The moment the kiss ended, the ballroom ceased to exist.
For a heartbeat, all I could hear was the thunder of my own pulse, the dizzying rush of heat flooding my veins. Adrian's lips still ghosted mine, his hand still anchored around my waist, holding me in place.
Then the noise crashed back. Applause. Whispers. Cameras clicking like a hailstorm.
Adrian straightened, expression unreadable, but he didn't let go of me. His hand lingered at my waist as though claiming ownership, his stance daring anyone to question it.
Across the room, Claudia stood frozen in her scarlet gown, her painted smile trembling at the edges. For the first time, I saw a crack in her perfect armor.
Adrian had not just kissed me. He had slapped her—publicly, ruthlessly, without a single word.
I should've felt triumphant. Instead, I felt sick.
Because the kiss hadn't just been performance.
It had meant something.
And that was the most dangerous part of all.
The rest of the gala blurred into a nightmare I couldn't wake from. People swarmed us, offering congratulations, weaving narratives out of smoke and lies.
"Such a beautiful couple."
"I knew it was love all along."
"You make marriage look effortless."
Each word cut deeper, because they didn't know the truth. They didn't know I was shackled to the enemy, that everything they saw was manipulation dressed in diamonds and silk.
Adrian played his role flawlessly. His hand never left me, his voice was smooth, his smile calculated. To the crowd, he was the perfect husband—protective, proud, utterly besotted.
And I… I played along. Because what choice did I have?
It wasn't until the gala ended, the last camera shuttered, that reality came crashing back.
The limousine door closed behind us, sealing me in the dim, quiet space with him.
I pulled my hand free the instant I could. "What the hell was that?"
Adrian's gaze shifted from the city lights outside to me, calm as a storm eye. "A solution."
"A solution?" My voice shook with fury. "You humiliated me. You kissed me like I was some—some—"
"My wife," he interrupted, voice cutting through mine like a blade.
I froze.
"That's what you are, Elena. My wife. And the world needed to be reminded of it."
My chest heaved. "That wasn't your decision to make."
His eyes darkened. "Everything that concerns you is my decision. Especially when it concerns my name."
I wanted to scream at him. To claw at that cold, perfect composure until he bled. But the memory of the kiss—searing, shattering—betrayed me. My lips still tingled. My body still remembered.
I hated him for it.
I hated myself more.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, thick with tension that neither of us acknowledged.
The penthouse was waiting for us, glittering high above the city like a throne room. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the skyline, but I barely saw it. My vision tunneled, fixed only on him.
The door shut, locking us inside.
"Why?" I demanded, spinning on him. "Why humiliate me like that?"
Adrian loosened his tie with infuriating calm. "You weren't humiliated."
"I was put on display!" My voice cracked. "As if I'm just some pawn in your little game against Claudia—against the board—against whoever else you decide to crush next."
His gaze sharpened. "You think too small, Elena."
I laughed bitterly. "Small? You kissed me in front of half the city!"
"Yes." His voice dropped lower, darker. "Because you needed to be untouchable. Because if they saw even one crack in you, Claudia would have ripped you apart. And I don't intend to watch that happen."
My breath caught. The conviction in his tone was undeniable. But I forced myself to scoff. "So you played the gallant husband? Don't pretend it was for me. It was for you. For your empire. For your image."
His eyes locked on mine, burning. "And if it was for both?"
The words hit me like a blow.
I stumbled back, shaking my head. "No. Don't twist this. Don't—"
But he was already moving, closing the distance, his presence overwhelming.
"You think I don't see you?" he said, voice low, roughened. "The way you fight, the way you hold yourself up even when the world wants to drag you down. You think I don't notice the fire in you?"
I trembled, my back hitting the glass wall. "Stop."
"I can't." His hand lifted, hovering near my cheek but not touching. "You drive me insane, Elena. Do you understand that?"
The heat in his eyes was dangerous. Consuming.
And the worst part was, I felt it too.
My chest rose and fell in ragged rhythm, torn between fury and something far more treacherous.
"Adrian," I whispered, warning and plea tangled together.
But before anything else could happen, his phone buzzed.
The sound sliced through the moment like a knife.
He pulled back, jaw tight, retrieving the device from his pocket. His expression darkened as he read the screen.
"Trouble?" I asked, my voice still unsteady.
He glanced at me, unreadable. "Nothing I can't handle."
But the way his grip tightened around the phone told me otherwise.
Far across the city, Claudia Harrington sat in her suite, a glass of wine in hand, the night's news replaying on the screen.
Adrian King's passionate kiss seals marriage rumors.
From secretary to queen: Elena King steals the spotlight.
Her nails dug into her palm.
"No," she whispered, venom dripping from every syllable. "This isn't over."
Her reflection glared back at her in the darkened glass, a predator poised to strike.
"I'll burn her out of his life if it's the last thing I do."
By morning, the city belonged to the kiss.
Every headline, every glossy tabloid, every news segment spun the same story:
"King of Steel and His Queen of Fire: The Kiss That Changed the Game."
"No More Rumors—Adrian King Is Madly in Love with His Wife."
"From Secretary to Socialite: Elena King's Fairytale Crowned at the Gala."
The photos were everywhere. Adrian's hand wrapped around my waist, his lips crushing mine, my stunned expression softened into something dangerously close to surrender.
I stared at the magazines spread across the penthouse coffee table, stomach twisted. My phone buzzed non-stop with notifications, texts from coworkers I hadn't spoken to in months, socialites suddenly "welcoming" me into their circles, invitations piling in as if I'd been crowned royalty overnight.
The worst part? Some of the headlines were kind. Flattering even. Strangers were romanticizing a cage.
"Don't look so pale," Adrian said from behind me. He was at the bar, pouring coffee like the world hadn't just set itself on fire with our names. "They're eating out of our hands. Exactly as planned."
I spun to face him. "Planned? Adrian, I can't even step outside without people snapping pictures of me now! Do you realize what you've done?"
"Yes." He stirred his coffee slowly, then met my gaze, unbothered. "I made you untouchable."
"You made me a target." My voice cracked.
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Guilt? No, Adrian King didn't do guilt. It was possession—cold and consuming. "Let them aim," he said simply. "I'll be the shield."
Shield. Prison guard. The line between them blurred more every day.
Later that afternoon, I tried to reclaim some normalcy by stepping out alone, disguised in sunglasses and a scarf. It didn't work.
The stares followed me into the boutique, whispers curling like smoke.
That's her.
She must be incredible in bed to keep Adrian King.
Poor Claudia—humiliated like that.
By the third set of giggles behind my back, my hands shook too badly to keep browsing. I fled the store, only to be blinded by camera flashes outside.
"Elena! Over here! How does it feel being Adrian's queen?"
"Are the rumors true—that you were just his secretary before the marriage?"
"Did Claudia Harrington really catch you stealing her man?"
I froze, heart pounding. Every word was a dagger, every lens a spotlight I couldn't escape.
Then, like a shadow rising from the chaos, Adrian's driver appeared. The black car door opened, his voice sharp: "Mrs. King. Now."
I dove inside, slamming the door shut just as the mob pressed closer.
The city blurred past as the car sped away. My breath came in ragged gasps. "They'll destroy me," I whispered.
Adrian's hand landed on mine, warm and steady. "No. They'll worship you."
I jerked away. "That's not what I want!"
His jaw tightened. "You think you still get to choose? You walked into my world, Elena. You don't walk back out."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
When we returned to the penthouse, I didn't wait for him. I stormed straight to the bedroom, slamming the door shut. My reflection in the mirror startled me—flushed cheeks, wild eyes, lips still faintly swollen from a kiss that haunted me.
I hated him. I hated this gilded cage.
So why did part of me still ache for that kiss again?
A knock rattled the door. Before I could answer, it opened.
Adrian leaned against the frame, jacket discarded, tie loosened, all raw edges instead of polished armor. "You shouldn't slam doors in my house," he said softly.
"It's not your house," I shot back. "It's mine too."
That earned me the faintest smirk. "Good. Then stop hiding in it like a scared child."
Anger surged. I marched toward him, jabbing a finger against his chest. "You don't get to humiliate me, lock me in this penthouse, parade me around like a trophy—then act like I'm the problem!"
His hand shot up, gripping my wrist, pulling me flush against him. "You think that kiss was humiliation?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "It was restraint."
The breath caught in my throat. His eyes burned with something dark, something feral. "Adrian…"
"You drive me insane, Elena," he said, voice roughened. "And I'm done pretending otherwise."
His mouth descended, not gentle this time but fierce, claiming. My body betrayed me—arching, answering, fire sparking where fury should have lived. I shoved at his chest, yet my lips parted under his.
The world narrowed to the heat of his kiss, the grip of his hand, the low growl in his throat like he was starving for me.
When he finally tore away, both of us breathing ragged, he pressed his forehead to mine. "This isn't a game. Not anymore."
I wanted to slap him. I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to scream, to beg, to surrender, to run.
Instead, I whispered the only truth left in me: "You'll ruin me."
His smile was dangerous, devastating. "Maybe. But I'll ruin anyone who tries to touch you first."
Across the city, Claudia Harrington poured herself another glass of wine, her hand steady even as fury coiled in her veins.
On her desk lay a neatly arranged set of photographs—private, damning, sourced from an ally in Adrian's empire.
She traced one manicured finger over Elena's face. "You think you've won," she murmured. "But queens fall hardest when the crown isn't theirs to keep."
She picked up her phone, dialing a number she hadn't used in years.
"It's time," she said coldly when the line clicked. "We'll start with her past. Drag her out by her roots. Let's see how long Adrian plays the loyal husband when he realizes what his little secretary is hiding."
Her laughter was soft. Deadly.
The war had only just begun.