ADRIEN POV
The city glittered beneath my windows, a thousand lights blinking like watchful eyes. Normally, Paris at night soothed me. The order of it, the sense of possession — every tower, every riverfront facade, every shadowed alley belonged to my empire in one way or another.
Tonight it only mocked me.
On the desk beside me, Marcus's voice buzzed from the phone. "Adrien, I'm telling you, the coverage is doubling every hour. If we push the Sofia angle—"
"No." My tone sliced through the line.
He sputtered. "Then at least let me—"
"Marcus." I rarely used his name. It stopped him short. "This isn't a campaign to spin. Drop it."
A stunned silence. "You're protecting her."
As if it were an accusation. As if I needed defending.
But I ended the call without another word.
The truth was inescapable: I had no strategy for this. No prepared speech, no negotiation tactic. Only the gnawing restlessness in my chest, the memory of her eyes last night—bright with hurt, shadowed with doubt. I don't know if I can trust you.
It had been years since anyone said something that cut me open so easily.
I should have let her be. Should have given her space, allowed time to dull the scandal, as it always did. That was the rational path. The controlled path.
But control had deserted me the moment she whispered okay.
I left my desk, crossed the penthouse, poured a measure of whiskey I didn't drink. Then I found myself at the door, coat in hand, before I had even made the decision.
The drive blurred. By the time I registered it, she was already in my elevator, my building swallowing her whole.
She stood at the far end of the lift, arms crossed tightly, defiance in every line of her body. Her hair was mussed from the wind, cheeks flushed from the cold. She looked furious. She looked breathtaking.
"I shouldn't be here," she said.
I pressed the button for the top floor. "And yet you are."
The air between us crackled, tense and silent, until the doors slid open.
My penthouse greeted us in its usual hush: floor-to-ceiling glass, steel and marble gleaming, the city sprawling beyond. Normally, the space exuded power, curated perfection. Tonight it felt like a trap.
She walked to the windows, arms still folded, staring at the skyline as if it held answers. "So this is it. The tower. The king's palace."
Her sarcasm cut sharper than usual, threaded with something fragile.
I moved closer, stopping just shy of her. "Do you hate it?"
"I don't care enough to hate it." She turned, eyes locking on mine. "I care that my life is exploding, and you think you can just—" Her voice broke off, too raw.
"I don't think," I said quietly. "I know. I can fix this."
Her laugh was soft, bitter. "There it is again. Control. You fix things. You handle things. And what am I, Adrien? Another asset in the portfolio?"
The words hit harder than any boardroom challenge.
I stepped closer, every nerve alight. "You're the one thing I can't handle."
That silenced her. Her breath caught, lips parting, eyes wide.
The distance between us shrank to nothing. I could feel the warmth of her skin, the faint tremor in her breath. My hand lifted before I could stop it, fingers brushing her jaw. She didn't flinch. She leaned in.
For a moment, the world narrowed to the space between our mouths. Her scent — coffee, faint perfume, her. The rhythm of her breathing syncing with mine. The absolute certainty that if I kissed her, there would be no going back.
"Adrien…" she whispered, and the sound unraveled me.
I kissed her.
Slow at first, deliberate, a claim. Her lips soft, yielding, then pressing back, a heat sparking so fast it stole my breath. She made a sound — half moan, half gasp — and it shattered the last of my restraint.
My hand slid to her waist, pulling her against me. Her fingers curled into my shirt, gripping hard enough to wrinkle the fabric. The kiss deepened, hungry, urgent.
She opened to me, and I tasted her — heat, sweetness, defiance, all of it. Her body pressed tighter to mine, her hands clutching at my shoulders as if to anchor herself.
Every movement escalated. Her nails skimmed the back of my neck; my grip tightened on her waist, then slid lower, anchoring her to me. She gasped again into my mouth, and the sound drove me nearly insane.
I pressed her back against the glass, the city blazing behind her. Her head tilted, lips parting wider, kiss after kiss tumbling into one another, each one hotter, deeper, more desperate.
"Nora," I groaned against her mouth, the name ripped out of me.
She answered with a breathless moan, her fingers tangling in my hair, tugging me closer.
We kissed like drowning, like neither of us had air unless it came from the other. Every brush of her body against mine ignited sparks, every gasp a plea neither of us could voice.
Her hands slid down, clutching at my waist, then pulling me harder against her. I felt her trembling, or maybe it was me.
God, I wanted more. Too much more. The urge to lift her, carry her, lay her down and strip away every barrier between us burned so fiercely I almost gave in.
But I didn't. I couldn't.
With the last shred of control, I braced my forehead against hers, breathing hard. Her lips were swollen, eyes dazed, hair tousled from my hands. The most beautiful, dangerous sight I'd ever seen.
Her whisper ghosted across my mouth. "What have we done?"
I closed my eyes, jaw tight. "Crossed a line."
And there would be no going back.