The city skyline shimmered like liquid glass outside the car windows as Amelia and Adrian rode back to the penthouse in silence. Neon lights slid across the leather seats, casting fleeting colors over their faces electric blues, fiery reds, and gold that flickered like sparks. The hum of the limousine was steady, too steady, amplifying every thought swirling in Amelia's head.
She was exhausted. Her feet throbbed from the heels she had forced herself to stand in, her cheeks ached from hours of smiling, and her head spun from the endless introductions, whispers, and cameras. But beneath the exhaustion, something else burned low and steady in her chest a pulse of adrenaline, sharp and undeniable.
She had survived.
She hadn't stumbled, hadn't cried, hadn't let Victoria's venom drag her under. She had stood in that glittering ballroom full of wolves and breathed through the fear. And through it all, Adrian's hand had never once let go of hers.
She glanced at him now, seated across from her. His tuxedo jacket hung open, his tie loosened just enough to suggest fatigue, but still, he looked infuriatingly composed. The hard lines of his face were softened only by the glow of the passing streetlights, his gaze fixed out the window, unreadable.
She wanted to resent him for it, for how he always seemed untouchable, unshaken, while she had felt like she was drowning beneath the weight of judgmental stares. But then she remembered his voice at the gala, firm and cold, slicing through Victoria's mockery: She's untouchable.
Her chest tightened. She didn't know what to make of that of him.
"Stop staring," Adrian said suddenly, his voice low, without shifting his gaze.
Amelia's face flamed. "I wasn't staring."
"You were." His lips curved in the faintest ghost of a smirk. "You've been staring since we left."
Her hands fisted in the folds of her gown. "I was just… thinking."
"Dangerous habit." Finally, he turned his head, his gray eyes locking onto hers. The intensity there made her breath falter. "What were you thinking about, Amelia?"
She swallowed hard. "About tonight. About how I didn't belong there."
His brows arched, ever so slightly. "And yet you stood your ground."
Her heart leapt, uncertain if it was from surprise or pride. "You think I did well?"
He studied her for a moment that stretched too long, the hum of the car filling the silence between them. Then, at last, he gave a single nod. "Better than I expected."
It was a small concession, but from Adrian Kane, it felt heavier than gold.
Before she could respond, the limousine slowed to a stop in front of the glass tower that housed his penthouse. The chauffeur opened the door, and Adrian stepped out first, his figure tall and commanding under the glow of the streetlamps. He extended a hand toward her, waiting.
For a second, Amelia hesitated, her pride warring with the memory of his words. Then, with a quiet breath, she slid her hand into his. His grip was firm, steady, and for reasons she couldn't name, her pulse quickened.
Back inside, Amelia kicked off her heels the moment they entered the penthouse, sighing in relief as the plush carpet met her bare feet. Her gown pooled around her like liquid emerald under the chandelier's glow, shimmering as though it held secrets.
Adrian moved with his usual precision, loosening his tie further as he crossed to the bar. The sound of crystal clinking against crystal filled the space as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. Even in such mundane movements, he seemed deliberate, controlled, as though chaos itself bent around him.
"Do you always drink after events like this?" Amelia asked, her voice soft in the hush of the room.
"Only when they're tedious." He raised the glass, swirling the amber liquid. "Which is most of the time."
She let out a breathy laugh before she could stop herself, the sound escaping like something stolen. It startled her and, if she wasn't mistaken, it startled him too. Adrian's eyes lifted, holding hers longer than necessary, his expression shifting almost imperceptibly.
"You're different when you laugh," he said quietly.
Her cheeks warmed. "Different how?"
"Less… guarded." His gaze lingered, heavy and deliberate. "More dangerous."
Her breath caught, the air between them thickening like smoke. Dangerous wasn't a word she had ever associated with herself. Awkward, maybe. Out of place, certainly. But dangerous? That was him, not her.
"Dangerous isn't the word people usually use for me," she whispered.
"Then they don't see what I see."
Her pulse hammered, her body taut with something she didn't want to name. She forced herself to look away, focusing on the vast window where the city lights glittered endlessly.
She stood abruptly, gathering the satin folds of her gown. "I should change."
Adrian didn't move to stop her, but his eyes followed every step until she disappeared down the hall.
In her room, Amelia peeled herself out of the emerald gown and slipped into soft pajamas. She pressed her palms to her flushed cheeks, her thoughts tumbling wildly. She had come here to save her mother, not to… feel this. Not to feel anything for Adrian Kane. He was arrogant. Ruthless. Impossible.
And yet…
The memory of his hand around hers, steady in the chaos of cameras and whispers, refused to fade. Neither did the sound of his voice cutting through Victoria's cruelty, cold and protective all at once.
Her fingers brushed her chest where her heart beat too fast, too hard.
This was dangerous. Very dangerous.
Adrian remained in the living room, his figure cast in half-shadow, whiskey glass glinting in his hand. He took a slow sip, his jaw tight, his thoughts tighter.
Amelia Hart was a problem.
When he had offered her the contract, he had expected compliance. A quiet, desperate girl who would do what she was told, keep her head down, and be grateful for the scraps of his power. Simple. Clean. Forgettable.
But Amelia was not forgettable.
She argued. She resisted. She laughed at him without fear, even when she should have trembled. Tonight, she had walked into a ballroom filled with predators and held her ground. She hadn't crumbled. She had burned.
Adrian set the glass down harder than intended, amber liquid sloshing against crystal. He didn't believe in distractions. He didn't believe in love. Control was the only law he lived by.
And yet… Amelia Hart was becoming less of an arrangement and more of a temptation.
That, he told himself, was unacceptable.
He would control this. He always did.
But as the image of her in that emerald gown replayed her chin lifted, her eyes alight with stubborn fire, Adrian had the unsettling realization that controlling Amelia might be the first battle he was destined to lose.