The restaurant Adrian chose was nothing like the glittering gala or the polished boardrooms that usually defined his world. It was tucked into the heart of the city, behind an unmarked black door, the kind of place you'd only know about if someone powerful wanted you there. Inside, the lighting was warm, low, and golden, the music a soft murmur of strings that seemed to curl around every table like smoke.
Elena followed him through the room, ignoring the way heads turned, ignoring the way her own pulse pounded at being seen on his arm. She reminded herself it was a strategy. Just another step into his world. But when his hand brushed against her lower back to guide her, the contact sent a shiver racing up her spine.
The maître d' greeted Adrian with a bow of respect too sharp to be ordinary, then led them to a private alcove draped in velvet. Adrian slid into his seat with the kind of confidence that made the world bend around him. Elena sat opposite, forcing herself to mirror his ease even as the intensity of his gaze pinned her in place.
"You don't like games," he said, recalling her lie from earlier. "But you walked into my office uninvited. Sat here tonight across from me. That doesn't sound like someone avoiding games."
Elena lifted her wineglass, letting the rim hover against her lips before answering. "Maybe I like rewriting rules."
Adrian's mouth curved slightly, but his eyes didn't soften. "Dangerous habit. Rules are there for a reason."
"And who made them? You?"
The question lingered between them, sharp as a blade, but instead of irritation, Adrian's smile deepened. "You're bold. I like that."
Elena forced her heartbeat to steady. This was exactly the reaction she needed—keep him intrigued, keep him leaning closer, keep him blind to what she was really after. Still, she hated the way her body betrayed her, hated the warmth pooling low in her stomach at the sound of his voice.
She set her glass down. "You keep saying I'm dangerous. Why?"
Adrian leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table. His voice dropped, low enough that only she could hear. "Because I don't let people close. And yet here you are."
The words struck harder than she wanted them to. Elena reminded herself—this is the enemy, the man who destroyed your family's life. But looking at him now, shadows playing across his strong features, there was no denying he was a man who carried scars of his own.
She swallowed. "Maybe you should be more careful, then."
Adrian's eyes didn't waver. "Maybe I don't want to be."
Her breath caught. For a moment, the room seemed to shrink until there was only him, his steady stare, the faint brush of his foot against hers under the table. It was a dangerous closeness—because she could almost forget herself in it.
The courses came and went in a blur of crystal and porcelain. Adrian asked questions she didn't expect, not about trivialities, but about her. Where she grew up, what she wanted, who she trusted. Elena wove her lies carefully, a patchwork of truths stitched together with fiction. She spoke of dreams she'd once had, of places she longed to see, careful never to reveal the weight of her vendetta.
Yet with every laugh he drew from her, with every fleeting glance that lingered too long, she felt her walls strain.
When dessert was cleared, Adrian rose suddenly. "Dance with me."
"There's no music," Elena said, startled.
"There's always music if you listen hard enough." His hand extended toward her, palm open, commanding yet patient.
For one heartbeat, she considered refusing. But then his hand brushed hers, warm, steady, pulling her to her feet before she could think. He guided her into the shadows at the edge of their alcove, his hand settling at her waist.
The world went silent. Or maybe it just didn't matter anymore.
Elena's pulse raced as his body aligned with hers, close but not quite touching, the heat of him a living fire. He moved slowly, deliberately, leading her through an invisible rhythm only he seemed to hear. She hated how easily her body followed, how natural it felt to move with him, how safe and dangerous it felt at once.
"See?" Adrian murmured, his lips grazing the edge of her ear. "There's music."
Her breath hitched. "You're too sure of yourself."
"And you're too quick to deny what you feel."
The words slid past her defenses, striking something raw. She wanted to snap back, wanted to remind him this was all a performance. Instead, her gaze caught his, and the world tilted.
Their faces hovered inches apart. His hand at her waist tightened ever so slightly, grounding her and undoing her all at once. She should have pulled away. She should have remembered every reason she came here.
But when his mouth brushed hers—just the faintest ghost of a kiss—her knees nearly gave way.
It wasn't a kiss of possession. It wasn't even a full claim. It was a warning. A promise. A test.
Adrian pulled back just enough to watch her reaction. "You should walk away now, Elena. Before I stop letting you."
Her lips parted, words tangled in her throat. She could have ended it there. She should have. But the fire inside her betrayed her better judgment.
"Maybe I don't want to," she whispered.
Adrian's eyes darkened, and for a moment, she thought he'd kiss her fully. Instead, he released her, stepping back as though control had been clawed back at the last possible second.
"Careful," he said, voice rough. "You're playing with fire."
Later that night, Elena leaned against the cool glass of her apartment window, city lights burning beneath her like fallen stars. Her lips still tingled from the near-kiss, her chest still ached with every echo of his voice.
This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to lure him in, strip him bare, and destroy him. She wasn't supposed to feel anything real.
Her phone buzzed. A single message from an unknown number lit the screen.
"You're closer than we expected. Don't forget why you're there."
Elena's hands trembled as she locked the phone. She pressed her forehead against the glass, shutting her eyes.
She wouldn't forget. She couldn't forget. Adrian Rothwell was the man who had ruined her family, who had crushed everything she once loved. Whatever heat flared between them was nothing but weakness.
Still, when she closed her eyes, she felt his hand at her waist, heard the phantom hum of music that only he seemed to know.
And for the first time since she swore her revenge, Elena wondered if she was the one being destroyed.