They say power has a sound.
If that's true, then it echoed every time Adrian Blackwood walked into a room.
I heard it before I saw him—before the murmurs dropped into reverent whispers, before women adjusted dresses they'd already spent hours perfecting, before men straightened their shoulders as if standing near him might rub off something priceless.
Power didn't announce him.
It followed him.
"You're staring again."
I didn't turn immediately. My eyes were fixed on the far end of the ballroom, where Adrian stood surrounded by men in tailored suits and women whose smiles were practiced and precise. Champagne glasses hovered in manicured hands. Laughter came easily there—too easily.
"I'm not staring," I said softly. "I'm observing."
Maya snorted beside me. "Same thing."
The room shimmered in white and gold. It was one of those elite charity galas where donations were measured in millions and appearances mattered more than intentions. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over polished marble floors. The string quartet performed with flawless precision, the kind of elegance designed to be admired, not remembered.
And in the center of it all—effortlessly, unapologetically—stood Adrian Blackwood.
The billionaire.
My billionaire.
"Well?" Maya nudged me. "Are you going to save him or should I?"
I smiled despite myself. "From what?"
"From drowning in attention. Look at that woman hanging on his arm."
I finally looked away from Adrian and turned to Maya."You mean the blonde woman dressed in silver?"
"The one who looks like she's auditioning to be his next headline."
I shrugged. "She won't last the night."
Maya raised an eyebrow. "You sound very sure."
"I am."
Because I knew him.
Or at least, I knew the parts of him no one else saw.
Adrian Blackwood didn't fall for desperation. He didn't need to.
He was thirty-five, self-made, and dangerously composed. He owned companies that moved markets, influenced politicians, and shaped futures. His name appeared in business magazines, gossip columns, and whispered fantasies.
And yet, here I was—four years into loving him—standing on the edge of his world, watching people circle him like moths to flame.
"Still," Maya said, lowering her voice, "you could remind him you exist."
"He knows," I replied.
She studied my face for a moment. "There's a calm about you that most women lose around a man like him."
I took a slow sip of champagne. "Calm is survival."
That earned me a look. But Maya didn't push. She knew better.
I watched Adrian laugh at something Lucas Reed said. Lucas—his longtime friend and fellow billionaire—clapped him on the back, grinning wide. Adrian's smile was controlled, effortless. Women loved him because he was rich.
They stayed because he was… different.
Adrian didn't need to speak loudly. He didn't need to dominate conversations. When he spoke, people leaned in. When he listened, they felt important.
When he looked at you—
My phone vibrated in my clutch.
Adrian: You're hiding.
I smiled before I could stop myself.
Me: You're surrounded.
Adrian: Doesn't change the fact that you're not here.
I typed back slowly.
Me: Turn around.
He did.
The moment his eyes found mine, the room seemed to quiet. Not literally—music still played, laughter still floated—but for me, everything narrowed.
His gaze softened.
That was the part no one else saw.
He excused himself without explanation, handed his drink to Lucas, and walked toward me. Each step was measured, confident. He moved like a man who knew where he was going—and knew he'd be welcomed when he arrived.
"Miss Monroe," he said when he reached me, his voice low and familiar. "You disappeared."
"Mr. Blackwood," I replied, mirroring his tone. "You were busy being impressive."
His lips curved. "Am I ever not?"
Maya cleared her throat. "I'll give you two a moment," she said, already stepping back.
Adrian smiled politely at her. "Please do."
She walked away shaking her head.
Up close, he smelled like expensive cologne and something unmistakably him—clean, sharp, steady. His tuxedo fit perfectly, as everything in his life did.
"You look beautiful," he said.
"So do you," I replied. "In a terrifying sort of way."
He chuckled. "That's new."
I tilted my head. "Is it?"
His eyes searched my face, as if looking for something I hadn't said. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Yes," I answered honestly. "Are you?"
His smile faltered for half a second.
There it was.
The crack.
"I should be," he said. "Everyone else seems to be."
I reached out and straightened his cufflink, a small, intimate gesture in a room full of spectacle. "You don't sound convinced."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "Because it all starts to sound the same after a while."
"What does?"
"The praise. The invitations. The expectations." His jaw tightened. "They want something from me. Always."
"And what do you want?" I asked.
For a moment, he didn't answer.
That silence weighed more than words.
Before he could respond, a woman approached—tall, elegant, red lips sharp enough to cut glass.
"Adrian," she said, touching his arm like it belonged to her. "They're waiting for you near the stage."
Her eyes flicked to me, calculating.
"Bianca," Adrian said coolly. "This is Elara."
Bianca smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Of course. The girlfriend."
I met her gaze steadily. "Of four years."
Something shifted.
Adrian placed his hand at the small of my back—not possessive, not defensive, just present.
"I'll join you later," he said to Bianca.
She hesitated. "It won't take long."
He didn't repeat himself.
She left.
I exhaled slowly. "You collect admirers like souvenirs."
He looked at me then—really looked. "And none of them matter."
"That's easy to say."
He leaned closer, his forehead almost touching mine. "It's harder to live."
The orchestra swelled. Applause erupted near the stage. Somewhere, a speech began about generosity and vision.
I studied the man in front of me—the billionaire everyone wanted, the man with everything—and saw the weight he carried behind tailored perfection.
"Dance with me," he said suddenly.
"Now?"
"Before they need me again."
I hesitated only a moment before nodding.
As we moved onto the dance floor, I felt it—the pull, the promise, the unspoken question hovering between us.
Loving Adrian Blackwood wasn't about luxury.
It was about standing beside a man the world desired…
and wondering if love would ever be enough to keep him.
And as his hand tightened around mine, I knew one thing for certain: