The day dragged on in restless fragments. Elena threw herself into her work—cataloging, answering emails, arranging schedules—but nothing kept her fully present. Adrian's words lingered, clinging to her skin, echoing in the quiet spaces between tasks.
You scare me too.
The admission rattled her more than anything else. Men like Adrian Blake didn't confess vulnerability. They didn't admit to being afraid. But he had. And instead of reassuring her, it made the attraction between them more dangerous, more undeniable.
By late afternoon, the gallery was quiet again. Most of the staff had gone, and only a few last-minute visitors lingered in hushed admiration of the exhibits. Elena stayed behind to close up, walking slowly through the rooms, ensuring everything was in its place.
She paused in front of a small canvas—one of her favorites. A simple painting of two figures walking under a streetlamp, their faces obscured, their shadows stretching long and tangled beneath them. Something about it always struck her. How the shadows touched before the figures did, as though their hearts collided before their hands ever could.
She didn't hear him enter.
"Elena."
Her heart jolted. She turned, already knowing who it was.
Adrian stood in the doorway, his tie loosened, his jacket slung casually over one arm. He looked less like the powerful billionaire the world revered and more like a man stripped bare of all pretenses.
"I thought you left hours ago," she managed, her voice tight.
"I did. But I came back." His eyes searched hers, dark and unrelenting. "I wasn't finished."
She tried to summon the walls she had perfected over years of disappointments, but they felt fragile now, brittle beneath the weight of his gaze. "Finished with what?"
"With you."
The honesty hit her like a wave.
She stepped back instinctively, but he followed, slow, deliberate, not crowding her yet not letting her run. "Adrian—"
"Elena, stop pushing me away." His voice was low, rougher than usual. "Every time I'm near you, I feel it. Don't pretend you don't."
Her chest rose sharply. "You don't know me. You don't know what I'm capable of ruining."
"I don't care," he said firmly, taking another step closer. "Whatever you think you've done, whatever ghosts you carry—I'm not afraid of them. I want you."
The force of his conviction rattled her. She had been the careful one all her life, building walls of caution, stacking them higher with every mistake. But here he was, tearing them down with nothing but his words, his presence, his need.
She turned away, staring at the painting again, her throat tight. "Wanting someone doesn't mean it will end well."
"No," he agreed softly, moving closer until his warmth brushed her skin. "But it means it's worth trying."
Her breath shuddered out of her. He was too close now, close enough that the space between them was charged, alive.
Slowly, carefully, Adrian reached for her hand. He didn't grab it, didn't force it—he simply lifted it from where it rested against her side, his fingers brushing hers like a question.
Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might shatter.
"Elena," he whispered, his voice breaking at the edges, "tell me you don't feel it. Tell me right now, and I'll walk away."
She opened her mouth, ready to say the words. Ready to tell him no, to save herself from the storm she knew he would bring.
But nothing came out.
Instead, her fingers curled into his.
Adrian exhaled as if he had been holding his breath for weeks. His hand closed around hers, firm but reverent, like she was something fragile and untouchable.
The moment stretched, heavy with promise, with danger, with desire.
And then—like fate itself was playing with them—the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. The last visitor leaving. The spell broke.
Elena yanked her hand back, her chest rising in uneven waves. "This can't happen."
Adrian's jaw clenched, but his eyes held hers, unwavering. "It already is."
Before she could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing in front of the painting—the two figures and their shadows—her own heart now tangled in a shadow she couldn't escape.