Page 3 — The Rain Doesn't Stop
Eli didn't remember falling asleep. One moment, he had been listening to the soft murmur of rain against the windows; the next, he was waking up to the quiet sound of footsteps.
He opened his eyes to find Adrian standing by the window, half-shadowed by the gray morning light. He looked as though he hadn't slept at all — the same suit from the night before, the same cold glass of whiskey untouched on the table beside him.
"Morning," Eli said softly, his voice still rough with sleep.
Adrian turned slightly, his gaze unreadable. "You're awake."
Eli sat up, pulling the sheets closer around him. "I didn't mean to fall asleep here."
"You were exhausted," Adrian replied. "It happens."
The air between them was thick — not uncomfortable, but charged, like something was waiting to be said. Eli studied the man before him, the sharp lines of his face, the way his eyes softened only when he wasn't aware they were being watched.
"You didn't sleep either," Eli said quietly.
Adrian gave a faint, humorless smile. "I rarely do."
Eli hesitated, then asked, "Because of work?"
"Because of everything," Adrian said, his tone calm, yet distant. "There are some things money can't silence. Ghosts. Regrets. Memories."
Eli wanted to ask what kind of ghosts haunted him, but he could tell that was a door Adrian wasn't ready to open. Instead, he stood, padding barefoot across the marble floor until he was standing a few steps away.
"You helped me," Eli said. "You didn't have to. Most people wouldn't."
Adrian's gaze flicked to him, sharp and assessing. "And you think that makes me a good man?"
"I don't know what it makes you," Eli admitted. "But it doesn't make you the monster people whisper about."
For a heartbeat, something dark flashed through Adrian's eyes — a memory, a warning, a truth. "You don't know what people whisper for a reason."
"Then tell me," Eli said softly. "Tell me what they say."
Adrian crossed the distance between them in two slow, deliberate steps. "They say I ruin everything I touch," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "And they're right."
Eli's breath caught. "Then maybe you've just been touching the wrong things."
The words hung in the air like smoke — fragile, fleeting, and far too daring. Adrian's eyes darkened further, not with anger, but something else entirely. He reached out, his hand hovering just above Eli's cheek, but he didn't touch him. He stopped himself, as if afraid that even a single touch would break whatever fragile restraint he had left.
"You don't understand what you're walking into," Adrian said finally.
"Maybe not," Eli replied. "But I'm not walking away."
For a long moment, they stood there — the broken boy and the man who'd forgotten how to feel — framed by the sound of rain that never seemed to end.
And outside, the city waited, unaware that something dangerous had begun behind those glass walls — a connection forged in darkn
ess, and a desire neither of them could escape.