The rain hadn't stopped for hours.
It drummed softly against the windows of Dominic Wolfe's penthouse, blurring the skyline into smears of silver and shadow. Inside, the air was warmer, heavier—not just with the scent of Adair's perfume still lingering in the hallway, but with the silence they had both retreated into after their argument.
Dominic sat in the living room, a glass of untouched bourbon in his hand. His phone blinked with messages from board members, threats from competitors, and a call from his brother, Elijah. He ignored them all. His mind was still trapped in the way Adair had looked at him earlier—like she saw through the bulletproof shell he wore around everyone else.
And it unnerved him.
Upstairs, Adair stared out the guest bedroom window, arms folded tightly around herself. The dress she wore clung to her skin after the earlier storm, her damp curls loose around her shoulders. She had planned to leave after their meeting turned into a personal confrontation, but something had made her stop.
It wasn't fear.
It was something more dangerous—curiosity. Maybe even attraction.
Downstairs, Dominic finally stood. His steps were measured, but his pulse betrayed him. When he knocked gently on her door, there was no answer.
So he spoke.
"I shouldn't have said what I did earlier."
Silence.
"I'm not used to someone pushing back," he added. "And I'm definitely not used to someone walking away."
The door creaked open.
Adair's eyes were tired, but steady. "You're used to control, Dominic. People do what you want because they're scared of what happens if they don't. But I'm not scared of you."
He didn't smile. But something flickered in his expression—something close to respect.
"Then what are you still doing here?" he asked, voice low.
She hesitated. "I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe I wanted to see if the man behind Wolfe Enterprises was anything more than fire and steel."
That broke something in him.
Without a word, he stepped inside, his presence filling the room like a thundercloud. He was so close she could smell the cologne on his shirt—something dark, expensive, and devastating. His hand reached out, not quite touching her face.
"Adair... this thing between us... I didn't plan it," he said, voice raw.
"Neither did I."
And suddenly the air snapped.
They didn't kiss. Not yet. But the tension between them was electric. Her breath caught as his hand brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was gentle, reverent. A man used to breaking things had paused—for once—not to hurt, but to feel.
She stepped back first. "I should go."
"You could," he said, "but you won't."
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't start that again."
But he shook his head. "No games. Just truth. You feel it too."
Adair looked away. "What I feel doesn't matter. You'll burn anyone who gets too close."
Dominic took a step forward. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm waiting for someone who can survive the fire."
There it was again—that dangerous honesty. The kind that stripped away armor and left nothing but skin and soul.
She didn't respond. Couldn't.
Instead, she walked past him, grabbed her jacket, and left the room. But he didn't follow. Not yet. Because even wolves knew when to wait.
Downstairs, the elevator chimed.
Adair pressed the button, heart pounding, torn between what she wanted and what she knew. Loving a man like Dominic wasn't just risky—it was reckless. But walking away from him didn't feel like safety anymore. It felt like running.
Just as the doors began to close, a hand stopped them.
Dominic stood there, breathing hard, as if he'd wrestled with himself the whole way down.
"One dinner," he said.
Adair blinked. "What?"
"One dinner. Neutral territory. No games. No power plays. Just you and me."
She stared at him.
And then, slowly—against her better judgment—she nodded.
The doors slid shut.