Elena's POV
The restaurant Naomi chose dripped with elegance—golden chandeliers glittering above, the faint scent of roses laced into the air, and the clinking of expensive cutlery echoing like a warning bell. I had seen this place before. In my first life, I remembered how naïve I had been when I walked into this very restaurant, smiling like a fool, believing Naomi truly wanted to reconcile. Back then, I walked into her trap blind, cornered by reporters, humiliated beyond recognition. Today, I walked in with my eyes open, sharpened by vengeance.
Naomi stood to greet me, her smile stretched wide like a snake showing its fangs. "Elena! I was so happy you agreed to meet. It's been far too long."
Her voice dripped honey, but her eyes gleamed poison. I noticed the faint reflection of camera flashes outside the glass walls—reporters waiting like vultures, their patience fed by Naomi's whispers. She wanted me ruined again.
"I suppose it has," I said smoothly, sliding into the chair opposite her. My lips curved, but my gaze was steady. "Though I find it amusing you suddenly wanted to reconcile, Naomi. What is it—guilt?"
Her smile froze. Just for a heartbeat, her façade cracked. Then she laughed, fluttering her lashes like the actress she was. "Guilt? No, Elena. I just miss my friend."
Friend. The word was acid in my mouth. She betrayed me once. In this life, she would choke on her own lies.
The waiter appeared, pouring wine. Naomi leaned closer, lowering her voice as if confiding. "I wanted us to clear the air. The press… well, you know how they exaggerate things. I thought it might be good if we showed them we're on good terms."
Ah. So that was her game—invite the press, bait me into saying something careless, and watch me drown.
I sipped my wine, deliberately calm, my every movement refined and elegant. "Of course," I said sweetly, "though if you wanted to clear the air, why involve outsiders? Unless…" I tilted my head, my eyes sharpening. "…you wanted an audience."
Her hand stiffened around her glass. "Don't be ridiculous, Elena."
But already, cameras were flashing outside. I leaned forward, my smile razor-sharp. "Naomi, you're slipping. Five years ago, I might have believed you. Today, I see right through you."
The doors to the restaurant opened. Heads turned as Adrian Blake stepped inside.
My chest tightened despite myself. Clad in a tailored black suit, his presence was a storm. Cold, powerful, commanding. He didn't glance around; his gaze found me instantly, locking onto me like a predator on its prey.
Naomi paled. "Adrian?"
He strode forward, ignoring her completely. His eyes flickered over me, assessing, cold but… something else lingered. Something hot. His hand brushed the back of my chair, a subtle but undeniable claim. "What is this?" His voice was soft, yet the entire restaurant froze.
Naomi scrambled. "We—we were just having a friendly lunch—"
"Friendly?" Adrian's tone cut like steel. His gaze swept to the cameras beyond the glass. "With the press conveniently waiting outside?" He leaned closer, his voice dipping dangerously low. "Do you think I'm a fool, Naomi?"
Her lips trembled. The mask was slipping, finally.
I smiled sweetly at her, tilting my head against Adrian's arm like a doting wife. "Oh, Naomi just wanted to remind me what kind of person she is. I think she succeeded."
The blood drained from her face. Adrian's cold gaze finished the job. With a single step, he blocked the cameras' view, his broad frame shielding me completely. "Lunch is over," he said flatly. "Naomi, if you value your future, you'll learn to stay out of what doesn't belong to you."
His words were casual. But the threat beneath them was deadly.
Naomi's throat bobbed. She tried to smile, but her hands shook. "O-of course. I… I'll just…" She grabbed her bag and fled, her heels clicking like gunshots across the marble floor.
For a moment, silence lingered.
I turned my face up to Adrian. "You didn't have to interfere."
His eyes were dark, unreadable, his breath brushing my cheek as he leaned closer. "You walked into a trap. Again."
"Did I?" My smirk widened. "Funny. I thought I turned it around."
His jaw tightened. His hand, still on my chair, lingered a heartbeat too long before he pulled back. "You're playing a dangerous game, Elena."
I held his gaze, letting my smile soften into something wicked. "And you're watching. Closely."
For once, he didn't deny it.
Adrian's POV
She infuriated me. She was supposed to be meek, naïve, dependent on me for survival. That was the Elena I remembered—the one I ignored, the one I let fade into the background. But this woman? This Elena with sharp eyes, poison-tipped words, and a smirk that made my blood heat? She was dangerous. Addictive.
I should have let her fall. I should have let Naomi have her little game, let Elena crawl back to me humiliated. That's what the old her would have done. But the thought of her being cornered, mocked, destroyed—it made my chest tighten in a way I hated. So I stepped in.
Her gaze lingered on me now, confident, teasing. She thought she had control. She didn't realize she was unraveling me thread by thread.
When she leaned closer and whispered, "You're watching closely," I nearly dragged her out of that restaurant and showed her exactly how closely.
Instead, I said nothing. Silence was safer than admitting the truth—that she was consuming my every thought, that I wanted to strip away her arrogance until all that remained was her breathless beneath me, whispering my name.
She thought she was playing me. She had no idea I had already decided—I wasn't letting her go.