The storm came without warning.
Not from the sky, but from him.
Adrian Vega had always been the kind of man who commanded silence when he entered a room. But tonight, silence wasn't enough. His anger had weight, heat, direction. It followed her through the penthouse like smoke, thick and suffocating.
Elena felt it before she even turned the key to her bedroom door. The faint creak behind her, the low hum of his voice.
"Were you planning to ignore me all night?"
She froze. Her hand stilled on the handle. "It's late, Adrian."
"That's not an answer."
His voice was controlled, too controlled, the kind that made her pulse climb because she knew what it meant when control started to crack.
She turned slowly, her silk robe catching the faint light from the hallway. He stood near the edge of the living room, hands in his pockets, jacket discarded, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His expression was carved from restraint.
"What do you want?" she asked, her tone calm, or at least pretending to be.
"What do I want?" His laugh was low, humorless. "Let's start with the truth. What were you doing with Ethan tonight?"
Her stomach dropped. "So this is about your brother now?"
His gaze darkened. "Answer me."
Elena straightened her shoulders. "We talked. We danced. You saw it."
"I saw a little more than that," Adrian said quietly. "I saw you smiling."
The accusation struck harder than she expected. "Since when did smiling become a crime?"
"Since you forgot who you belong to."
Her breath caught. "I don't belong to anyone."
He took a step closer, then another, each movement deliberate, lethal in its precision. "Legally, you do. You signed the papers, remember? One year. My wife."
"You think that means ownership?" she shot back. "You think money buys loyalty, affection, people?"
"It buys silence," he said. "And compliance."
Her eyes flashed. "Then you wasted your money."
Something inside him flickered, sharp as lightning. For a moment, he looked almost human, not the cold, untouchable CEO, but the boy she once knew. The one who had laughed under the rain and held her hand like the world was theirs.
But it vanished as quickly as it came.
"Do you even hear yourself?" she whispered. "You're punishing me for breathing near your brother. For surviving this circus you built."
"I'm protecting what's mine," he said, voice low.
"This isn't protection, Adrian. It's obsession."
He tilted his head, studying her, the flush on her cheeks, the fury in her stance. "Then tell me," he murmured, stepping close enough for her to feel the heat of him, "why are you shaking?"
Her heart stuttered.
"I'm not," she said, but her voice betrayed her.
His eyes softened, dangerously. "You hate me so much, yet your body tells a different story."
"Don't..."
But he didn't listen. He never did when emotion replaced reason.
His hand found her wrist, not rough but firm, an unspoken warning, a question she didn't know how to answer.
"Elena." His voice was lower now, hoarse, almost pleading. "Tell yourself you hate me. Maybe you'll believe it."
She met his gaze, ready to retort, to wound him the way he'd wounded her, but the words never came. His hand rose to her face, fingers brushing her jaw, his touch both gentle and cruel in its familiarity.
And then he kissed her.
The world went silent.
The city beyond the glass blurred into streaks of gold and shadow.
It wasn't a soft kiss, it was desperate, angry, punishing. The kind born from nights of restraint and years of unfinished sentences. His lips pressed against hers like a challenge, his breath tasting of whiskey and regret.
For one suspended heartbeat, she didn't resist. Because beneath the fury, beneath the walls, there was still something that burned, something that never died.
Her fingers curled into his shirt before her mind caught up with her body. She hated that he could still undo her so easily, that one touch could make her remember everything she'd sworn to forget.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, both of them breathing hard.
"Tell me you feel nothing," he whispered. "Say it."
She opened her mouth, to deny, to lie, to protect herself, but nothing came.
His eyes searched hers, dark and furious, as if he wanted her to break, to confess, to surrender.
And that was when she realized what this was.
Not a kiss.
A test.
A war disguised as desire.
She shoved him back, the movement sharp and sudden.
Adrian stumbled a step, jaw tightening, chest rising and falling.
Her hand struck before she could stop herself. The sound of the slap cracked through the silence like thunder.
He didn't move. Didn't even flinch.
Her palm burned. Her heart did too.
"You don't get to do that," she said, her voice shaking. "You don't get to take and call it love. You lost that right the moment you chose revenge."
He looked at her, really looked, and for the first time in years, she saw something raw flash behind his composure.
Regret.
But it was gone in an instant, buried under the steel of his expression.
"Then stop looking at me like you still care," he said coldly.
She turned away, her breath uneven. "You mistake pity for affection."
"And you mistake denial for strength," he countered.
The words hit like a blow. She didn't answer. Couldn't.
She walked to the window instead, pressing her trembling hands against the cold glass, staring at the rain streaking down like tears she refused to cry.
Behind her, she heard him exhale, a long, exhausted sound that didn't belong to the man the world feared.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter. "You think I don't hate myself for this?"
She closed her eyes. "You should."
He didn't argue. The silence that followed was heavy, full of everything they couldn't say, everything that still chained them together despite the wreckage.
When she finally turned, he was gone.
The door clicked softly behind him, leaving her alone with the echo of what just happened, the taste of him still lingering on her lips, the scent of rain and whiskey in the air.
Elena pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the frantic pulse beneath her skin.
It wasn't supposed to feel like this.
It wasn't supposed to hurt.
She sank to the floor, pulling her knees close, staring at the city that glittered beyond the glass like a cruel illusion. Somewhere out there, people were falling in love, chasing dreams, believing in promises.
And she was here, trapped between a past she couldn't escape and a man she couldn't hate.
Her phone buzzed on the table. A news alert.
"The Billionaire's Secret Bride: Exclusive Photos from the Vega Gala."
Her face filled the screen, smiling, perfect, untouched.
The headline beneath it twisted the knife deeper.
Rumors surface of a fractured marriage between Adrian Vega and his mysterious wife. Sources hint the union may not be what it seems.
She stared at the image until her reflection blurred.
Her lips still tingled. Her hands still trembled.
And all she could think was...
If the kiss meant nothing,
why did it feel like everything?
The storm outside intensified, rattling the windows. Adrian's voice echoed faintly in her mind, the words that refused to leave her alone.
"Tell yourself you hate me… maybe you'll believe it."
Elena turned off her phone and stood in the dark, trembling, furious, alive.
And somewhere deep down, she feared he might be right.