Monday came wrapped in gray clouds. From her desk outside Adrian's office, Lena watched the storm gathering over the city's skyline and wondered if the weather somehow reflected her life lately—unpredictable, thrilling, a little dangerous.
Adrian hadn't said much since the dinner. He'd been polite, professional, but distant in a way that made her stomach twist with questions. The words "you matter to me" still echoed in her head, even though he'd said them like a warning rather than a confession.
She told herself not to think about it. She failed miserably.
---
"Miss Hart," Mr. Reed said from behind her. "Mr. Blackwood has a meeting downtown. He asked that you accompany him."
"Of course," she said, grabbing her notepad and tablet.
Ten minutes later, she was in the backseat of the black sedan, seated beside the man who had turned her world upside down. Adrian looked out the window, unreadable as ever, phone silent in his hand.
"Long day ahead?" she ventured.
"They're all long," he said. "This one just has higher stakes."
She nodded, glancing at him. "You look tired."
He turned toward her slightly, one corner of his mouth lifting. "You should see the other guy."
She smiled despite herself, then looked away quickly.
---
The meeting took place in a hotel ballroom filled with investors and journalists. Adrian commanded attention the moment he entered, his calm confidence silencing the crowd. Lena stayed by his side, jotting notes, passing files, and learning the rhythm of his world—precise, strategic, relentless.
But halfway through a presentation, she noticed something strange. One of the investors—a gray-haired man with sharp eyes—kept watching Adrian with something colder than respect.
When Adrian stepped aside to take a call, the man approached Lena. "You must be the new assistant," he said, his tone laced with curiosity.
"Yes, sir."
He leaned in slightly. "Word of advice. Don't get too comfortable. People who stand too close to Adrian Blackwood tend to disappear."
Lena froze. "Excuse me?"
He smiled thinly. "Ask him what happened to his father." Then he walked away before she could reply.
Her pulse raced. She had no idea who the man was, but the way he said it—calm, certain—sent a chill down her spine.
When Adrian returned, she forced a smile and said nothing.
---
That night, the storm finally broke. Thunder rolled across the city as she carried the last files into his office. Adrian stood by the window again, lightning outlining his silhouette.
"Leave them on the desk," he said without turning.
"Who was the man who spoke to me today?" she asked.
He went still. "Which man?"
"The investor. Gray hair. Expensive watch. He told me people close to you disappear."
Adrian turned slowly, his eyes darker than the storm behind him. "He said that?"
"Yes."
He walked toward her, every step measured. "Did he tell you his name?"
She shook her head. "No."
"Then forget him," Adrian said quietly. "Forget what he said."
"I can't just forget it."
"You can," he said, his tone suddenly sharp, "and you will."
The command in his voice startled her. "Why are you angry at me? I didn't—"
"I'm not angry at you," he cut in. "I'm angry at ghosts who don't stay buried."
She took a step back. "What happened to your father, Adrian?"
Silence filled the room. Lightning flashed, and for a moment she thought he wouldn't answer. Then he said, barely above a whisper, "He died because he trusted the wrong people."
She swallowed hard. "And you think that'll happen again?"
His gaze locked on hers. "I think trust is a luxury I can't afford."
The raw honesty in his voice disarmed her. Without thinking, she reached out and touched his sleeve. "You don't have to do everything alone."
He stared at her hand, then at her face. Something flickered in his eyes—fear, maybe, or longing—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. He stepped back, breaking the contact.
"Go home, Lena."
"I was just—"
"Now."
She hesitated, hurt and confused, then gathered her things and left.
---
In the hallway, her reflection followed her in the mirrored walls. For the first time, she realized how deeply she'd stepped into a life she didn't understand—a life full of secrets and half-truths.
When the elevator doors closed, she saw Adrian's reflection still standing by the window, head bowed.
Inside the office, Adrian opened a drawer and pulled out a small photograph—himself as a boy beside his father. The same photograph whose duplicate hung cracked in the hallway. He traced the fracture line with his thumb.
"Not again," he murmured.
Then he locked the picture away and turned off the lights.