The sun had dipped low, painting the skyline in strokes of gold and crimson. Elena stood by the massive window of Adrian's office, staring out at the city that stretched endlessly below. Cars moved like tiny sparks of light, people like ants lost in the rush of their lives.
But up here, in this glass fortress, the world felt still.
Too still.
She turned when she heard the faint clink of glass. Adrian was behind his desk, his shoulders slightly slumped, the tie loosened around his neck. The scotch in his hand caught the dying light, its amber glow casting shadows across his face.
Elena hesitated before speaking. "You look… tired."
Adrian's lips curved faintly, though it wasn't quite a smile. "I always look tired."
"No," she said softly, taking a cautious step closer. "Tonight it's different. You look… human."
His gaze flicked up sharply, a warning in his eyes. But there was no real venom in it. Instead, there was something else—something raw.
"Human is a weakness I can't afford," he said quietly.
Elena moved closer, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. "Maybe. But weakness isn't always bad, Adrian."
He leaned back in his chair, studying her as though she were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. "You talk like you know what's best for me."
"I don't," she admitted. "But I do know you can't keep living like this. Fighting everyone. Distrusting everyone. Carrying everything alone."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. It wasn't his cold, practiced laugh, but something hollow, bitter.
"You sound like my father," Adrian murmured.
Elena blinked. His father? He had never spoken of him before.
"What was he like?" she asked carefully.
Adrian's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. "He built this empire. Brick by brick. Deal by deal. And he taught me early on—trust no one. Not even your family."
Elena felt her breath catch. "Not even your family?"
He looked past her, toward the city, as though he could see ghosts in the fading light. "My mother loved the spotlight more than she ever loved him. My brother—" He stopped suddenly, his voice cutting off, but the tension in his body told Elena the story even without words.
"Your brother?" she pressed gently.
Adrian's lips thinned into a hard line. "Sold me out for a stake in Victor Harris's company. He was my blood, Elena. My own brother. And he'd rather see me fall than stand beside me."
The weight of his confession settled between them like a storm. Elena's heart ached in a way she hadn't expected.
She thought of her own father—his frail health, his sacrifices, the love he gave without ever asking for anything in return. Family was supposed to be a shelter, not a battlefield.
No wonder Adrian had built his walls so high.
"Adrian…" She stepped closer, until she was standing right before his desk. "I'm sorry."
His gaze lifted to hers, sharp and searching. "Sorry doesn't change what happened."
"No," she admitted. "But maybe it changes what comes next."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he rose from his chair, towering over her. The glass of scotch remained forgotten on the desk as he closed the space between them.
Elena's pulse raced. She could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the faint trace of his cologne—woodsy, clean, intoxicating.
"You think you can fix me, Elena?" His voice was low, dangerous.
"I don't want to fix you," she whispered, her throat tight. "I just… want to understand you."
Something flickered in his eyes—uncertainty, maybe even fear. Then, in a move that startled them both, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered for a heartbeat too long, tracing the curve of her cheek.
Elena's breath hitched.
The air between them thickened, charged with something neither of them dared name. His eyes dropped briefly to her lips before snapping back up to meet her gaze.
For a moment, it felt inevitable—that he would close the distance, that his mouth would claim hers.
But just as quickly, Adrian pulled back, the mask sliding into place once more. He stepped away, running a hand through his hair as if cursing himself for the slip.
"This," he said hoarsely, "is dangerous."
Elena's chest rose and fell rapidly. "What is?"
"You." His voice was strained, rawer than she had ever heard it. "The way you look at me. The way you make me forget…" He broke off, shaking his head. "I can't afford to forget."
Her heart twisted, but she forced herself to speak. "And I can't afford to be just another pawn in your game, Adrian. If we're really going to do this—this marriage, this charade—then I need to know there's more to you than ice."
The silence that followed was heavy, charged.
Finally, Adrian looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Be careful what you wish for, Elena. Because if you see what's beneath the ice… you may never walk away."
---
Later that night, as Elena lay in bed, her thoughts refused to quiet. She touched her cheek where his hand had been, the ghost of his touch still lingering.
She had seen something in him tonight. A fracture. A vulnerability he didn't show the world.
And it terrified her, because she knew one truth she hadn't dared admit until now:
She was falling for him.
Not the mask. Not the ruthl
ess tycoon.
But the man hidden beneath the ice.
And that was the most dangerous game of all.