The gala was over, but Elena's heartbeat had not slowed since the moment Adrian's hand left hers. The dance lingered on her skin like a secret. She tried to convince herself it was nothing—just a dance, nothing more—but her body knew better. Her heart knew better.
The city was quiet as she drove home, the hum of the engine mixing with the soft pull of the sea breeze through her open window. She should have been exhausted after a long evening of work, but instead, she felt restless, as though the night had planted something inside her—a spark that refused to go out.
When she reached her apartment, she moved through her rooms like a ghost. The walls were lined with books, the shelves crowded with tiny souvenirs from travels abroad—little pieces of her life that reminded her of who she was outside of moments like tonight. But none of it felt grounded now. Not when her mind replayed every word, every step, every look Adrian had given her.
She curled on the couch, wrapping herself in a blanket, trying to push him out of her thoughts. But her phone buzzed softly on the table.
Her heart stopped when she saw his name on the screen.
Adrian Blake.
She stared at it, frozen. He had her number for business reasons—that was all. It didn't mean anything. It couldn't.
Still, her thumb hovered over the screen before she finally answered.
"Elena." His voice was low, rich, filling her ear with an intimacy that made her shiver. "Did I wake you?"
She swallowed, forcing steadiness. "No. I just got home."
"Good." A pause. She could almost hear his breath, steady, deliberate. "I couldn't let the night end without saying something."
Her chest tightened. "Adrian—"
"I meant every word," he interrupted gently, but firmly. "You're not a distraction. You're… the opposite. You remind me of what it feels like to want something real."
Her eyes closed, pain and longing colliding in her chest. "You shouldn't say things like that to me."
"And why not?"
"Because it's dangerous," she whispered.
There was silence, and then a quiet laugh, rough at the edges. "Then maybe I've lived too long without danger."
She pressed her hand against her forehead. "You don't know me, Adrian. You don't know the mistakes I've made. You don't know what getting close to me could cost you."
His voice softened, yet carried a weight that pulled at her heart. "Then let me find out. Don't push me away before you even give me a chance."
Her throat ached with the effort of holding back everything she wanted to say. I'm afraid of what I feel. I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid of myself.
Instead, she said only, "Goodnight." And she hung up before he could answer.
Sleep never came.
By morning, Elena's reflection in the mirror betrayed the truth—dark circles under her eyes, lips pressed tight, her expression torn between fear and longing. She dressed carefully for work, choosing a navy dress that was professional, distant, safe.
But nothing felt safe when she walked into the gallery and found him waiting.
Adrian stood near one of the larger canvases, his posture commanding yet somehow unassuming, as though he belonged there as naturally as the art itself. His gaze lifted the moment she entered, and the air shifted between them.
"Good morning," he said, his voice even, his expression unreadable.
"Mr. Blake." She kept her tone cool, professional.
His lips curved, just slightly. "Adrian."
Her jaw tightened. "You're here early. We weren't expecting you."
"I had some time," he said simply, his eyes never leaving hers. "And I thought I'd see the art when the gallery was quiet."
She nodded, moving past him, desperate to anchor herself in the work at hand. But the silence stretched, thick and unbearable, until he finally spoke again.
"You're avoiding me."
Her steps faltered, but she didn't turn. "I'm being professional."
"Is that what you call it?" His voice was softer now, laced with something raw. "Because it feels like you're running."
She turned then, anger sparking. "What do you want from me?"
He closed the distance between them in two steps, his presence enveloping her before she could retreat. "The truth," he said simply.
Her chest rose and fell too quickly. "The truth is… You scare me."
His gaze softened, but he didn't back away. "Good. Because you scare me too. And maybe that means we're standing at the edge of something worth it."
The honesty in his voice undid her. She looked away, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might break her ribs.
Before she could gather a reply, the door opened behind them and the spell broke. Staff filtered in, voices rising, the rhythm of the day beginning. Adrian stepped back, his mask of composure slipping neatly back into place.
But his eyes told a different story.
"Think about it," he murmured, low enough for only her to hear. "Think about what we could be."
And then he was gone, leaving her standing in the quiet storm of her own heart.