The world outside Adrian's penthouse felt sharper that morning.
The August air was crisp, the kind that seemed to bite lightly at your skin and yet smelled faintly of rain. Zara stood by the wide glass window in the living room, staring at the hazy skyline. Somewhere beyond those clouds, a storm was brewing—both outside and inside her life.
She still hadn't gotten used to waking up in Adrian Kane's world.
His apartment wasn't just expensive—it was curated. Every piece of furniture felt like it had been chosen to project dominance, from the dark marble coffee table to the art pieces that were probably worth more than her entire company. Even the coffee machine on the counter looked like it had its own security clearance.
And now, as she stood there in one of his oversized white shirts—because her clothes from yesterday had been sent for dry cleaning—she realized just how far she had already been pulled into his orbit.
Adrian emerged from his bedroom like he owned more than the apartment. He owned the air. He wore a charcoal suit today, with his tie hanging loosely around his neck as if to say I don't have to be fully dressed yet, the world will still wait for me.
"Ready for tonight?" he asked without preamble.
She turned, arms folded. "Define ready."
His mouth tilted at one corner, the shadow of a smirk. "The charity gala isn't just an event—it's our first public appearance as a couple."
Couple. The word landed like a stone in her stomach.
"I thought we agreed to keep the performance… minimal," she said carefully.
"We did." He took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze fixed on her over the rim of the cup. "But I've been thinking…"
"That never sounds good."
"…and I've decided a kiss would send the right message."
Her pulse stumbled. "A kiss?"
"Not the timid, awkward kind," Adrian continued, as if he were negotiating a merger. "The kind that says: we're in this together, we're untouchable, and every rumor about us is true."
Zara's first instinct was to laugh in his face, but she caught herself. "Adrian, I'm not kissing you in public."
"You already signed the contract," he reminded her smoothly, setting his coffee cup down with quiet finality. "Clause twelve, subsection four: 'Public displays of affection at agreed-upon events to maintain the authenticity of the engagement.'"
"I thought that meant hand-holding," she snapped.
"Your interpretation was… naïve."
Her mind raced. She could refuse. But then what? Adrian wasn't the type to bluff—if he wanted the kiss, he'd find a way to corner her into it. And worse, the press would eat it alive, spinning stories she couldn't control.
She sighed sharply. "Fine. But keep it short."
He stepped closer, his shadow brushing over her. "Zara, when I kiss you in public, there's nothing 'short' about it."
Later that evening
The gala was hosted at The Grand Royale, a hotel so opulent it seemed almost fictional. Gold-trimmed chandeliers hung above the marble lobby, casting soft light over glittering gowns and tailored suits. Cameras flashed near the entrance as society's most polished faces arrived.
Zara walked beside Adrian, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. She wore a midnight blue gown that clung to her curves and swept the floor with every step. It had been chosen by Adrian's personal stylist—he hadn't even asked her opinion, just sent it to her dressing room that morning with a note that read: Wear this.
If she had to admit it, the dress was stunning. Dangerous, even. It made her feel like a version of herself she didn't fully trust.
Adrian looked down at her as they approached the red carpet. "Smile, Zara. The cameras love you more when you look like you have a secret."
"I do have a secret," she muttered. "It's that I'd rather be anywhere else."
He didn't respond, just tightened his arm around hers and guided her forward.
The photographers erupted the moment they stepped onto the carpet. "Adrian! Zara! Over here!" The flashes were blinding, the shouts constant. It was like walking into a cage lined with wolves.
She kept her chin high, lips curved in the kind of polite smile she had perfected at corporate events. But Adrian—Adrian thrived in this chaos. His posture radiated control, his gaze moved like a weapon, locking onto cameras one after another.
They reached the center of the carpet when he leaned down, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
"Now."
Her heartbeat thundered. "Adrian—"
And then his hand was at her waist, pulling her closer, and the space between them disappeared.
The Kiss
The crowd gasped. Flashbulbs exploded. Zara felt the warmth of his mouth before her mind had caught up. His kiss wasn't gentle—it was deliberate, claiming, a performance wrapped in the illusion of something real. His palm spread against the small of her back, pressing her into him just enough to make the moment look intimate.
But here was the problem: it felt intimate.
For a second—just a second—her lips softened against his. His scent wrapped around her, dark and expensive, and her fingers curled involuntarily against the fabric of his jacket. The noise of the press faded until all she could hear was her own pulse.
Then she remembered.
This wasn't love. This wasn't even affection. This was a transaction.
She broke the kiss first, stepping back with a faint, practiced laugh that suggested she wasn't rattled at all. "Happy now?"
Adrian's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Ecstatic."
The photographers shouted questions—When's the wedding? How long have you been together?—but Adrian simply guided her forward into the hotel, ignoring them all.
Inside the Gala
The ballroom glittered with wealth. Waiters in crisp uniforms glided between tables, balancing champagne flutes. Strings of soft music floated above the hum of conversation.
Zara had attended her fair share of corporate galas before, but this was different. Here, money wasn't just present—it was the unspoken language everyone spoke. And tonight, she was pretending to belong.
Adrian kept her close as they mingled, introducing her to senators, CEOs, and heirs whose smiles were all teeth. She matched each introduction with polite charm, but beneath the surface, she was scanning every face, every overheard word.
If Adrian thought she was here just to play the part of his fiancée, he was wrong. She was also here to watch him. To learn him.
They reached the silent auction table when a tall brunette in a red gown approached, her smile sugar-sweet and sharp as glass. "Adrian. I didn't realize you were bringing a date tonight."
Zara didn't need a name tag to know who she was—Lena Hawthorne. Tech heiress. One of Adrian's rumored exes.
"Lena," Adrian greeted smoothly. "This is Zara Vale—my fiancée."
Lena's gaze swept over Zara, pausing briefly on the engagement ring. "Fiancée," she repeated, as if tasting the word. "How… sudden."
Zara smiled, all faux warmth. "Sometimes the best decisions are the impulsive ones."
Lena's lips twitched, but she didn't reply. Instead, she leaned in to Adrian, murmuring something that made him smirk. And just like that, Zara felt the flare of something unpleasant in her chest.
Possessiveness wasn't supposed to be part of the deal.
The Unscripted Moment
It happened near the end of the evening. The orchestra was playing a slow, romantic piece when Adrian drew Zara onto the balcony for air. The city sprawled out beneath them, lights glittering like fallen stars.
"You did well tonight," he said quietly.
"That sounded dangerously close to a compliment."
His mouth curved. "Don't let it go to your head."
For a moment, the tension between them was almost… easy. And maybe that's why she didn't see it coming when he leaned down again.
Not for the cameras this time. Not for the crowd.
The kiss was slower, deeper—no audience, no contract, just heat and something she couldn't name. Her hands came up to his chest, but not to push him away.
She hated herself for how much she didn't want to stop.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched hers. "Careful, Zara. You're convincing me this might be more than business."
Her breath caught. "Then maybe you're easier to fool than I thought."
But as they returned to the party, neither of them could fully shake the feeling that something had just shifted.
And shifts, in their world, were dangerous.