Adrian Blake prided himself on discipline. Discipline was what separated him from the men who crumbled under pressure, from the fools who let emotions compromise judgment. He built an empire with it, commanded fear and respect with it, and wore it like armor that no one could pierce.
But tonight, as the glow of the city pulsed against his office windows, discipline was slipping through his fingers like sand.
The whiskey in his glass swirled, amber liquid catching the dim light. He had told himself only one drink—to steady his nerves after the day's endless negotiations. Yet it wasn't the deals on his mind. It was her. Always her.
Elena.
Her smirk. That sharp, taunting smile that both infuriated and captivated him. Her fire—unapologetic, unyielding, and reckless enough to challenge him in ways no one else dared. And her kiss.
That damn kiss.
Adrian clenched the glass tighter, jaw locked. It had been weeks since that night, yet the memory played on repeat, like a film he couldn't stop watching. The way she'd trembled against him, the way her breath had hitched, the taste of her lips—sweet but defiant.
He had kissed women before. Dozens, maybe more, though most blurred into forgettable faces. But that kiss… that kiss had branded itself into him like fire searing skin.
And worse, he wanted more.
Adrian slammed the glass onto his desk, the sound sharp in the quiet office. "Pathetic," he muttered to himself.
He wasn't a man who chased. He wasn't a man who let his emotions dictate his thoughts. Elena was a distraction, nothing more. A beautiful, infuriating distraction. He had no time for this—his company, his reputation, his legacy demanded focus.
Yet focus was impossible when every corner of his mind was already hers.
He dragged a hand through his hair, loosened his tie, and leaned back in his chair. The city sprawled below him, glittering like a thousand stars, but none of it could pull him away from the image of her.
Her eyes when she mocked him.
Her lips when she defied him.
Her silence when she thought he wasn't looking.
Adrian's phone buzzed with a notification, but he ignored it. For once, business could wait. Because tonight, something inside him was unraveling—and no amount of discipline could stitch it back together.
By the time he left his office, it was past midnight. The mansion was silent when he arrived, the kind of silence that pressed against his ears. He removed his jacket, set his keys down, and was about to retreat to his room when a faint glow caught his eye.
The living room.
Adrian's steps were soundless on the marble floor. He turned the corner—and froze.
Elena.
She was asleep on the couch, curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. The faint lamp cast her in soft light, shadows tracing the delicate line of her jaw, the curve of her lips. Her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, her hair spilling like silk across the cushion.
Something in his chest tightened.
He should turn away. He should walk past, head upstairs, and bury himself in sleep. But his feet refused to move.
For a moment, Adrian simply watched her. This woman—this storm that had barged into his life and toppled walls he'd built for years—looked almost fragile like this. Vulnerable. As if the fire he'd come to associate with her was only one part of her truth.
He crouched beside the couch, studying her face with a focus he usually reserved for the most critical of contracts. A strand of hair had fallen across her forehead. Without thinking, his hand lifted.
He brushed it away.
The touch was light, almost hesitant. And when his fingers lingered a second too long against her skin, he realized just how dangerous this was.
Dangerous, because he didn't want to stop.
Adrian exhaled sharply and stood, forcing control back into his spine. He grabbed the jacket draped over his arm—his own—and with a quiet movement, laid it over her shoulders.
She stirred faintly, lips parting, but didn't wake.
"Damn you, Elena," he whispered, voice low and rough. "What are you doing to me?"
For once, Adrian Blake, master of control, didn't have the answer.
Elena's POV
The faint scent of whiskey and cedar clung to the air when Elena shifted in her sleep. Warmth blanketed her shoulders, not from the thin throw she remembered using, but something heavier, softer.
Her eyes fluttered open just briefly—enough to catch the faintest shadow retreating toward the staircase.
Her husband.
Adrian Blake.
Elena's lips curled into a sleepy smile. She didn't know why. Maybe it was the way he thought she hadn't noticed. Maybe it was the jacket he had so carefully draped over her, as if protecting her in silence.
He was a man of contradictions. Cold, yet attentive. Distant, yet always near. And no matter how much she tried to deny it, his presence was beginning to affect her.
Her heart beat faster as she pulled the jacket tighter around herself, inhaling his scent. She closed her eyes again, but the thought lingered, like a whisper she couldn't silence.
Perhaps… Adrian Blake was not the man she thought she knew.
Adrian's POV
Sleep didn't come. Adrian lay awake, staring at the ceiling, every nerve alive with the memory of her face, the feel of her skin, the weight of his own jacket resting on her shoulders.
Discipline was supposed to keep him safe. But with Elena White, discipline was nothing more than a flimsy shield—one she was already shattering.
And deep down, Adrian feared that when she finally broke it completely, he wouldn't fight her.
He would welcome the destruction.