The city outside Adrian's penthouse was a restless pulse of lights and noise, an endless, flickering reminder that the world never really slept.
Neither did he.
Not anymore.
He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a tumbler of untouched whiskey in his hand, staring out at the skyline like it might offer answers.
It didn't.
It never did.
Behind him, the vast space of the apartment stretched cold and cavernous, minimalist furniture, sharp lines, nothing to suggest that anyone really lived there.
It was a beautiful prison he'd built for himself, stone by stone.
Tonight, it felt particularly empty.
Particularly heavy.
Adrian's jaw tensed as he dragged a hand through his hair, setting the glass down without drinking.
He wasn't drunk.
He wasn't anything.
He was... caught.
And that was dangerous.
Because Adrian Vale didn't get caught.
He didn't fixate and he didn't notice.
Not until her.
The girl with the storm behind her eyes and the weight of grief carved into her small, stubborn shoulders.
The girl who moved through the world like a ghost trying desperately to stay invisible and somehow making it impossible to look away.
The girl he should have forgotten the second she slipped from his sight.
Instead, here he was.
Three a.m.
Awake.
Burning.
Again.
A quiet knock at the door pulled him from the spiral.
He didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
The door creaked open slightly, and Chloe stepped inside, her heels silent against the polished floors.
Chloe was his assistant, very competent, sharp, almost inhumanly observant.
If Adrian was the blade, Chloe was the hand that wielded it unflinching, efficient.
He didn't trust easily.
But he trusted her. At least, as much as he trusted anyone.
"Sir," she said, keeping her voice low. "You haven't answered your messages."
Adrian didn't turn. He kept his gaze pinned to the skyline, his reflection a dark smear against the glass.
"I'm aware," he said dryly.
Chloe hesitated, reading more in his posture than most people could in his words.
"You're... distracted," she ventured carefully. "Unsettled."
He almost laughed. The word sounded ridiculous in her mouth.
Unsettled.
He wasn't a man who got unsettled.
And yet, here he was.
Still, he said nothing.
Chloe shifted slightly, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance.
"This is the third night in a row you haven't slept," she said, more gently now. "Whatever it is, sir, you should deal with it. Or let me deal with it."
Adrian finally turned, his expression unreadable in the low light.
Chloe didn't flinch under his stare.
She never did.
She waited.
He weighed his words carefully.
She deserved some truth.
She always knew when he lied, anyway.
After a long moment, he spoke, voice low and rough-edged:
"I've seen the same girl four times in a week."
Chloe blinked, the slightest flicker of surprise passing over her usually impassive face.
Adrian stepped away from the window, the city lights spilling in stripes across his chest, throwing the angles of his face into stark relief.
"I don't believe in accidents," he added, almost to himself.
Almost like it tasted wrong in his mouth.
Because he didn't. Accidents were for the weak and coincidences were for fools.
Everything else was designed, crafted, forced, taken.
Chloe folded her arms carefully, considering him.
"The same girl," she repeated, as if testing the weight of the words. "Where?"
Adrian let out a breath, sharp and short.
"The café," he said. "The street."
He paused, his mouth tightening.
"The hospital."
He didn't say the bookstore.
Not yet.
Not when the memory was still too raw, the warmth of the book still lingering like a ghost in his hand.
Chloe's brows drew together slightly.
"Is she following you?" she asked, calm but alert. "Should I run background?"
Adrian almost smiled.
Almost.
"No," he said. "It's not like that."
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
She wasn't dangerous in the traditional sense.
She wasn't a threat.
But she was... something.
A pull in his blood.
A thread he couldn't untangle.
It wasn't logical.
It wasn't clean. And it was driving him insane.
He turned back to the window, shoulders tight.
Chloe watched him for a moment longer, then, with her usual efficiency, moved toward the bar cart tucked in the corner.
She poured fresh coffee instead of whiskey.
Set it down on the low table beside him without a word.
It was a small mercy.
A silent acknowledgment that whatever was happening, he wasn't ready to name it yet.
But it was happening.
And Chloe, pragmatic as ever, was already adjusting her calculations around it.
She lingered by the door before leaving, her voice softer now:
"Just say the word, sir."
Meaning: if you need me to find her, I will.
If you need me to protect you from yourself, I will.
If you need me to fix it, I will.
Adrian didn't answer.
He just stood there, hands curled into loose fists at his sides, heart beating a little too fast, a little too loud.
In the reflection of the glass, he saw a man he barely recognized.
Tense.
Unmoored.
Restless.
Because of a girl who didn't know the first thing about him.
Because of a girl who moved through his world like she didn't even realize it was on fire.
Adrian closed his eyes briefly.
He could pretend, for a while longer, that this was nothing.
A coincidence.
A meaningless glitch in the pattern.
But deep down, in the places he never let anyone see.
He already knew better.
He wasn't circling her.
He was being pulled.
And it was only a matter of time before he stopped resisting.