Too Close for Comfort
The study smelled like leather and old books.
Lily noticed it immediately—the quiet weight of the room, the way everything seemed carefully chosen and meticulously placed. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, filled with volumes that looked more decorative than read. A massive desk dominated the center, neat to the point of intimidation.
It felt… private.
Adrian moved past her and shut the door with a soft click.
The sound made Lily's pulse jump.
"This room isn't for wandering," he said calmly, turning to face her.
"I didn't wander," Lily replied. "I paused."
"That's worse."
She crossed her arms. "You invited me in."
"Because curiosity uncontained becomes a liability," Adrian said. "I prefer to deal with it directly."
She stared at him. "You really talk like a business manual."
"And yet," he said, stepping closer, "you're still here."
She swallowed.
They stood far too close—close enough that she could see the faint crease between his brows, the slight shadow of stubble along his jaw. Up close, he didn't look untouchable.
He looked tired.
"You work too much," Lily said before she could stop herself.
Adrian stiffened. "You don't know anything about my schedule."
"I know you were up past midnight," she said. "And awake before sunrise."
His eyes narrowed. "Were you watching me?"
She scoffed. "Please. You're hard to miss. The house practically rearranges itself around you."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "That's intentional."
Of course it was.
She walked further into the room, fingers trailing along the spines of the books. "You don't actually read these, do you?"
"Yes."
"All of them?"
"No," he admitted. "Some are for show."
She smiled. "Finally. A flaw."
"Careful," he said. "I can still add a rule about sarcasm."
"You'd lose half your entertainment."
He didn't deny it.
Lily turned toward the desk and noticed a framed photograph partially hidden behind a stack of folders. It showed a younger Adrian—less polished, almost smiling—standing beside a woman Lily didn't recognize.
Before she could stop herself, she reached for it.
Adrian's hand closed over hers.
The contact was instant. Electric.
Her breath caught.
"Don't," he said quietly.
She looked up at him, their hands still touching, his grip firm but not rough.
"Who is she?" Lily asked softly.
His jaw tightened. "Someone from the past."
"That's not an answer."
"It's all you're getting."
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The room felt smaller. Warmer.
She became acutely aware of his thumb resting against her wrist, of the way his breath slowed as if he, too, had noticed how close they were.
"You don't trust easily," Lily said.
"No," Adrian replied. "And neither should you."
She tilted her head. "Then why marry a stranger?"
His gaze flickered to her lips.
"Because I needed control," he said. "And you needed protection."
"That doesn't sound romantic."
"This isn't romance."
She laughed softly, though her heart was pounding. "Funny. Because it's starting to feel complicated."
Something unreadable crossed his face.
Adrian released her hand and stepped back.
"This conversation is over," he said.
Just like that, the moment shattered.
Lily let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "You're very good at shutting doors."
"It's necessary."
"For survival?"
"For power."
She shook her head. "Those aren't the same thing."
He didn't respond.
Later that evening, Lily found herself pacing her bedroom, replaying the moment in the study over and over again. She wasn't used to someone like Adrian—someone so tightly controlled that every crack felt dangerous.
And tempting.
A knock came at her door.
She froze.
"Yes?" she called.
"It's me."
Adrian.
She opened the door cautiously.
"I forgot something," he said, holding out a sleek black card. "Your personal credit card."
Her eyes widened. "Oh no."
"You'll need it," he said. "Clothes. Appearances."
"I don't want your money," Lily replied.
"It's not a gift," he said. "It's part of the contract."
She stared at the card. "And if I don't use it?"
"Then you'll look like you don't belong," Adrian said. "And that's not an option."
She took the card reluctantly. "You really don't like giving people choices."
"I do," he replied. "I just make sure the correct one is obvious."
She shook her head. "You're impossible."
"And yet," he said quietly, "you agreed to marry me."
She met his gaze. "I didn't agree to fall for you."
Something in his expression shifted—subtle, but real.
"Neither did I," Adrian said.
The silence stretched between them.
For a moment, Lily thought he might step closer.
Instead, he turned away.
"Good night, Lily."
"Good night… husband," she said teasingly.
He paused at the end of the hallway, his voice low. "Be careful with that word."
Her smile faded.
The door closed behind him.
Lily leaned against it, heart racing.
She had a feeling this marriage was going to be far more dangerous than either of them had planned.