The city never slept, but Amelia wished she could.
Her reflection in the window of her apartment mocked her—cheeks flushed, lips still tingling as if the kiss had branded her. She pressed her forehead to the cool glass and whispered his name like a curse.
Adrian Blackwood.
He wasn't supposed to affect her this way. He was supposed to be a headline in the papers, a rumor whispered at work, a man admired from a safe distance. Instead, he had become an ache she couldn't soothe, the spark that lingered even after the fire should have died.
One kiss. That was all. And yet it felt like everything had shifted.
She tried to reason with herself as she changed into pajamas and brewed chamomile tea. She told herself it had been the champagne, the heady atmosphere of the gala, the way music and laughter blurred into something intoxicating. But the truth pressed heavy in her chest: Adrian had looked at her like she was the only one in the room, and when his lips touched hers, she had kissed him back.
Amelia groaned into her pillow, rolling over to block the thoughts. Sleep eventually claimed her, restless and thin.
By late morning, her phone buzzed relentlessly. Claire.
Claire: Brunch. Eleven. Don't you dare flake.
Amelia dragged herself out of bed. Maybe some girl talk would ground her again. By eleven sharp, she was tucked into their favorite café, tucked into a corner booth while the hum of espresso machines and soft jazz wrapped around her.
Claire swept in moments later, chic as ever in oversized sunglasses and a silk scarf. "You look like hell," she announced cheerfully, sliding into the seat opposite.
"Good morning to you too," Amelia muttered, tugging at her sweater.
Claire arched a brow. "Something happened last night. I can feel it."
Amelia reached for her water. "I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, please. You've got that post-something glow. So…spill."
Amelia hesitated. Claire was her best friend, but she wasn't sure she could say it out loud. Once she did, there'd be no taking it back.
Claire narrowed her eyes. "Was it champagne? Or was it a man?"
Amelia bit her lip. "Both."
Claire's grin spread, but then realization dawned. Her expression dropped. "No. No way. Don't tell me….."
Amelia stayed silent.
Claire slapped the table, startling the waiter passing by. "Adrian Blackwood?!" she hissed. "You kissed Adrian Blackwood?"
Amelia buried her face in her hands. "Shhh!"
"Amelia!" Claire dragged her name out like a reprimand. "Do you have any idea what kind of man he is?"
"I didn't plan it. He kissed me," Amelia said defensively.
"That doesn't make it better! That makes it worse!" Claire leaned forward, lowering her voice but not her intensity. "He's dangerous. The man doesn't do relationships. He collects women like trophies and discards them the second he's bored. Don't you remember Serena? She swore he was different, and then he broke her heart so thoroughly she fled to Paris to lick her wounds."
Amelia remembered Serena vaguely—a socialite who had glowed for a season and then vanished from their circles. She'd never connected the dots to Adrian.
Claire wasn't finished. "Or what about Harper? She left her job, Amelia. Left her entire career after he tossed her aside. This isn't a man you flirt with, Millie. He's a black hole."
Amelia sipped her coffee to hide her trembling hands. The words should have been enough to snuff out whatever dangerous pull she felt. But instead, they only added fuel to the fire. Because she wasn't Serena. She wasn't Harper. She wasn't anyone else.
"I can handle myself," she said softly.
Claire caught her hand across the table, squeezing tightly. "Promise me you won't let him pull you under."
Amelia nodded, though her heart whispered otherwise.
Monday arrived with cruel efficiency. Amelia buried herself in spreadsheets and project notes, grateful for the distraction. But fate was unkind. Her firm had just signed a contract with Blackwood Enterprises, and by mid-morning, she was stepping into their sleek headquarters with her boss.
The lobby gleamed with glass and chrome, bustling with sharp-suited employees who carried themselves with the brisk efficiency of soldiers. Adrian's presence was everywhere his initials engraved on elevator doors, his vision evident in every polished corner.
Amelia forced herself to breathe. It was just work. That was all.
But when the conference room doors opened and he walked in, she knew her resolve was about to shatter.
Adrian Blackwood filled the space effortlessly, commanding attention without a word. His eyes found hers immediately, and the faintest smirk curved his lips, as though the rest of the world was irrelevant.
"Good morning," he drawled, his voice like velvet wrapped in steel.
Her boss beamed, exchanging pleasantries with him. Amelia lowered her gaze, focusing intently on her notes. But she could feel Adrian's gaze like a hand on her skin, lingering, deliberate.
The meeting dragged on, but Amelia barely registered the numbers and projections. Every time she dared glance up, his eyes were waiting. She fumbled her pen twice and nearly spilled water across the table. Her boss didn't notice, but Adrian did. His smirk deepened.
When the meeting finally adjourned, Amelia bolted for the door. She needed air. Distance. Anything to steady her pounding heart.
But a voice stopped her in the hallway.
"Miss Cole."
Her body froze. She turned slowly. Adrian leaned casually against the wall, hands in his pockets, every inch the predator disguised in elegance.
"We need to talk," he said simply.
"There's nothing to talk about," she shot back, sharper than she intended.
His smile was infuriatingly calm. "You kissed me back."
Heat flared across her cheeks. "It was a mistake."
"Was it?" He stepped closer, his eyes locked on hers. "Because I can't stop thinking about it. And I don't believe you can either."
Her breath caught. "Stay away from me."
Adrian tilted his head, studying her like she was a riddle he had every intention of solving. "That's not going to happen."
The words hit her like a blow. She spun on her heel and stalked away, but his voice lingered, low and certain, echoing in her chest all the way home.
That night, Amelia sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop glowing against the darkness. Work deadlines loomed, but she couldn't focus. All she could hear was Adrian's voice, confident and unyielding. All she could feel was the ghost of his touch.
Claire's warning rang in her ears. Adrian Blackwood was dangerous. He was a storm, and she was already caught in the winds.
And yet, despite every reason to stay away, Amelia knew the truth she didn't dare admit. She was already falling.