It was past midnight when Clara finally closed her laptop. The day had been brutal, from the tense silence with Adrian to the storm of paparazzi that followed them everywhere. Her body ached with exhaustion, but her mind refused to rest.
She stepped out onto the penthouse balcony, craving fresh air. The city stretched endlessly below glittering lights, cars crawling like fireflies, neon signs pulsing against the dark sky. Clara wrapped her cardigan tighter around herself, her thoughts heavy.
The sliding door opened behind her. She turned, startled. Adrian stepped out, barefoot, a glass of whiskey in hand. His usual perfectly styled hair was tousled, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He didn't wear the mask now no arrogance, no sharp words. Just silence.
For a long moment, they stood apart, the hum of the city filling the air.
"Can't sleep?" Clara asked softly.
His gaze lingered on the skyline. "Sleep's never been easy. Too loud in here." He tapped a finger against his temple.
Clara hesitated. "The press… they'll calm down. Stories always burn out eventually."
He gave a dry laugh, one without humor. "That's the thing about fire. It burns everything, even when you think it's out."
Something about the weariness in his voice pulled at her. This wasn't the Adrian Cole the world knew the cocky, untouchable superstar. This was someone else.
"Do you ever get tired of it?" she asked carefully. "The fame, the spotlight… always being watched?"
His jaw tightened. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, then finally looked at her. For once, his eyes weren't sharp. They were tired. Human.
"Every damn day," he admitted. "But if I stop, I disappear. And disappearing…" He trailed off, his throat working as if swallowing words too heavy to say. "…is worse than drowning."
Clara's chest tightened. She had seen flashes of this before behind the anger, behind the arrogance but hearing it aloud shifted something in her.
"You don't have to do it alone, you know," she said softly.
He chuckled, but it was hollow. "That's the thing, Clara. People don't want me. They want the performance. The songs, the smirk, the perfect scandal. If I show them the truth…" His voice cracked for the briefest second. "…they'd walk away."
The silence between them deepened, heavy with unsaid things. Clara wanted to reach out, to tell him she wasn't like them. That she wasn't going anywhere. But she bit her lip, afraid the words would sound foolish.
Instead, she stepped closer, her voice gentle. "Not everyone would walk away."
For a heartbeat, his mask slipped completely. His eyes met hers, and she saw it the loneliness, the fear, the boy beneath the star who had built walls so high no one could climb them.
The moment stretched, fragile and unspoken. Clara's pulse quickened. She wondered if he would close the space between them, if this was the instant when everything shifted.
But then Adrian looked away, his smirk snapping back into place like armor. "You should get some rest, Clara. Big day tomorrow."
The coldness returned, but it wasn't sharp this time. It was protective, like he was pulling back before she could get too close.
Clara forced a small smile. "Goodnight, Adrian."
She slipped inside, leaving him alone on the balcony.
Adrian watched the city below, the glass of whiskey untouched in his hand. Clara's words lingered, echoing louder than the chaos of the world he lived in.
Not everyone would walk away.
He wanted to believe her.
God, he wanted to.