The lunch trolley rolled quietly across the carpet as Talia entered Adrian's office. The aroma of roasted chicken and warm bread filled the air, and she moved with that same quiet diligence — setting the tray on the table, placing the cutlery just so.
Adrian was at his desk, pretending to skim over a contract, but his eyes kept lifting — drawn to her like a moth to flame.
Her blouse shifted slightly as she bent forward to place his drink, the delicate fabric brushing against the curve of her chest. His gaze lingered longer than it should have. The paper in his hands now is nothing more than a prop to mask the way his attention followed her.
When she straightened and turned to arrange the side dishes, his eyes slid lower, tracing the curve of her hips, the subtle sway in her walk. Something tightened in his chest — a mixture of desire and frustration, as if looking at her was both a satisfaction and a torment.
Talia, unaware at first, felt it eventually — that prickling heat at the back of her neck, the way the air between them felt heavier than usual. She glanced at him, puzzled, her brows drawing in the faintest question.
"Is… something wrong, Mr. Wolfe?" she asked quietly.
His expression shifted — not to denial, but to something unreadable, almost predatory in its stillness. "No," he said, his voice low, steady. "Nothing at all."
She turned back to finish setting the table, though her movements were more careful now, her eyes avoiding him. The confusion in her face didn't douse his gaze — it made it sharper. That flicker of innocence, that small measure of discomfort, only seemed to fan the hunger he refused to name.
When she left the room, Adrian remained still for a moment, the untouched lunch before him. His pulse was steady but deep, and a part of him knew — he was crossing an invisible line, one that would only pull him closer to her, whether she wanted him there or not.
NEW APARTMENT, 10:30 p.m.
It was late evening when the company car pulled up in front of the sleek, glass-walled apartment building. The city lights shimmered on the wet pavement from a recent drizzle, and the air carried that quiet, expectant stillness of night.
Talia stepped out, her breath misting slightly, watching as the driver and two assistants carried in her neatly packed bags and boxes. It felt strange — surreal — that her belongings were being moved not by family, but by Wolfe's men.
She was still taking in the luxury of the lobby when Adrian appeared from the shadows of the corridor, hands casually in his pockets.
"I was in the area," he said with a faint shrug, as though it were nothing. "Thought I'd check the place myself. Make sure it's… adequate."
Talia nodded politely, though her chest tightened at his presence. "It's more than adequate, sir."
They took the elevator together, silence only broken by the soft hum of the machine. Inside the apartment, she began unpacking — folding clothes into the wardrobe, placing kitchen items neatly on the counters. Adrian lingered, occasionally running a glance over the spacious rooms, but his eyes often wandered back to her.
It happened suddenly. She stepped back with an armful of clothes at the exact moment he turned from inspecting the bookshelf. Their shoulders collided, her balance tipped, and in the scramble to steady her, his hand caught her arm — too hard, pulling her with him.
They both went down onto the cool, polished marble floor.
For a moment, the world narrowed. Her breath caught, her chest pressed against his, his scent — warm, expensive, and distinctly male — filling her senses. His eyes locked on hers, and for a split second, the air between them thickened, electric.
Talia was the first to break it. Her pulse thundered as she quickly pulled herself away, muttering, "Sorry…" while brushing invisible dust from her dress.
Adrian straightened, clearing his throat. "No… that was my fault." His voice was low, controlled, but there was an undercurrent in it — something he couldn't entirely hide.
He stepped back, adjusted his cufflinks, and without another word, left the apartment.
Talia stood alone in the quiet space, her heart still racing, wondering why a single accidental fall could leave her feeling so… unsettled.
The city outside hummed faintly under a silver moon, but inside the apartment, Talia lay in the soft unfamiliar bed, wide awake. The room was beautiful — white curtains swaying lightly with the night breeze, walls painted in soothing beige, the quiet hum of a central air system. And yet… she felt restless.
She replayed the moment over and over — the way his eyes had met hers, not with the cold detachment she'd come to expect, but with something heavier, something that made her skin prickle. She could still feel the firmness of his chest beneath her, the faint smell of his cologne that lingered in her mind like a stubborn ghost.
Talia turned onto her side, hugging her pillow, muttering to herself, it was just an accident. But her heart refused to believe her.
Across the city, Adrian sat in his dimly lit penthouse, drink untouched on the table. He'd removed his tie, loosened the top buttons of his shirt, but the tension in him hadn't eased.
He told himself it was nothing. A stumble. A momentary lapse. Yet his mind betrayed him, replaying how her breath had hitched when she landed against him, how close her lips had been the warmth of her body beneath his hands.
He took a slow sip of whiskey, leaning back in his chair. The thought of her alone in that apartment made something coil tight in his chest — a blend of possessiveness and frustration.
Adrian Wolfe didn't get distracted. He didn't lose focus. But tonight, lying in bed wasn't an option. Between guilt and desire, he knew one thing for certain: this wasn't the last time Talia Brooks would occupy his thoughts like this.