The next morning, Lia awoke in unfamiliar silk sheets, tangled between confusion and desire. The kiss from the night before haunted her dreams and hovered at the corners of her memory like smoke that refused to lift. She sat up slowly, the silver satin robe Adrian had left draped over the velvet armchair catching her eye.
It smelled like him—cologne, cedarwood, and something distinctly powerful.
She hated how much she liked it.
Her phone buzzed. Claire.
Claire: You’re late. Again. Also: your kiss with Adrian is on three magazine covers.
Claire: Oh, and there’s a gif of it with the caption “Enemies to Lovers: CEO Edition.”
Claire: I’m saving it for your wedding slideshow.
Lia groaned, threw the phone onto the duvet, and muttered, “I need an escape.”
The door opened.
Adrian leaned in, a coffee mug in each hand, completely at ease in a soft gray henley and drawstring pants that managed to look expensive.
“You talk to yourself in the mornings?”
“Only when I’m regretting life choices.”
“Regret is overrated.” He handed her a mug. “This will help.”
She accepted it reluctantly, noting how close he stood. “You’re very… domestic this morning.”
“I’m not making you pancakes, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”
“Pity. I had a whole fantasy about that.”
He sipped his coffee. “Was I shirtless in the fantasy?”
She raised a brow. “You’re always shirtless in my nightmares.”
He chuckled. “Touché.”
They settled into a comfortable silence, the air between them charged but no longer hostile. Lia noticed the way Adrian’s gaze kept returning to her legs, bare beneath the robe. She pulled it tighter.
“So,” she said. “What’s the damage?”
Adrian didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “PR team’s spinning it as a ‘spontaneous moment of affection during an emotionally vulnerable event.’”
Lia blinked. “Did you rehearse that?”
“Twice, in front of a mirror.”
She snorted into her coffee.
“There’s also a brunch,” he added.
“Excuse me?”
“With my board of investors.”
“Why on earth would they want to see me?”
“They’re worried you’re a distraction.”
She smirked. “They’re not wrong.”
He leaned closer. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
---
The brunch was held at a private rooftop restaurant overlooking the skyline. Sunlight glinted off every surface. Waiters moved like shadows. The table was populated by men in suits, women in sharper suits, and one icy blonde who looked Lia up and down like she was a misfiled tax document.
Adrian made introductions. Lia smiled politely. Her instincts screamed.
The board chairman, Mr. Lennox, cleared his throat. “Adrian. Ms. Hale. Shall we discuss the engagement?”
Adrian’s jaw ticked. “Of course.”
Lia took a slow sip of her mimosa. “You’re concerned it’s a PR move.”
“Isn’t it?” asked the blonde.
Lia smiled. “It’s also a strategic partnership. My firm has already redirected several negative spins on Adrian’s most recent acquisitions.”
Another board member spoke up. “We’ve noticed. The shift in media tone is… significant.”
Lia set down her glass. “Because the public believes in stories. And this?” She touched Adrian’s hand. “This is a good one.”
He turned his hand, lacing their fingers.
“I like her,” said an older woman with steel-gray hair. “She reminds me of my third wife.”
Adrian quirked a brow. “How many did you have?”
“Five. But I only regret one.”
Lia grinned. “Was that the one who wore feathers to the board retreat?”
“She was the one who replaced all the toilet paper with gold leaf.”
“I think I love her.”
The table erupted into laughter.
Adrian leaned toward her. “You’re dangerously charming.”
She murmured back, “I weaponize it selectively.”
---
After brunch, Adrian led her to the rooftop garden, a quieter space enclosed in glass and green.
“You passed,” he said simply.
“I wasn’t auditioning.”
“But you still got the part.”
She turned to him. “Tell me the truth. Why did you really agree to this arrangement?”
Adrian paused.
“My family’s legacy is… fragile. There’s pressure to be a certain type of man. To marry well. To appear controlled.”
“And I don’t scream control.”
“No,” he said softly. “You scream freedom. And that terrifies them.”
She studied him. “But not you?”
“You terrify me in a different way.”
They stood there, toe-to-toe, the wind whispering secrets through the leaves.
Lia tilted her head. “If this is real—if it becomes real—how do we know it’s not just convenience?”
He reached for her hand. “We risk it anyway.”
She looked down.
Then up.
And nodded.
---
That night, Lia returned to her apartment, expecting silence.
Instead, she found a note taped to her door.
“Tomorrow. 7PM. My place. Dress like you’re not afraid of me.”
She stared at it, heart thudding.
A challenge.
A promise.
---
When she arrived the next night, she wore black.
Not just any black—this was a strapless corset dress that wrapped around her like a whispered dare. Her heels clicked across the marble floor of Adrian’s penthouse.
He opened the door himself. Shirt undone. Tie discarded. Sleeves rolled.
He took one look at her and exhaled. “You came.”
“You invited me.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”
She stepped inside. “Then you don’t know me at all.”
Dinner was served on the terrace. Lobster ravioli. A bottle of Barolo. City lights painting shadows across white tablecloths.
They barely touched the food.
Halfway through a toast, she asked, “What are we doing, really?”
“Falling,” he said.
“Is that what this is?”
He nodded.
She stood.
He followed.
Inside, he kissed her like he’d been waiting since the day they met. No pretense. No performance. Just heat.
Her hands found his shirt, tore at buttons. His mouth traced her collarbone, her shoulder, her pulse.
She pulled him to the bedroom.
And neither of them spoke.
There was no need.
---
The next morning, Adrian watched her sleep.
Hair messy.
Lips swollen.
Peaceful, for once.
He reached for his phone. Called his assistant.
“Cancel everything until noon.”
“Sir?”
“I’m busy,” he said.
And lay back down beside her.
Heart full.
World still.
For now.
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