SOFIA
Up close, Adrian Vale is worse.
Not worse as in ugly—God, no. That would almost be easy. He's worse because he's exactly what everyone says he is: expensive and untouchable, the kind of man who doesn't waste words because he expects people to collapse under the weight of his silence.
And here I am, standing in the blast radius of that silence, trying not to fidget like a freshman called into the principal's office.
His eyes rake over me—slow, deliberate. My pulse pounds in places I didn't know had pulses. I can't tell if he's cataloging me, judging me, or both, but I know the verdict isn't going to be flattering.
Before I can breathe, my mother materializes, all silk and panic disguised as poise. "Darling," she trills, looping her arm through mine, voice pitched high for the crowd. "Come, come—your father and I need a word."
My father's hand clamps on my shoulder like a vice, steering me away from Adrian as if I've wandered into oncoming traffic. Their smiles are polished for anyone watching, but their eyes? Terrified. And I don't even know why.
Once we're out of earshot, the mask cracks.
"Do you have any idea who that is?" my mother hisses, nails digging crescents into my arm.
"That man," my father growls, voice low and sharp, "could ruin this family if you breathe wrong in his direction."
I blink, caught between confusion and disbelief. They're talking over each other, panic rolling off them like a storm I never saw coming.
"Listen to us," my mother snaps, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. "You smile, you nod, you do not provoke him. Understand?"
I want to laugh—or scream—or both. Instead, I just nod, because the look on their faces leaves no space for anything else. Dad exhales, shoulders loosening, before plastering on his fake politician's smile.
"Good girl," he says tightly. "Now, come."
And just like that, they march me back to Adrian. He's exactly where we left him, hands in his pockets, composed as stone. Watching.
As if he already knows every word they whispered.
The crowd's hum seems to bend around him—conversations quieter, glances sharper, laughter slightly forced. Adrian Vale isn't just present at this gala; he is the gravity it orbits.
A waiter materializes at my elbow with another glass of wine. I seize it too quickly, too tightly, desperate for something to ground me.
Which is exactly how the glass tips.
Time slows. The liquid arcs through the air like a crimson ribbon before splattering across Adrian Vale's perfect, definitely-custom, definitely-dry-clean-only suit.
"Oh my God." Heat slams into my face as I fumble for a napkin. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"
The words tumble out, faster than the wine itself. But Adrian just looks at me. No anger. No irritation. No anything. Just blank.
"It's fine," he says finally, voice smooth as marble. "Accidents happen."
Except it doesn't sound forgiving. It sounds dismissive. Like I'm an insect that had the audacity to land on him.
And I should let it go. I should swallow my pride, grovel, retreat. But something inside me snaps, sharp and reckless.
"Actually," I say, dropping the napkin onto the untouched corner of the table, "it's not fine. You should probably get that cleaned before it stains. But don't worry—I'm sure you can afford another one."
The silence that follows is nuclear.
It ripples through the ballroom—whispers igniting like sparks, heads turning, fans pausing mid-flutter. Someone coughs; someone else hisses a sharp, scandalized "Sofia!" The string quartet even falters for a beat before recovering.
Because apparently, nobody talks to Adrian Vale that way.
His gaze locks on mine. Colder now. Sharper. Like a blade testing the soft spot between ribs. For one terrifying second, I wonder if I just signed my own death warrant with a glass of merlot.
But I don't look away.
If he wants me intimidated, he'll have to work harder.
And judging by the ghost of something dangerous tugging at his mouth—not a smile, not exactly—he just might.
"Adrian, please," my father blurts, thrusting another napkin forward like a white flag. His laugh is brittle, panicked. "She didn't mean it. Sofia can be… spirited."
My mother swoops in next, hands fluttering toward Adrian's sleeve as though she can scrub away both the wine and my existence. "We'll cover the cleaning, of course. Or buy you a new suit. Whatever you need."
I grit my teeth. God forbid anyone admit maybe, just maybe, the almighty Adrian Vale isn't divine.
But Adrian doesn't look at them. Doesn't even blink. His gaze stays fixed on me, as if their groveling is static and I'm the only signal he hears.
And that's when it hits me—sharp and cold as champagne down my spine:
I didn't just spill wine. I poked a bear that everyone else is smart enough to worship.
My father yanks me backward by the elbow, grip just shy of painful. "Sofia," he hisses through clenched teeth, smile still fixed for the onlookers, "what the hell was that?"
The crowd parts as we move, as if I've become contagious. Heads bend close together, whispers slicing through the music.
At the edge of the ballroom, Dad leans down, voice low and shaking. "Do you have any idea who you just humiliated? That man could destroy us with a phone call." His eyes flick back toward Adrian, frantic. "You don't talk to Adrian Vale like that. No one does."
I cross my arms, chin tilted. "Maybe that's the problem."
He exhales like I stabbed him. "You think this is funny? You think this is a game?"
"I think," I bite out, "that someone needed to say it. He's not a god. And I wouldn't have if he wasn't being such an asshole."
"Quiet." His grip tightens, his smile cracking at the edges. "For once in your life, Sofia, just—quiet."
But over his shoulder, my eyes find Adrian again.
He hasn't moved. Still in the center of the ballroom, immaculate despite the spreading wine stain. The whispers swarm around him like flies, but he stands untouched. Untouchable.
And he's still watching me.
Not angry. Not offended. Just… interested.
The kind of interest that makes my stomach twist, because it doesn't feel safe.
It feels like a promise.
A dangerous one.
And judging by the way his head tilts, like he's just marked me in a room full of people who don't exist to him, I realize something bone-deep and terrifying:
Adrian Vale isn't going to forget me.
And that might be the worst thing that could happen.