The morning light was merciless. It streamed through the curtains in golden shafts, illuminating every corner of the room, every shadow I wanted to hide in.
Daniel's alarm blared beside me, jarring in its cheerfulness. He groaned, reaching across me to slap it quiet, his arm brushing mine. The contact made me flinch, though I prayed he didn't notice.
"Morning," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
"Morning," I echoed, forcing the word out, though my throat felt tight, raw.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "Did you ever get back to sleep last night?"
My chest constricted. My lips parted, fumbling for an answer. "Eventually."
He nodded absently, already distracted by thoughts of work. "Big day today. Meeting at ten, lunch with the Crawfords again don't ask me why." He yawned, stretching. "We'll be home late. Don't wait up."
Relief washed through me. If he'd be gone late, that meant fewer hours under his scrutiny, fewer chances for him to notice the guilt weighing me down like chains.
I kissed his cheek light, automaticand slipped out of bed before he could study me too closely.
In the kitchen, Adrian was already there.
He sat at the table, mug in hand, hair tousled, dressed in nothing but a plain white T-shirt and jeans that clung too comfortably to his frame. He looked like he belonged here, as though the kitchen was his domain rather than mine.
The sight of him made my heart lurch. Last night came back in a flood. the kiss, the heat, the footsteps on the stairs. My lips still tingled with the memory, traitorous.
I busied myself with the coffeepot, refusing to meet his gaze.
"You left quickly," he said casually, breaking the silence.
"Daniel was awake," I muttered.
His smile was audible in his voice. "You're good at excuses."
I spun on him, the pot still in my hand. "Don't. Don't do this in the daylight. Whatever that was last night, it can't happen again."
He didn't flinch. He didn't even look ashamed. If anything, his eyes burned brighter, as though my protest was merely fuel.
"You say that now," he murmured. "But you'll change your mind."
Anger flared, hot enough to mask the guilt for a heartbeat. "You're playing with fire, Adrian. This isn't a game."
His gaze softened, unexpectedly tender. "I'm not playing."
The words disarmed me. For a moment, I saw the man beneath the swagger, the quiet pain, the loneliness that mirrored my own. And that terrified me more than his boldness.
I turned back to the counter, my hands trembling as I poured coffee.
Behind me, his chair scraped softly against the floor. His presence moved closer, until I felt him at my back, heat radiating between us.
"You think I don't know what this is doing to you?" he whispered. "I see it in your eyes. You feel alive again."
I closed my eyes, clutching the counter for support. "Stop."
But he didn't. His hand brushed mine lightly as he reached for the sugar bowl, a touch so fleeting it could have been an accident yet it wasn't. My breath caught, betraying me.
And then Daniel's footsteps thundered down the stairs.
Adrian withdrew instantly, settling back into his chair, sipping coffee as though nothing had happened.
Daniel entered, tie half-knotted, briefcase in hand. He glanced between us, frowning faintly. "You're both up early."
"Couldn't sleep," I said quickly.
"Neither could I," Adrian added smoothly, flashing his brother a smile that revealed nothing.
Daniel grunted, too distracted by his schedule to linger. "I'll be late tonight," he reminded me, kissing the top of my head before rushing out the door.
The sound of the car fading down the street left me in brittle silence with Adrian again.
His eyes met mine over the rim of his mug. "You'll break before I do," he said softly.
The day dragged. I threw myself into chores, scrubbing counters that were already spotless, rearranging bookshelves, folding laundry with mechanical precision. Anything to drown out the echo of Adrian's words, the memory of his lips on mine.
But the house wasn't safe anymore. Every corner hummed with his presence. The guest room door stood ajar, daring me to peek inside. His shoes sat by the back door, a reminder that he wasn't leaving.
And every time I passed him in the hallway, every time his arm brushed mine in the narrow kitchen space, my resolve weakened.
By mid-afternoon, I couldn't stand it. I escaped to the garden, desperate for air. The roses were blooming, their fragrance heavy and cloying, yet even among them, I couldn't breathe.
I knelt in the soil, pulling weeds with shaking hands, trying to ground myself. But when I looked up, he was there leaning against the porch railing, watching me with unreadable eyes.
"You can't keep running from this," he said quietly.
I dropped the weeds, dirt streaking my palms. "What do you want from me, Adrian?"
His answer was immediate. "Everything."
My chest constricted. "You'll destroy us both."
"Or set us free."
I stared at him, heart pounding. "I can't...Daniel..."
"You think Daniel hasn't already noticed?" Adrian's voice sharpened. "He sees the distance. He feels it every time you flinch, every time you smile too late. He just doesn't admit it."
Tears stung my eyes. "Don't."
But Adrian only stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Emma," he said softly, "you can lie to him. You can lie to yourself. But you can't lie to me."
And God help me, part of me believed him.
Dinner that evening was unbearable. Daniel was distracted, scrolling through his phone between bites, muttering about contracts. Adrian sat across from me, silent, his gaze steady.
I ate little, my stomach knotted with dread and guilt. Every sound, every movement felt amplified, the scrape of forks, the tick of the clock, the rush of blood in my ears.
Finally, Daniel stood, dropping his napkin on the table. "I have to run. Crawford's calling me in again."
He kissed my cheek, grabbed his briefcase, and was gone.
The door clicked shut. Silence descended.
I kept my eyes on my plate, willing myself not to move, not to breathe, not to acknowledge the man across from me.
But then I felt his hand brush mine beneath the table, deliberate, slow.
I jerked back as though burned, chair scraping. "No," I whispered, voice shaking.
He leaned forward, eyes burning. "Yes."
I shook my head, backing away. "I can't..."
"You already did," he said simply.
The words shattered me.