Elena woke the next morning with the faintest trace of Adrian's voice still echoing in her head. "I'll let you win… just to see what happens when you do."
She hated that it lingered, hated that her chest tightened every time she replayed the words. They weren't supposed to matter. Nothing he said was supposed to touch her. Yet the memory burned like the aftertaste of wine—sharp, intoxicating, impossible to ignore.
Her apartment was modest compared to the marble towers she had walked through with him, but it was hers. Her safe place. Still, even here, she couldn't shake the way his gaze had followed her, the certainty that Adrian Rothwell was a man who didn't easily let go.
Her phone buzzed. A message. She reached for it with more hesitation than she wanted to admit.
Adrian: Lunch. Today. My office. Don't be late.
No question. No request. Just a command dressed as an invitation.
Elena smirked despite herself. Typical. He thought the world bent around his schedule. But if she refused, she'd risk him digging deeper. Accepting, on the other hand, meant walking straight into his territory.
She stared at the screen for a long beat before typing two words.
Elena: Fine. 1 PM.
Adrian's office was a reflection of the man himself: sleek, towering, impossible to ignore. Glass walls stretched to the ceiling, offering a view of the city that made everything below look small, insignificant.
When Elena stepped inside, the receptionist's gaze flickered with subtle curiosity, but no one stopped her. It was as though her presence had been anticipated.
Adrian was waiting, not behind his desk but standing near the window, hands in his pockets, sunlight catching the sharp planes of his face.
"You came."
"Would've been rude not to," she said coolly, though her pulse betrayed her calm.
He gestured toward a table where lunch was already set—an arrangement that spoke more of power than romance. Everything about him was orchestrated, designed to remind her he was always in control.
But she wasn't here to be controlled.
"Does everyone eat lunch like this in your world?" Elena asked, taking her seat without waiting for him to pull it out. "Crystal glasses, views of the city, wine in the middle of the day?"
Adrian poured the wine anyway, sliding a glass toward her. "Not everyone. Just me."
"And the women you invite?" she pressed.
His lips curved faintly. "Only the ones who intrigue me."
Her chest tightened, but she forced a laugh. "You must get bored easily then."
Adrian studied her, eyes narrowing with interest. "Not yet."
They ate in silence for a few moments, the clink of silverware the only sound between them. But Elena wasn't fooled. His silence wasn't emptiness—it was a trap, a waiting game. He wanted her to fill it, to expose herself.
So she leaned back in her chair, tilting her head. "You've built an empire. Everyone in this city either fears you or owes you. But you sit here wasting time with me. Why?"
Adrian didn't flinch. If anything, his eyes gleamed brighter. "Because I don't waste time. And because I haven't decided whether you're a storm sent to destroy me… or the fire I've been waiting for."
The words hit deeper than she wanted. Her breath caught, though she covered it with a smirk. "Careful. You sound almost… vulnerable."
"Vulnerability," Adrian murmured, leaning forward, "is only a weakness if you expose it to the wrong person."
For a heartbeat, his gaze pinned her in place, stripping away every layer she hid behind. It unsettled her how much he saw, how much he seemed to know without knowing.
She broke the tension with a laugh. "You talk like every sentence is meant for a book."
"Maybe," Adrian said smoothly, "I only sound that way with you."
The air grew heavier, charged with something dangerous and undeniable.
After lunch, Adrian didn't dismiss her. Instead, he gestured toward his desk, where a set of documents lay open.
"I want you to see something."
Elena followed, masking her nerves with curiosity. The papers were contracts, figures, acquisitions—numbers that spoke of control, of power stretching far beyond the city.
"You show all your dates your financial empire?" she asked dryly.
"You're not a date," Adrian said. His tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes glinted with something sharper. "You're a test."
Her pulse quickened. A test? Of what?
"And if I fail?" she asked carefully.
Adrian leaned close, his voice brushing her ear like a dangerous promise. "Then you'll be the first who ever did."
The nearness of him, the heat of his presence, stole her breath. For a dangerous second, she forgot her revenge, forgot why she was here. All she felt was the weight of his gaze, the way his words seemed to wrap around her like chains.
She stepped back, forcing air into her lungs. "Careful, Adrian. You might start believing I'm more important than I am."
His smirk returned, slow and lethal. "I already do."
By the time she left his office, Elena's chest felt tight with something she couldn't name. She should've felt triumphant—each meeting was a step deeper into his world, closer to dismantling him. But instead, she felt unsettled.
He wasn't just dangerous. He was intoxicating.
And that made him harder to destroy.
When she reached the street, she caught her reflection in the glass doors—her eyes brighter, her cheeks flushed. It wasn't the look of someone in control. It was the look of someone caught in a storm she had promised herself she'd never enter.
She drew a breath, steadying her mask. Stay focused. He's not a man. He's a target. A monster in a tailored suit. Remember that.
But even as she walked away, she knew the truth: Adrian Rothwell had already crossed lines she swore she'd never let anyone touch.
And if she wasn't careful, her heart would betray her long before her revenge ever could.