The next morning dawned gray and restless, the kind of sky that promised rain but held it back just long enough to keep the world uneasy. Elena stood at her kitchen window with a cup of coffee in her hands, staring at the clouds as though they held answers.
She had hardly slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the heat of Adrian's hand closing around hers. Every time she drifted near the edge of rest, she heard his voice—raw, unguarded, almost pleading.
It already is.
How could three words unravel her so completely?
The knock on her door startled her. She wasn't expecting anyone, and for a fleeting second, her heart leapt with foolish hope. But when she opened it, she found Sophia standing there, windblown and grinning as though she had arrived to rescue her from herself.
"Coffee?" Sophia asked, raising a paper cup.
Elena sighed, half amused, half exhausted. "You're relentless."
"I'm your best friend," Sophia corrected, stepping inside without waiting for permission. "Which means I have a sixth sense for when you're drowning in your own thoughts."
Elena shut the door. "I'm fine."
Sophia arched a brow. "You've got that look. The one you had when you swore you weren't falling for Daniel in grad school. Spoiler alert—you were. And it ended with three weeks of ice cream and bad movies."
"This isn't like that," Elena said quickly, too quickly.
Sophia smirked, sipping her coffee. "Oh? Then tell me what this is."
Elena hesitated, her fingers tightening around her cup. She could lie. She could brush it off. But the memory of Adrian's hand, his voice, the way he looked at her—it pressed against her ribs until the truth slipped out.
"It's… dangerous," she whispered.
Sophia's eyes widened. "Oh God. It's him, isn't it? Mr. Brooding Billionaire himself."
Elena groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Please don't call him that."
"Why not? It's accurate." Sophia grinned wickedly. "So, tell me—how dangerous are we talking? Bodyguard drama dangerous, or 'I'll ruin you emotionally' dangerous?"
Elena lowered her hands, her eyes troubled. "Both."
For once, Sophia's teasing faded. She set her coffee down and leaned forward. "Elena, listen to me. If this man is really that kind of danger, you need to be careful. But if he's the kind of danger that makes your heart race… maybe that's exactly what you need."
Elena shook her head. "You don't understand. He's—he's too much. And I've already lived through 'too much' once before. I can't do it again."
Sophia's expression softened. "Then be honest with yourself. Don't lie to me, and don't lie to him. If you're going to walk away, do it completely. If you're going to let him in… don't keep him at the door."
The words lingered even after Sophia left, her laughter and perfume trailing out of the apartment like sunlight through a closing door.
That evening, Elena returned to the gallery to prepare for a private showing. The storm had finally broken; rain tapped insistently against the windows, the city outside blurred into silver. The air smelled of rain and old paint, sharp and intoxicating.
She was adjusting a spotlight when she heard his voice behind her.
"You're working late again."
Her body tensed, but she didn't turn. "Someone has to make sure this place doesn't fall apart."
Adrian's footsteps drew closer, steady, deliberate. "You carry too much on your shoulders."
Finally, she faced him. He looked tired, his shirt sleeves rolled, his tie gone, his hair slightly mussed as though he'd run his hand through it too many times. But his eyes—his eyes were fire in the dim light.
"I thought you'd be at some important dinner tonight," she said, trying to sound distant.
"I canceled."
Her chest tightened. "Why?"
"Because I'd rather be here."
The simplicity of it nearly undid her. She turned back to the spotlight, adjusting it with trembling fingers. "You shouldn't say things like that."
"Why not?" he asked softly, stepping closer. "Because you'll believe me? Or because you already do?"
She froze. The air between them thickened, heavy with the storm outside and the one building inside her. Slowly, she turned—and found him only inches away.
His hand lifted, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face, lingering at her jaw. The touch was light, reverent, but it set her skin on fire.
"Elena," he murmured, his voice husky, "tell me to stop."
She should. She knew she should. But her lips parted for a different reason entirely—because she wanted him.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. The air crackled. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
And then—
The door opened. A staff member entered, apologizing for the rain and asking about arrangements.
Elena stumbled back, her heart racing, her breath shallow. Adrian straightened, his mask slipping back into place, but his eyes—those eyes still burned.
Another almost. Another moment stolen by circumstance.
And yet, Elena knew. The wall between them was crumbling.