The next morning, sunlight poured through Elena's curtains, but it did little to chase away the heaviness from the night before. She'd barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Adrian's face—the sharp lines of his jaw, the flicker of something raw when she'd whispered It must be lonely.
She rolled out of bed with a sigh. Today was supposed to be normal—coffee, caring for her father, maybe a walk to clear her head. She needed normal.
But normal ended the second her phone buzzed.
Adrian Blake.
She hesitated before answering. "Hello?"
"Get dressed," his voice came, clipped and commanding. "You're coming with me."
"Coming where?" she frowned.
"You'll see. Wear something formal. Black dress. I'll send the car."
The line went dead before she could protest.
---
An hour later, Elena was seated in Adrian's sleek black car again, her pulse racing as the city blurred by. She'd chosen a simple black dress, modest but elegant—though next to Adrian's perfectly tailored suit, she still felt out of place.
"Are you ever going to tell me where we're going?" she asked finally.
Adrian glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "You'll find out soon enough."
She pressed her lips together, biting back her irritation. He was impossible.
---
The car pulled into the towering glass headquarters of Blake Enterprises, the name gleaming in silver across the front.
Elena's breath caught. She'd read about this building in the papers, seen it on TV. But being here—walking through the marble lobby with its soaring ceilings and walls of glass—felt surreal. Employees straightened at the sight of Adrian, their eyes wide, their whispers hushed.
He walked with calm authority, and the crowd parted for him like water. Elena trailed at his side, feeling the weight of a hundred curious eyes.
"Why am I here?" she whispered as they stepped into a private elevator.
Adrian's lips curved slightly. "Because if you're going to wear my name, you need to understand what it means."
Her pulse quickened.
---
The top floor of Blake Enterprises was nothing like the buzzing chaos below. It was quiet, polished, intimidating. Adrian led her through corridors of glass-walled offices until they reached a vast boardroom.
Inside, a dozen men and women in sharp suits sat around a glossy table. At the head of it sat a man Elena recognized from news articles—Victor Harris, Adrian's longtime business rival.
Adrian's jaw tightened as he entered. The air thickened instantly.
"Blake," Victor said, his smile thin and poisonous. "Always a pleasure."
Adrian didn't return the smile. "Let's keep this brief."
Elena sat in the corner, watching as papers slid across the table, as sharp words cut through the air like knives. It wasn't just a meeting—it was a war disguised as business.
Victor leaned back, eyes glinting. "You've made bold moves, Adrian. Risky ones. Acquiring Westfield wasn't exactly… wise."
"It was necessary," Adrian replied coolly.
"Necessary?" Victor chuckled. "Or desperate?"
The room stilled.
Adrian's voice was soft, but lethal. "Call it what you like. In six months, Westfield will triple its value. And when it does, it'll be your company bleeding, not mine."
The tension was palpable. Even Elena, who knew little about finance, felt the weight of his words. He wasn't just negotiating—he was fighting. Every sentence was a strike, every pause a calculated move.
For the first time, she understood what he'd meant when he said life was a game. This was it. And Adrian played to win.
---
After the meeting, Victor swept out with a smirk, leaving Adrian at the head of the table, his hands braced against the polished wood.
Elena approached cautiously. "Do you always talk to people like that?"
Adrian didn't look up. "Like what?"
"Like you're… cutting them open with words."
Finally, he turned, his gaze piercing. "Victor Harris would gut me alive if he could. He's been circling my company for years. I don't have the luxury of kindness with men like him."
Elena's chest tightened. "So you fight fire with fire."
"I survive," he corrected.
For a moment, she saw it again—the man beneath the mask. Not untouchable, not unfeeling. Just… tired. Wounded.
"Doesn't it exhaust you?" she whispered. "Always fighting, always guarding?"
Adrian's lips curved into a bitter half-smile. "Exhaustion is better than destruction."
She wanted to argue, to tell him there was more to life than winning. But then she thought of the look in his eyes last night, the warning in his voice.
He'd built his empire on ice and steel, and he'd learned the hard way what trust could cost.
Still, as she walked beside him out of the boardroom, Elena couldn't stop wondering—if she stayed long enough, if she kept chipping at the cracks—would the mask finally fall?
Or would it shatter, taking them both with it?
---
Later, in his private office—a vast space of glass and shadow overlooking the skyline—Adrian poured himself another scotch. He offered her one.
"I don't drink in the afternoon," she said softly, settling onto the leather chair across from him.
He smirked faintly. "Good. One of us should stay sober."
Elena studied him, the lines of tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the glass too tightly. "You don't have to carry it all alone, you know."
His eyes snapped to hers. "Yes, I do."
The finality in his tone silenced her. But in the heavy quiet of his office, Elena made herself a silent promise.
She would keep standing beside him—even if it meant walking through fire.
Because for the first time since this arrangement began, she realized som
ething dangerous.
Adrian Blake might be the last man she should fall for.
And yet… her heart was already betraying her.