The balcony was nothing short of cinematic.
It jutted out from the side of the penthouse like a throne above the city, offering a panoramic view of Manhattan wrapped in twilight. Lights shimmered like a thousand promises—most of them broken.
Nora stepped out carefully, bundled in a soft gray sweater she found in the walk-in closet. It probably cost more than her last phone bill, and she was absolutely going to "forget" to return it.
Adrian was already there, leaning on the railing, one hand wrapped around a crystal tumbler of something amber and expensive. His black dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing those forearms—the kind of forearms that looked like they'd fought wars and won.
She swallowed.
"I brought wine," she said, lifting the bottle like it was a peace offering to a particularly intimidating god.
He took it without looking and popped the cork with a practiced flick of the wrist. He poured two glasses into delicate stemware and handed her one.
"For a criminal, you've got decent taste," she muttered, sniffing the glass.
"For a nanny, you've got decent nerve," he replied.
They stood in silence for a moment, the air between them crisp and strangely electric. Down below, New York buzzed, oblivious to the strange arrangement forming sixty stories above it.
"So," she said eventually, "are we going to talk about why you invited me up here, or are we just vibing silently like dramatic movie characters?"
Adrian glanced at her. "You ask too many questions."
"Only when I'm nervous. Or awake."
He gave a soft exhale that might've been a laugh. Maybe.
After a pause, he said, "Do you know why I chose this place?"
"Because it looks like Batman lives here?"
He ignored that. "Because it's the only place I feel above all of it. The lies. The manipulation. The killing."
Nora blinked. "Wow. Okay. That got dark fast."
Adrian looked at her then, really looked. "You're not afraid of me."
"Should I be?"
He sipped his drink, not answering.
That was answer enough.
She stepped closer to the edge, leaning next to him. "I think you like pretending you're worse than you are," she said. "It's easier. If everyone fears you, no one gets close. No one can betray you."
He turned toward her, slowly. "Is that your psychological analysis, Miss Evans?"
"No," she said. "That's just what people do when they've been hurt. Or hunted."
His expression shifted for a fraction of a second. Not enough to be readable. But something inside him tightened.
"You have a file on me," she added softly. "But I bet no one has one on you."
Another silence.
Then, he said, "My mother died when I was ten. Killed by a man my father trusted. A politician. He smiled at our dinner table every Sunday for months before he had her poisoned."
Nora's hand tightened around her wine glass.
"I grew up learning that loyalty was just a weapon. Used by people who wanted you too weak to fight back."
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He shook his head slightly, the wind tugging at his hair. "Don't be. I became stronger because of it. Colder. Smarter. Untouchable."
Nora hesitated, then asked, "And do you ever get tired of pretending that doesn't hurt?"
His eyes flicked to hers. She braced herself for deflection. Instead, he said:
"Only at night."
A silence settled between them, heavier this time. Not awkward—intimate. Honest.
Nora looked away, swallowing hard. "My dad left when I was seven," she said. "My mom called it 'a disappearance of character.' That's how she put everything—like life was a Shakespearean tragedy. I spent most of my teenage years trying to become invisible so no one else would disappear on me too."
Adrian's gaze softened. Just a little.
"So now we're both grown-up, well-adjusted emotional disasters," she said lightly, trying to break the intensity.
He smirked. "Speak for yourself. I'm perfectly maladjusted."
She laughed, surprised at how natural it felt. Then: "So what happens next?"
Adrian looked at her glass, now empty. "Next, you learn how to act like someone you're not."
"I already do," she said.
He raised a brow.
She gestured vaguely. "Happy. Normal. Like I've got my life together."
There was a pause. Then Adrian stepped a little closer—close enough that she could see the edge of that tattoo again, peeking from beneath his rolled sleeve.
"Do you know what happens when you fake something long enough?" he asked, voice low.
She shook her head.
"You become it."
His words lingered between them like smoke.
Then his hand lifted—slowly, deliberately—and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. The touch was featherlight, barely there, but it made her breath catch in her throat.
"You're not like the others," he murmured.
She smiled faintly. "Well, thank God. That would've made this way more awkward."
He smiled then—real, small, and fleeting. But there.
"I don't trust anyone," he said softly. "But I'm starting to wonder what that means with you."
Nora's pulse skipped. "Careful, Mr. Black. You're starting to sound like a human being."
He leaned in just slightly. "Don't tell anyone."
And for a moment, she forgot he was dangerous. Forgot the surveillance. The secrets. The fact that she might be playing a part in something far more twisted than she realized.
For a moment, there was only the city lights, the night air, and the possibility of something she hadn't dared believe in a long time.
Hope.