The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a space that didn't look real.
Glass walls framed the sleeping city, rain streaming down the windows like falling stars. The air smelled faintly of cedar and something colder—like steel and secrets.
Lena stepped inside, feeling small. She'd never seen anything like it. The penthouse was a cathedral of glass and shadow, every line clean, every surface precise. But beneath the perfection, there was silence—thick and unnatural, as if the place itself was holding its breath.
Adrian walked ahead of her, removing his coat without a word. He looked different here—more dangerous, more human, stripped of the armor he wore in the office.
"You live here alone?" she asked, her voice quiet in the vast space.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Alone is easier."
"Easier doesn't always mean better."
He didn't answer. Instead, he poured himself a drink and handed her a glass of water. "You'll stay in the guest room. It's down the hall. Security will be on the floor below us. No one comes in or out without my permission."
She hesitated. "This feels like a cage."
His gaze sharpened. "It's protection."
"From what, Adrian?"
"From everyone who wants to hurt you because of me."
She met his eyes. "Then tell me why they want to hurt you."
His jaw tightened, but this time he didn't deflect. "Because I made enemies the day I inherited this company. My father built it on deals that weren't all clean. When he died, I buried what I could—and burned what I couldn't."
Lena studied him carefully. "And Ethan?"
Adrian's expression darkened. "Ethan worked for one of them."
The air shifted, thick with something she couldn't name.
---
Later, when he finally retreated to his office, she wandered quietly through the penthouse. Every room was immaculate, yet lifeless—no family photos, no warmth, only order and glass and silence.
Until she reached a locked door at the end of the hall.
The handle was sleek and cold, the digital panel glowing faintly red.
She shouldn't have touched it.
But curiosity whispered louder than reason.
As her fingers brushed the surface, the light flickered—green for a second, then back to red. A mechanical voice murmured:
> Access denied.
Lena jumped, heart pounding.
"Miss Hart."
She turned sharply. Adrian was behind her, barefoot, his shirt sleeves rolled, his expression unreadable.
"I—" she began. "I was just—"
"Exploring," he finished. His voice wasn't angry, just quiet. "You should know by now that curiosity can be dangerous in this world."
"I didn't mean to invade your privacy."
He stepped closer, his gaze steady. "That door isn't about privacy. It's about the past. And the past isn't safe."
Her eyes searched his face. "Then why keep it locked here, in your home?"
"Because some ghosts need to be close," he said softly.
The vulnerability in his voice made her chest ache. For a moment, neither of them moved. The storm outside flashed again, lighting the room in silver.
Then he turned away. "Go get some rest, Lena."
---
But rest didn't come.
Hours later, she sat on the edge of the bed, unable to stop thinking about the locked door. What was behind it? A vault? Documents? Something darker?
The penthouse was quiet—too quiet. She slipped out of bed and crept down the hallway, following the soft hum of the storm beyond the glass. When she reached the living room, she saw Adrian standing there again, staring out at the city.
He didn't turn when he spoke. "You can't sleep either."
"How did you know?"
"I heard you."
She walked closer, stopping beside him. "What are you thinking about?"
He let out a faint, humorless laugh. "How easy it would be to let you go. And how impossible that's becoming."
Her breath caught. "Then don't let me go."
He looked at her then, the stormlight reflecting in his eyes. "You don't understand, Lena. The closer you get to me, the more you'll lose."
She shook her head. "You don't get to decide what I lose."
For a moment, it seemed he might say something else—something that would change everything. But then his phone buzzed, slicing through the silence. He checked the screen, and his face went pale.
"What is it?" she asked.
He turned the phone toward her. A message.
> We found her.
Before she could speak, Adrian was already moving. "Stay here."
"Adrian—"
"Lock the doors. Don't open them for anyone."
And then he was gone, leaving her alone in the glass palace with nothing but the echo of thunder and the faint, distant sound of danger rising.