The store was finally empty, the scent of expensive fabric mingling with the sharp, clinical smell of floor wax. Adrian moved with practiced, mechanical efficiency, his movements sharp as he folded the final stacks of cashmere. He was acutely aware of the weight of the silence behind him—or rather, the weight of the man standing by the entrance.
Alexander hadn't left. He hadn't worked. He had simply existed in Adrian's space all day, a silent, predatory shadow that followed every tilt of Adrian's head and every interaction he had with a customer.
Adrian grabbed his jacket and moved toward the door. He had a shift at the pub with Jacob, and the thought of the loud, rowdy atmosphere felt like a sanctuary compared to the suffocating tension of this store.
He pushed through the front doors, expecting the cool night air to bring relief, but Alexander was already there. He was leaning against his sleek, obsidian-black car, looking like a dark prince carved from granite.
