The morning after the kiss felt like stepping into a war zone.
I woke to silence. Not the comforting kind—but the charged, suffocating silence that comes after an explosion.
Adrian was already gone. His side of the bed was cold, the sheets pulled with his usual precision, as if he'd never been there at all. Only the faint scent of his cologne lingered—dark, sharp, maddening.
For a moment, I let myself sink into the pillow, eyes closed. Pretend it was just a dream. Pretend I wasn't the woman plastered across every newspaper in the city, lips swollen from a kiss that had detonated like a bomb.
But reality refused to let me breathe.
My phone buzzed relentlessly on the nightstand. Messages from people I hadn't heard from in years. Old classmates, coworkers, family friends—all suddenly remembering I existed. All wanting a piece of me.
I silenced it and stumbled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection glared back: red-rimmed eyes, flushed cheeks, lips that still tingled with memory.
Pull yourself together, Elena.
I dressed quickly—neutral blouse, black pencil skirt, hair in a tight bun. The armor of a secretary, not a queen. That role had never fit, no matter how many tabloids shoved a crown on my head.
When I stepped into the living room, the world hit me like a tidal wave.
The coffee table was buried in magazines. Headlines screamed my name.
"Adrian King's Queen: The Kiss of the Century."
"Elena King—Cinderella or Calculated Seductress?"
"From Assistant to Heiress? The Secrets Behind the Secretary."
That last one made my stomach drop.
I shoved the magazine aside, heart pounding. They didn't know anything. They couldn't. My past was buried, locked away. No one had the pieces to uncover it.
…Unless someone handed it to them.
Claudia's smile flashed in my mind, red lips curling with venom. She'd stood frozen at the gala, her perfect mask cracking when Adrian kissed me. That humiliation would never go unanswered.
"Damn it," I whispered, clutching the edge of the sofa until my knuckles whitened.
By noon, the penthouse felt like a gilded cage closing tighter.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't sit still. The city roared beneath the glass windows, but I wasn't part of it—I was trapped above it.
So I did the unthinkable. I left.
I slipped into the underground garage, pulling one of the sleek black coats Adrian had bought me around my shoulders, and caught a cab on the street like any ordinary woman.
The driver gawked when he recognized me. His eyes flicked to the magazines stacked on his dashboard. "Mrs. King?"
I forced a polite smile. "Just Elena."
He chuckled. "Not anymore."
I stared out the window, jaw clenched.
My destination was a quiet café tucked into a side street near the university district. One of the last places that felt untouched by Adrian's empire, by Claudia's poison. I used to come here during my college days, scribbling resumes and daydreams into notebooks while sipping cheap cappuccinos.
Walking inside was like stepping back in time. The air smelled of roasted beans and vanilla. The chatter was low, the light warm. For a moment, I almost relaxed.
Until I heard the whispers.
"That's her."
"The secretary he married."
"She looks so normal in person."
"Maybe it's all an act."
My skin prickled. I kept my head down, ordered quickly, and slid into a booth in the back.
The cappuccino arrived, steaming, delicate foam heart on top. I curled my hands around it, trying to anchor myself.
And then a voice cut through the haze.
"Elena?"
I looked up sharply.
A woman stood by my table—tall, sleek, her smile bright but too sharp around the edges. Recognition stabbed through me.
Melissa Wright.
We'd been in the same program years ago. She'd gone into PR, last I'd heard. Ambitious. Ruthless.
"Melissa," I managed, forcing a neutral tone.
Her eyes gleamed. "Well, well. The city's star of the hour. I almost didn't recognize you without the cameras."
"I'm just getting coffee."
"Sure." She slid into the seat across from me without asking. "But tell me—what's it really like? Being married to Adrian King?"
I stiffened. "That's private."
"Of course, of course." She leaned in, lowering her voice. "But you know the press, Elena. They don't buy fairy tales forever. They'll dig. And if they find anything… juicy…"
Her smile widened. "It'll be everywhere."
Ice flooded my veins. "What are you implying?"
She shrugged, feigning innocence. "Only that secrets have a way of coming out. Especially when someone wants them to."
Claudia's shadow loomed again.
Melissa tapped her manicured nails on the table. "But don't worry. With the right spin, even a scandal can make you more beloved. Call me if you ever need… protection."
She slid a business card across the table and stood, leaving me shaken, the cappuccino untouched.
When I returned to the penthouse, Adrian was waiting.
He was by the window, phone in hand, suit jacket draped over the chair. His gaze snapped to me the moment I walked in.
"Where were you?" His voice was low, dangerous.
"Out," I said, too tired to craft a lie.
His jaw clenched. "You think you can just wander the city alone? After last night? After the headlines?"
"I'm not your prisoner."
"You're my wife."
The words cracked like a whip.
I glared at him. "So that means I don't get to breathe without your permission?"
"It means," he said, stepping closer, "that the world will try to rip you apart, and I won't let it. But I can't protect you if you keep running headfirst into fire."
I wanted to argue. To scream. But the image of Melissa's smile, her veiled warning, silenced me.
Instead, I whispered, "They're going to dig into me, Adrian. Into my past."
His eyes narrowed. "Let them."
My heart stuttered. "You don't understand."
He cupped my chin, tilting my face up until his gaze pinned me. "Then make me understand."
The intensity in his eyes threatened to unravel me. But I couldn't. Not yet. If he knew the truth—if he knew the stain I carried—he'd never look at me the same way again.
So I did the only thing I could. I lied.
"There's nothing to tell," I said, forcing the words out steady.
Adrian studied me for a long, unbearable moment. Then he released me, stepping back.
"Fine," he said coldly. "But if the past comes for you, Elena, it comes for me too. Remember that."
And with that, he turned, leaving me standing in the silence, my heart pounding with secrets I could no longer outrun.