The morning sun spilled into the Blake mansion like molten gold, streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the sprawling estate. The air was crisp, serene—deceptively so. Beneath the polished silence of the house, something else pulsed.
Tension.
Elena woke before dawn, her body restless. She had tossed and turned all night, chased by the memory of his mouth on hers, the bruising force of his kiss. The echo of his breath against her skin refused to fade, and every time she closed her eyes, the scene replayed in merciless detail.
She sat on the edge of her bed, fingers pressing to her lips. They still tingled.
"Idiot," she whispered to herself, shaking her head. "You're supposed to be stronger than this."
But strength didn't erase the way her body betrayed her. Her pulse jumped whenever she thought of him. A warmth—treacherous, unwanted—kept coiling in her chest.
Adrian Blake was not supposed to matter. He was supposed to be the weapon she wielded against her enemies, not the storm unraveling her carefully laid plans.
Her hands curled into fists. No. She wouldn't let him distract her. Revenge came first. It always had.
Still, when she dressed for the day and tied her hair back, she chose a blouse that accentuated her frame, paired with sleek trousers that hugged her form. Not because she wanted to impress him. She told herself it was armor—sharp, calculated, commanding. Yet a small, dangerous part of her whispered otherwise.
When she descended the stairs, the mansion's staff greeted her politely, but she barely heard them. Her heart thudded louder with each step, anticipation and dread knotted tight.
He was already at the breakfast table.
Adrian sat at the head, immaculate as always in a dark suit, his tie perfectly in place, the newspaper folded neatly beside his plate. He ate with unhurried precision, as though the world around him bowed to his rhythm.
Elena paused at the threshold.
He looked up. Their eyes met.
For one suspended heartbeat, the air between them thickened. She remembered the press of his body, the hunger in his eyes, the way his voice had cracked when he said her name. He, too, remembered—she saw it flicker across his gaze, sharp and fleeting.
Then the mask dropped back into place.
"Sit," he said coolly, as if nothing had happened.
Elena's chin lifted. Fine. If he wanted to pretend, she could play along.
She slid into her seat across from him, every movement deliberate. The staff placed food before her—fresh fruit, toast, coffee—but she barely touched it. Instead, she reached for the cup, letting her fingers curl around the porcelain with practiced calm.
The silence was unbearable.
Finally, she smirked, breaking it. "You're quiet this morning. Something on your mind?"
Adrian's gaze flicked to hers. His eyes, dark and unreadable, lingered a moment too long before he replied. "Nothing worth discussing over breakfast."
Her lips curved. "I suppose some things are better left… unsaid."
It was subtle, but she saw his jaw tighten. Good. He wasn't as unaffected as he wanted her to believe.
They ate—or pretended to. Every brush of their hands against utensils, every flick of a glance felt like a hidden duel. The weight of last night hung between them, unspoken but undeniable.
Halfway through the meal, Adrian set down his fork and leaned back slightly, his eyes locking on hers with unnerving intensity.
"Elena." His voice was calm, low, but there was steel beneath it.
She arched a brow. "Yes, husband?"
His lips twitched at her deliberate sweetness. "Don't run from what happened."
Her smirk widened, though her pulse quickened. "Run? You overestimate yourself."
"Do I?"
The air thickened again. His gaze pinned her like a predator toying with prey, though she knew better—if anything, he was the one losing control.
She lifted her coffee cup and took a slow sip, deliberately breaking eye contact. "If you're expecting me to regret it, you'll be disappointed."
A dangerous silence followed. Then, softly, he said, "Good."
Her hand faltered just slightly on the cup, though she recovered quickly. His tone carried too much weight, too much unspoken promise. She set the cup down and leaned back, feigning nonchalance.
"Careful, Adrian. You sound almost… possessive."
His lips curved in the faintest, coldest smile. "Maybe I am."
Her chest tightened. She forced a laugh, low and mocking, though her heart raced. "Careful yourself. Possession is dangerous."
He leaned forward then, his eyes dark and sharp, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "So is provoking me."
Heat curled low in her stomach, unwanted, dangerous. She forced herself to meet his gaze without flinching. "Then maybe you should stop letting me succeed."
Their eyes clashed, sparks leaping between them. For a moment, the world outside the dining room ceased to exist.
Finally, Adrian pushed back his chair and rose smoothly. "I'll be at the office."
Elena's smirk returned, but her pulse was wild. "Of course. Don't work too hard."
He left without another word, his footsteps echoing down the hall. The moment he was gone, Elena's smirk faded. She pressed her palm against her chest, trying to steady the erratic rhythm of her heart.
She had meant to unsettle him. Instead, she had unsettled herself.
And that was the most dangerous truth of all.