The penthouse was silent except for the faint hum of the city far below. Valeria stepped out of the elevator, clutching the small grocery bag against her chest.
She had returned after her café shift, exhausted, smelling faintly of coffee and vanilla cream. The scent clung to her skin. As she stepped into the wide, empty penthouse, the vastness of it pressed on her too elegant, too lonely.
"Just a few more days," she whispered to herself, setting her things on the counter. "Then I'll find a place of my own."
She changed into something simple an oversized white T-shirt and nothing else but soft shorts that barely showed. It wasn't supposed to matter. No one came here anyway.
She tied her hair loosely and began to cook something warm and light, the kind of meal she made at the café when things got slow: garlic butter pasta, soft bread, and soup simmering gently. The scent filled the space, washing away the chill of the marble and glass.
Across the city, Adrian sat in his office at the mansion, pretending to read a report. But the words blurred. Every few minutes his gaze wandered to the clock, to the skyline that pointed toward the penthouse tower.
Why am I even thinking about it?
He exhaled sharply, shutting the file. It was ridiculous. He didn't check on anyone. People came and went, but they were never on his mind. Yet tonight, he could almost smell that faint trace of coffee, the sound of her quiet voice saying, "Thank you, sir."
Before he could reason with himself, he was already standing, grabbing his keys.
"Just to make sure she's settled," he muttered under his breath. "That's all."
The lie didn't convince even him.
The elevator chimed softly, and Valeria turned around, startled.
The doors slid open and there he was. Adrian De Vere, tall and sharp in a dark shirt, his presence filling the entire room. The faint scent of rain and steel followed him in.
Her heart stopped. "S-Sir?"
He stepped inside slowly, eyes flicking from her face to her bare legs before he looked away, jaw tightening slightly.
"I was nearby," he said, tone even but rougher than usual. "Wanted to see if everything's fine."
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She grabbed the hem of her shirt, tugging it lower. Why does it always happen like this? Every time he appears, I'm half-dressed or flustered like an idiot…
"I—I was just cooking," she said quickly, moving toward the kitchen. "I didn't expect—"
Her words broke when his stomach gave a low, audible rumble in the silence.
For the first time, his controlled expression cracked. A faint flush touched his cheek.
Valeria blinked and then, despite herself, a tiny laugh escaped. "Sir… would you like me to cook extra for you?"
Her voice was soft, teasing but careful.
He looked at her, eyes dark and unreadable, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged as if something unsaid hovered just at the edge of it.
"That depends," he murmured finally, taking off his gloves and placing them on the counter. "Are you sure you can handle feeding your boss?"
She turned back to the stove, pretending to focus. "You're not my boss right now, sir. You're just hungry."
A dangerous glint crossed his eyes not anger, something else. Something he hadn't felt in years.
"Then feed me," he said quietly.
Her hands trembled just a little as she plated the food. The silence grew thick only the clink of plates, the faint hum of the city, and their breaths filling the air.
When she set the dish before him, Adrian leaned back, watching her every move. She was simple, unpolished yet there was something about her calmness, her small smile as she said, "Careful, it's hot," that made the ice in him crack just a little more.
He took a bite. For a man who had eaten from the best chefs in Europe, it shouldn't have mattered. But it did.
She sat across from him quietly, sipping her soup. The light from the city danced across her face soft, golden, warm.
Adrian's gaze lingered a moment too long before he forced himself to look away. "It's good."
Valeria blinked. "You mean it?"
He nodded once. "Don't let it go to your head."
She giggled, the sound light and fleeting but it hit something deep inside him.
He shouldn't have come. He knew it. But as he watched her, barefoot, laughing softly, stirring warmth into his cold world without even realizing it…
he knew he would come again.
Not as an excuse. Not even as protection.
But simply because something in her presence made him forget who he was and that was dangerous.