The city outside never slept.
Rain whispered against the glass, turning the lights of Brooklyn into rivers of gold. Somewhere below, a siren wailed and faded, swallowed by distance.
Inside, the suite was warm, heavy with the scent of rain and the low hum of silence. Zara stood near the window, wrapped in one of his white shirts. The fabric was soft and too large, falling off one shoulder.
She didn't look at him, though she could feel his gaze.
He sat on the edge of the bed, shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, the dim light catching the faint scars across his collarbone. There was something raw about him—something that didn't belong in this polished, perfect place.
Zara's fingers traced the glass, following the path of a raindrop.
She didn't know what to say.
Maybe there was nothing to say.
He stood and came closer, his reflection merging with hers in the window.
"You should sleep," he said quietly.
She shook her head. "I don't want to."
"Why not?"
"Because when I wake up, it'll be morning."
He smiled faintly. "And morning is bad?"
"Morning means real life again," she whispered.
He didn't answer. His hand brushed her hair aside, gentle, almost uncertain.
When Zara turned to face him, her heart stuttered. The space between them vanished again—like it always did, like it was meant to.
He reached up, fingertips grazing her jaw. His touch was soft but sure, as if he was afraid she'd break if he pressed too hard.
"I don't even know your name," she said.
"Maybe that's better," he murmured.
"Why?"
"Because names make things real."
Her chest tightened. "And this isn't real?"
His eyes flickered—pain, maybe. "No," he said softly. "It's too real."
The words undid her.
Zara's breath trembled as he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers—slow, testing. It wasn't hunger this time. It was something deeper, quieter. Something that made her heart ache.
The kiss deepened, melting her thoughts away. The world outside disappeared again.
Every touch felt like a secret, every breath like a confession neither dared to speak aloud.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't practiced. It was real. Two broken pieces fitting together for one fleeting night.
He kissed her like a man who'd forgotten how to be gentle until now.
She kissed him like someone who'd spent her life waiting to be seen.
The rain outside grew heavier, echoing their rhythm, steady and wild all at once.
He lifted her easily, setting her down on the bed. His touch was reverent, tracing the curve of her shoulder, the edge of her collarbone. She shivered—not from fear, but from the strange safety she felt in his hands.
He hesitated once, searching her face for any sign of regret. There was none.
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.
She nodded. "I want this."
And that was all.
The rest unfolded like a storm—gentle in moments, fierce in others.
They didn't speak again. They didn't need to. The air was filled with the things neither could say out loud: the ache of loneliness, the hunger for something pure, the fear that it would all end too soon.
When it was over, Zara lay with her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat—slow, steady, real. The kind of sound that made the world feel less cruel for a while.
His arm rested around her waist, protective without trying to be.
Neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn't awkward—it was full, like a song that didn't need words.
Zara thought she would feel regret. Shame, maybe. But all she felt was peace.
For once, she wasn't fighting the world. She wasn't running from anything. She was simply there.
She closed her eyes. "I don't even know what you do," she murmured.
He smiled faintly. "You don't want to know."
"That sounds… dangerous."
"It is."
She lifted her head, meeting his gaze. "You're full of secrets."
"And you're too curious for your own good."
"Maybe." She smiled softly. "But secrets always come out."
He looked at her for a long time, something unreadable flickering in his expression. "Not this one."
Her brows drew together, but before she could ask, he pulled her closer again, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Sleep, Zara."
She wanted to protest, but her eyes grew heavy. The sound of rain lulled her, steady and distant.
As she drifted, she thought she heard him whisper something—too soft to catch.
When the room finally fell silent, Adrian lay awake beside her. The city light traced faint patterns across her face.
She looked peaceful. Innocent.
And that scared him more than anything.
He sat up quietly, running a hand through his hair. The tattoos on his forearm caught the glow from the window—black ink over old scars, each one with a story he would never tell.
Adrian Voss. CEO. Billionaire. Kingpin of an empire no one dared to name.
And here he was, watching a girl sleep as if she were the last good thing left in his world.
He leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
His voice was barely a whisper, but the words hung heavy in the air.
> "If only you knew who I am."
Outside, thunder rolled again, low and distant.
Zara stirred in her sleep but didn't wake.
Adrian stood, slipping quietly into the shadows. He poured himself a drink, staring out at the storm. The rain blurred the skyline until even his reflection looked like a stranger.
He'd broken every rule he lived by tonight—let someone in, even for a heartbeat. And he knew what that meant.
Attachment was a weakness.
Weakness got people killed.
He glanced back at her one last time. "You should've never crossed my path," he murmured.
But even as he said it, he knew it was already too late.
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End Hook:
> Adrian watches her sleep and murmurs, "If only you knew who I am."
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