunting every thought since the gala. Her eyes—sharp and unflinching—had cut into him, daring him to see something he couldn't name. She was a stranger, but he'd felt something familiar in the curve of her smile, something that unsettled him.
Adrian's gaze swept the skyline from his office window, though his mind wasn't on the city. He found himself replaying the way her voice had sounded—steady, low, like velvet stretched tight over steel.
It irritated him.
He had deals to finalize, rivals to crush, entire companies waiting for his signature. Yet numbers blurred across the reports in front of him, his focus slipping. He tossed the file onto his desk with a growl.
"Sir?" His assistant, Mariah, stood in the doorway with another stack of papers. "These are the quarterly projections you requested."
Adrian barely looked up. "Leave them."
She hesitated. "Are you sure you're all right? You seem… distracted."
His eyes flicked to hers, cold and cutting. Mariah flushed and retreated without another word.
Distracted. He loathed the word. He didn't get distracted. But he also didn't lie to himself. Elena had clawed her way into his thoughts, and now there was no ignoring her.
He needed to see her again.
Elena hadn't planned on coming here. At least, that's what she told herself as she stood in the marble lobby of Rothwell Tower. The skyscraper loomed over the city like a monument to arrogance, glass and steel sharpened into a blade.
She told herself it was strategic. Getting close to Adrian was part of her plan. She needed access. Proximity was power.
But the truth was darker. Something about him pulled her back, the same way her memories of the past pulled her into sleepless nights.
Elena caught her reflection in the polished marble, adjusting the collar of her fitted blazer. Calm. Confident. Untouchable. That's how she needed to appear. But her pulse betrayed her, beating harder the closer she came to facing him again.
This isn't about him, she reminded herself. This is about revenge.
The receptionist's polite smile broke her thoughts. "Good afternoon. Do you have an appointment?"
Elena returned the smile, her voice smooth. "No. But Adrian will want to see me."
The receptionist blinked. People didn't walk in off the street and demand Rothwell's time. But something in Elena's tone—unyielding, absolute—made the woman pick up the phone anyway.
Minutes later, Elena was being led past security and down hushed hallways lined with glass. She felt the weight of the building pressing down on her, the empire Adrian had built. And soon, she promised herself, she would watch it burn.
When the office doors opened, he was there.
Adrian stood behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie loosened as though he'd been wrestling with his own restlessness. He looked nothing like the untouchable king from the gala. Here, he was sharper, more dangerous, stripped of polish.
His eyes lifted—and stilled when they met hers.
"Elena." The way he spoke her name made her knees want to weaken. As though he'd been waiting for her.
She let her lips curl in a calm smile. "Did you miss me?"
Something flickered in his eyes. Interest. Amusement. Hunger.
"You don't waste time, do you?"
"I don't like games," she said, though every word was a calculated move.
"Funny." He leaned back in his chair, gaze steady and searching. "You look like a woman who plays them better than anyone."
Elena stepped closer, each movement deliberate. "Maybe I play to win."
He chuckled softly, the sound low and edged. "So do I."
The silence between them hummed, sharp as a live wire. Neither looked away. Neither bent.
"Why are you here?" Adrian asked finally, his voice dropping.
She tilted her head. "To see if you'd remember me."
For the first time, something cracked in his mask. A flash of recognition—or maybe suspicion—darkened his gaze. Slowly, he rose from his chair. The deliberate way he moved, unhurried yet commanding, made Elena's throat tighten.
When he stopped in front of her, the air grew heavier, charged with tension.
"I don't forget faces," he murmured. His voice was close enough to graze her skin, close enough that his presence felt suffocating. "But yours… yours feels dangerous."
Her pulse thundered, but she didn't flinch. "Maybe you're the dangerous one."
His mouth curved into the kind of smile that promised ruin. "Dinner. Tonight."
It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a request. It was a command.
And yet, the thought made heat coil in her stomach, the kind of heat that scared her. She forced her expression into a mask of indifference. "Fine. But don't expect me to be impressed."
Adrian smirked, eyes glinting. "We'll see who impresses who."
The elevator doors closed behind her with a soft hiss, and Elena exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her legs felt unsteady beneath her polished exterior.
This was good. This was exactly what she needed—an invitation deeper into his world. A chance to study him up close. To find his weakness.
But why did it feel less like a plan and more like falling into a trap?
Careful, she told herself as the elevator descended. One wrong step, and you won't be the hunter. You'll be the prey.
Inside the office, Adrian poured himself a glass of whiskey, his gaze lingering on the door she had just walked through. The faint trace of her perfume still clung to the air, unsettlingly sweet.
He took a slow sip, trying to force his thoughts back to business, but it was useless. Elena had carved her way into his mind, and now she lingered like a challenge he couldn't resist.
Who was she really?
And why did she feel like danger wrapped in silk?