Adrian Rothwell prided himself on control.
Control of his empire, control of his enemies, control of himself.
But control was a fickle thing—it slipped when you least expected it.
And right now, it was slipping because of her.
Elena.
The way her lips had parted when he'd leaned closer. The way her eyes had flared, torn between resistance and something far more dangerous. He hadn't kissed her. He could have. He wanted to. Instead, he'd pulled back, because men like him didn't lose themselves to impulse.
But that restraint was costing him sleep.
For the first time in years, Adrian found himself restless, pacing the length of his penthouse at midnight, whiskey untouched on the table, mind circling back to a woman who should have been forgettable.
Forgettable—and yet unforgettable.
The sharp buzz of his phone cut through his thoughts. He snatched it up, voice low, clipped.
"What is it?"
"Sir," Marcus, his head of security, answered. There was an edge to his tone Adrian didn't like. "We've got a problem."
Adrian's eyes narrowed. "What kind of problem?"
"Financial. One of our subsidiary accounts—two hundred million wired offshore. Vanished in a shell company."
Adrian froze, pulse steadying in that lethal calm that always preceded fury.
"When?"
"Less than an hour ago. We're still tracing the breach."
Adrian swore softly, running a hand over his jaw. Two hundred million wasn't about the money—it was about the message. Someone was bold enough, stupid enough, to challenge him directly.
"Lock down every account. Freeze transactions. And Marcus—" his voice hardened like steel, "—I want names before sunrise."
"Yes, sir."
The line went dead.
Adrian stood there for a moment, the city lights sprawling beneath his windows like glittering prey. Rage simmered beneath his skin, but beneath the rage was something else—a cold awareness. This wasn't just business sabotage. It was personal.
Someone wanted him bleeding.
He sat back at his desk, pulling up the records himself, eyes flicking over the encrypted screens. Numbers told stories, and this one spoke of careful planning. Weeks of infiltration. Layers of misdirection. Whoever had orchestrated this wasn't a petty thief.
They wanted to hurt him. Undermine him. Watch him scramble.
But Adrian Rothwell didn't scramble. He hunted.
Still, even as he traced the missing funds, his thoughts strayed—unwillingly—to Elena.
The way she had walked into his office without hesitation. The way she challenged him, smirked at him, like she wasn't afraid of who he was. Like she didn't know who he was. Or worse—like she knew exactly who he was, and it didn't scare her.
That, more than the money, unsettled him.
Because in his world, people either feared him… or they died.
By morning, Adrian hadn't slept. His eyes burned, but his mind was sharp as ever. He strode into Rothwell Holdings' headquarters, a storm in an immaculate suit. Employees scattered like leaves before a hurricane as he passed, sensing the fury coiled in his stride.
"Mr. Rothwell," his CFO stammered, jogging to keep up. "We've analyzed the breach—it's sophisticated, layered. Whoever did this knew our systems. It's not a random attack."
Adrian stopped, fixing him with a stare that could slice bone. "You're telling me what I already know. What I want is who."
The CFO swallowed hard. "We're working on it."
"Work faster." Adrian's voice was low, dangerous. "Because until I have a name, everyone is a suspect."
He turned, striding toward the elevators. And then—he stopped dead.
She was there.
Elena.
Sitting in the lobby, legs crossed, a folder in her hands like she belonged there. She looked up as though she'd felt him before she saw him, her lips curving into that maddening, knowing smile.
"Adrian," she greeted, as though they were old friends meeting by chance.
His chest tightened with something he refused to name. Attraction. Distraction. Weakness.
"Elena," he said slowly, his voice cool steel. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
She stood, graceful, unhurried. "I was nearby. Thought I'd drop in."
"You make it sound casual," Adrian murmured, his eyes narrowing. "But nothing about you is casual."
Her smile widened just enough to hint at secrets. "Maybe I like testing your patience."
He studied her, every instinct sharpened. She was too calm. Too poised. And she had appeared today of all days—when someone had dared to gut his empire.
Coincidence? He didn't believe in coincidences.
Later, in his office, he poured two glasses of whiskey, sliding one toward her. She accepted, her fingers brushing the rim with practiced elegance.
"You seem… tense," she said, watching him. "Something wrong?"
Adrian leaned back in his chair, swirling his glass. "Business."
"Dangerous business?"
His eyes flicked to hers, sharp, searching. "Why would you think that?"
She shrugged lightly. "Men like you don't get tense over paperwork."
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them, thick with unsaid truths. Adrian took a slow sip, never breaking eye contact. She was fishing. Testing. He couldn't decide if he admired her audacity or wanted to break it.
"Careful, Elena," he murmured, voice velvet over steel. "You ask too many questions."
"Maybe I like answers."
Adrian's lips curved faintly. "Or maybe you like danger."
The tension crackled, electric. Her pulse fluttered in her throat, betraying her calm. He wanted to reach across the desk, tilt her chin, and see how long her composure would last beneath his touch.
But then his phone buzzed—Marcus again.
Adrian answered, never taking his eyes off her.
"We traced it," Marcus said. "The shell company—fronted by someone tied to an old rival. But sir—" his tone darkened, "—there's more. Whoever assisted them had inside access. Someone close."
Adrian's jaw tightened. His gaze locked on Elena.
Inside access.
Her eyes held his, steady, unreadable.
"Good work, Marcus," Adrian said, his voice calm, almost too calm. "Keep digging." He ended the call, setting the phone down with deliberate care.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Elena tilted her head, her smile faint. "Bad news?"
Adrian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, studying her like a predator studies prey.
"Tell me something, Elena," he said softly. "Do you believe in coincidences?"
Her lips curved. "Not really."
"Good." His voice was a low rumble, the threat beneath it unmistakable. "Neither do I."
That night, long after she left, Adrian stood by the window again, whiskey untouched in his hand. He should cut her off. Push her away. She was dangerous, distracting, maybe even complicit.
But the thought of not seeing her again felt… impossible.
And that terrified him more than the two hundred million.
Because Adrian Rothwell could rebuild an empire from ashes.
But he wasn't sure he could rebuild himself if Elena tore him apart.