Elena Rossi hunted the cuff of her blazer which seemed to her a hundred times. The ball room was glittering with chandeliers and a hundred flawlessly refined smiles although she hardly paid attention. The paparazzi cameras flashed like the fireflies, reporters were talking into microphones and the tech elite of the city mingled like predators around the prey. Each nod, each bogus laugh, each handshake was a little struggle to be in control--and she was going to win.
She hated this world. Felt like spitballs the superficial desire, the unceasing pretence, the whispers that would spoil anybody in as little time as it took to wink. Here she was, however, on behalf of Rossi Industries, tall in spite of months of scandal that had dogged her family like a curse. She said to herself that she was untouchable. The fact that she survived anything.
Until he appeared.
Adrian Knight.
He had a presence even at the opposite end of the room. No, it was not with great drama and coerced charisma, but his mere presence changed the dynamism in the hall. The photographers turned and turned, discussions were halted, and all the eyes unconsciously tracked him. He was walking as though he owned the city: a predator, in a suit perfectly made, and every step was made with confidence. She was experiencing a kind of cold twinge Elena could not identify. Hate. Raw and uncivilized hate.
This was the man that had ruined the name of her father. Who were they who had made their family a moralizing story spoken on boardrooms and in gala halls. And here he was, unreachable, unsullied, and irritatingly ideal.
Her feelings were telling her to run away. To shrink back had never been hers. She turned her shoulders, threw back her chin, and as she walked in the direction of him, looked at him in the eye of the man she was determined to hate forever.
You are late, she said, and her voice was steady, cutting through the background noises.
The head of Adrian was tilted, and his grey eyes were contracted in a calm, terrible manner that was sufficient to make her stomach turn. A small smirk curved his lips. He said fashionably, in a low, smooth, almost teasing manner. I do not like wasting the time of everyone in waiting unlike other people.
Her jaw clenched. I do not spend my time on family destroyers.
The smirk didn't falter. If anything, it sharpened. Then we are so even, I guess, he said carelessly, like we are we.
Even the boldness of it caused her heart to beat, and she detested herself to notice it.
You have only ripped us, you have, she hissed.
And you have only survived it, he answered, and come a little nearer. The heat of him burnt her resistantness. She grimaced, not of fright, but of the forceless attraction he had upon her--a harmful, exasperating attraction.
The guests of the gala knew nothing about the storm that was sweeping in the corner. They were smiling cordially, chattering politely. They did not have their own war raging in a few square feet of space: each look a challenge, each word a weapon.
Elena straightened her shoulders. "I don't need you, Adrian Knight."
And now, here you are, he said to himself, with low, impalement, the corners of his smirk in danger of something that she was not quite prepared to fight.
Her blood was hotter, a combination of anger and something that she did not like. She had sworn hate, but her bosom lied against her.
Then there was a commotion and she lost track of her thoughts: a waiter stumbled, and a tray of champagne glasses wobbled in her direction. Elena sprung back, just in time to grab the nearest glass which did not break. She touched another hand--powerful, warm, even.
Adrian's.
He took the glass in his hand and stared her full in the face. That grin came back, coquettish, threatening. Prudent, he said, very low, of which she might be the only hearer, Would rather you did not cut yourself in my sight.
I am able to cope with a glass, she said sharply.
Yes, he answered, and there was something inexplicable in his look that I could not take,
Her pulse thundered. She would have preferred to hate him more because of the impact he made on her but she was not able. She couldn't ignore it. Great, she swore to herself. Already betraying me, heartbeat. Could my life get any worse?
The tension was broken with the keynote announcement. The cameras flashed, the hall was applauding and the city was shinning through the huge glass windows. But in that corner there had been a silent battle on, unknown to the rest.
Adrian bowed his head mockingly. But shall we do nice with the cameras?
The lips of Elena twisted half-amused, half-annoyed. To the cameras, she said, and drizzled bitterly. And perhaps to live another ten minutes of your smug little face.
They proceeded side by side, competitors in the external, in the internal, foes. Each step, each look, each minute interaction had its significance, but they knew what it was.
Later, when the gala started to thin, Adrian bent over, the strong smell of costly cologne tickling her nose. You have changed, he remarked carelessly, but the vehemence of his stare gave him the lie.
Nor too much, she replied in a flash.
He laughed to himself, a menacing, low note which made her heart rate increase against her will. "Impressive. Still stubborn. Still fiery. Still… intriguing."
Her chest fluttered. She cursed herself silently. She detested it that his words should have an influence, that she should perceive this. Really, Elena? Charismatic CEO infatuation during the initial ten? Fantastic.
In a flash, she was distracted by a buzz, her phone glowed. A headline flashed:
Scandal Hits Rossi Industries: Insider Leaks Rock the Market.
Her fingers trembled. Her chest tightened. The face of her father, the months of struggling, came through her mind.
Adrian was behind her, and his voice was light and teasing: It looks like trouble visits you everywhere.
She turned and was about to speak, when he was away, leaving that insolent grin and that threatening glow.
Her chest heaved. It never ends with him she said to herself almost, as she whispered.
And deep down, she knew. Adrian Knight would never cease to watch. Never stop interfering. Never stop being… him.
Enemies in public. Obsession in private. and somewhere, beneath hate and fury, and sarcastic remarks that were to come bolstered, something also had started to move.