Elena hadn't slept.
All night she tossed beneath the sheets, the sound of Adrian's voice echoing like a drumbeat in her chest: She's the woman I love.
No one had said those words to her in years. Not since Daniel. And hearing them now—spoken with such conviction, such raw truth—had cracked something open inside her.
But the crack wasn't clean. It was jagged, bleeding. Because Daniel's face still haunted her too, his confession of never stopping, the ache in his eyes.
Two men. Two truths. And she was being torn apart.
By morning, exhaustion clung to her like a second skin. She sat at her desk, staring at lecture notes she couldn't absorb, her thoughts drifting back to the way Adrian had looked at her yesterday. Fierce. Protective. As though she wasn't just a woman he desired—she was his center, his anchor.
The intensity terrified her. Because if she gave in, if she let him have her heart fully, there would be no going back.
A knock at her office door pulled her from her thoughts.
"Elena?"
Her pulse stumbled. It was him.
Adrian stepped inside, his dark suit perfectly pressed, his presence commanding as always. But there was something different today—something raw in his eyes, something that stripped away the polished exterior.
"You didn't answer my calls," he said quietly.
She swallowed. "I needed time."
His jaw tightened. "Time… or distance?"
"Both," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Then he moved closer, each step deliberate, until he stood directly in front of her desk. His hand came down on the wood, strong, steady, trapping her in his gaze.
"I can give you space, Elena," he said. "But I won't let him have you. Not again."
Her breath caught. "Adrian—"
"No." His voice dropped lower, his control fraying at the edges. "I've waited too long to find something real. You think I don't see how afraid you are? You are terrified of giving yourself to me. But do you know what terrifies me?"
Her heart raced. "What?"
"Losing you to a ghost."
Her chest tightened painfully.
"You don't know what he meant to me," she whispered.
"I don't care." His eyes burned into hers. "I care about now. I care about us."
"Adrian…" She tried to breathe, tried to steady herself. "You can't control this."
His hand moved, brushing her cheek with surprising gentleness, contradicting the intensity of his words. "I'm not trying to control it. I'm fighting for it."
The way he said it, the way his thumb lingered on her skin, made her feel like the only woman in the world.
And then, before she could stop herself, she leaned into his touch.
The shift was instant. His other hand slid around her waist, pulling her up from the chair and against him. She gasped, but the sound was swallowed by his mouth on hers, the kiss hard, desperate, claiming.
Her fingers fisted in his shirt as his lips moved over hers with fierce need. The world fell away—the doubts, the ghosts, the fear. There was only Adrian, consuming her, igniting her.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed to hers, his breathing ragged.
"You belong with me, Elena," he murmured, his voice rough with truth. "You know it."
Her lips trembled, her heart a wild storm. And in that moment, she realized something dangerous.
She wanted to believe him.
That night, alone in her apartment, Elena pressed her fingers to her lips, still swollen from his kiss.
It had felt like surrender. But surrender to what—love, or ruin—she still didn't know.
And as she drifted into restless sleep, one thought circled endlessly in her mind:
What if I'm already too far gone to choose?