The restaurant Adrian chose wasn't the kind people simply walked into. It was one of those hidden places known only to the city's elite, tucked away in a narrow street and lit by golden lanterns that glowed like fireflies against the night. The maître d' bowed as though greeting royalty, leading Elena through a quiet dining room where every table seemed to radiate wealth and secrecy.
She followed, each step a reminder of why she was here. Revenge. Nothing more.
And yet her pulse betrayed her, quickening when she saw him. Adrian sat alone at a table in the far corner, back straight, presence filling the space as though the entire room revolved around him. The crisp lines of his suit framed him like armor, but the loosened collar and the way his fingers tapped idly against the stem of his glass hinted at impatience.
For her.
When their eyes met, the air shifted. A flicker of something unreadable—hunger, curiosity, danger—passed between them.
"Elena." His voice carried easily over the soft hum of conversation. "Right on time."
She slid into the seat opposite him, her calm mask firmly in place. "I don't like keeping men waiting."
His lips quirked. "Good. Neither do I."
The waiter appeared as if summoned, pouring wine with silent precision. Adrian didn't glance at the menu. He ordered for both of them, his tone leaving no room for debate. Elena arched a brow, amused but silent.
"Confident, aren't you?" she remarked when the waiter vanished.
Adrian leaned back, studying her with that piercing gaze. "You strike me as someone who appreciates confidence."
"I strike you as many things, I'm sure," she said, tilting her glass toward him.
Their wine glasses touched softly, the sound far too intimate for a room so public.
Adrian's eyes didn't leave hers as he took a slow sip. "Tell me, Elena. Who are you, really?"
The question was deceptively simple, but his gaze made it feel like a spotlight cutting into her. He wanted to peel her open, see the secrets she carried.
She smiled, careful and sharp. "A woman who knows what she wants."
"And what's that?" His voice lowered, silk laced with steel.
She let her smile linger. "To see if men like you are as untouchable as they think."
A pause stretched between them, heavy with challenge. Then Adrian's smile spread slowly, dangerous as a blade slipping free of its sheath. "Careful. I might enjoy being tested."
Their food arrived—plated perfection, gleaming under candlelight—but neither touched it at first. The real meal was in the words they fed each other, layered with implication.
Elena watched him, every gesture precise. The way he moved his glass, the measured pauses before he spoke—it was all control. Power oozed from him, but she wasn't here to admire it. She was here to dismantle it.
Still, she couldn't ignore the way his presence made her skin hum.
"You're not like the others," Adrian said finally, his tone reflective.
"Others?" she echoed.
"The women who smile too easily. The ones who orbit, hoping for a place in my world. You… don't orbit." His gaze narrowed. "You burn."
The words hit her harder than she expected. She forced herself to laugh lightly. "And what happens to those who burn?"
Adrian's smirk curved slow and deliberate. "They either turn to ash… or light everything around them on fire."
The intensity in his voice stole her breath for a fraction of a second. She steadied herself quickly, hiding it beneath a sip of wine. Don't get pulled in. This is a game. Your game.
"I think you like danger too much," she said.
"And I think," Adrian countered, "you're hiding yours."
For a moment, silence pressed between them, intimate and suffocating.
Elena set her glass down, leaning forward just enough to draw his focus fully onto her. "Maybe I am. But if you're smart, you'll stop trying to find it."
"Smart?" His eyes gleamed. "I built an empire on being smarter than everyone else. And yet, here I am, sitting across from you, wondering if maybe—for once—I'd enjoy being wrong."
Her chest tightened. The words shouldn't have affected her. They were just part of his charm, his weapon. But the conviction in his tone unsettled her.
Stay sharp, she reminded herself. He's not a man. He's your target.
And yet, when the waiter returned to clear plates they had barely touched, Elena realized the evening had slipped through her fingers. She had come prepared to manipulate, to probe, to measure him for weaknesses. Instead, she'd found herself responding, matching his rhythm without thought.
The control she prided herself on felt… shaken.
When they stepped outside, the night was cool, the city humming softly in the distance. Adrian's car waited at the curb, sleek and black, a shadow among shadows.
He held the door open. "Let me drive you."
She hesitated. Every instinct screamed not to. Getting into his car meant surrendering another piece of ground. But walking away would raise questions. And she couldn't afford his suspicion.
So she slid in, her smile poised. "Don't get used to this."
Adrian's chuckle was low as he joined her behind the wheel. "Somehow, I think I already have."
The ride was quiet, but not empty. Silence pressed thick between them, laced with the memory of everything unsaid over dinner. She stared out the window, but her awareness of him was constant—the controlled way he drove, the occasional flicker of his gaze in her direction.
When the car stopped in front of her building, Elena reached for the handle. But his voice stopped her.
"Elena."
She froze, hand poised, pulse quickening.
"I don't know what game you're playing," Adrian said, his tone low, steady. "But something tells me I'll let you win… just to see what happens when you do."
Her throat tightened. She forced herself to glance back, eyes steady. "Be careful what you wish for."
Then she slipped out into the night, heels clicking against the pavement, not daring to look back.
But even as she walked away, she felt it—the weight of his gaze, the pull of his presence. Dangerous. Unavoidable.
And deep down, beneath all her carefully built walls, a truth she refused to admit burned quietly:
Adrian Rothwell was already inside her world.