"Don't."
That was the first word out of Adrian's mouth when Mia stepped into the kitchen the next morning.
She froze mid-step.
He didn't turn around. He stood at the marble counter, knuckles white around a mug of untouched coffee. His suit jacket was already on, tie already knotted, hair already perfect, except it wasn't. Not really. The strands at the front were slightly disheveled, like he'd run his hands through it a hundred times since dawn.
"Don't what?" Mia asked, even though she already knew. Even though her heart was already crashing against her ribs in anticipation of the answer.
"Don't say anything about last night."
There it was.
Sharp.
Clipped.
Clean, like a surgical cut meant to separate two things that needed each other too much.
Mia's throat tightened. God, why did it hurt? Why did he get to decide the rules after he kissed her like she was the only thing in the world that made sense?
She forced her arms across her chest. "Relax. I wasn't planning to tattoo the memory on my forehead."
He stiffened, a visible, piercing reaction that might as well have been a confession.
"Mia." This time he said her name like a warning. Like a plea. "We agreed—"
"No," she interrupted. "You decided. I didn't agree to anything."
That, finally, made him turn around.
His eyes.
God.
They were tired. Tormented. But burning with something he didn't want her to see. Something he was actively fighting.
"Mia," he repeated, softer now. "You know we can't go down that road."
"Then why did you kiss me?" she shot back.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
Jaw ticking.
"Mistake," he said.
Her chest tightened painfully. "Right."
She tried to step past him toward the fridge, but he moved instinctively, blocking her path. Not touching her, he wouldn't dare but close enough that she felt the electric tension between them snap taut.
"Don't twist this into something it wasn't," Adrian said.
She laughed, bitterly. "Oh, trust me, I'm not twisting anything. You've already made it very clear."
He swallowed. She could see the movement in his throat, tight and reluctant.
"Mia… I shouldn't have kissed you."
"Too late."
Their eyes locked and for a single suspended second, neither of them breathed.
Because they both knew he didn't regret it.
He regretted wanting it.
Wanting her.
Adrian stepped back first. It was small, but symbolic. A retreat.
"I have a meeting," he muttered. "I won't be back until late."
"Fine."
He grabbed his coat, moved toward the door… then stopped as if fighting himself.
"Mia?"
"What?"
He hesitated and that alone shocked her. Adrian Drake didn't hesitate. Ever.
But when he finally spoke, his voice was strained.
"Don't… avoid eating."
She blinked. "What?"
"You didn't touch anything last night. And I know you're upset…."
"I'm not upset," she snapped. "I'm annoyed. Big difference."
He looked at her like he didn't believe a single word. Like he could see the hurt beneath her stubbornness. Like it mirrored his own.
Then he nodded once, cold, collected, pretending none of this mattered and walked out.
The door clicked behind him.
Mia exhaled shakily.
The penthouse had never felt so big.
Or so empty.
Her thoughts spiraled the moment he left.
Why did he kiss me?
Why did I let him?
Why did it feel like something I've been starving for?
She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to push the memory away.
The way he had kissed her.
The way he had held her.
The sound he made.
Like he'd been drowning for years and she was the first breath of air.
But now?
Now she was just a mistake.
By noon, she still hadn't eaten.
By one, she was pacing the living room.
By two, she was re-reading the contract like an idiot, searching for some line that said you're not allowed to feel anything.
There wasn't one.
But there should have been.
Meanwhile… Adrian was losing his mind.
His meeting had been a disaster.
Leon kept staring at him like he knew something was off.
Adrian's replies were clipped.
His composure was cracked.
His thoughts kept returning to her lips, her voice, her hurt expression in the kitchen.
I shouldn't have kissed her.
God, why the hell did I kiss her?
Why did she kiss me back?
But the real question, the one that hollowed him out, was;
Why did it feel like I've been waiting for that my entire life?
That's what terrified him.
Not the kiss.
Not the consequences.
But the craving.
The more he tried to shut it down, the louder it became.
Hours had gone by, Mia was curled on the couch, pretending to read, when the elevator doors opened.
Adrian stepped out without a word. He wasn't supposed to be home yet. His tie was loosened, his usually controlled hair slightly mussed. He looked… exhausted. And frustrated. And beautiful.
She refused to sit up or acknowledge him.
He dropped his keys on the glass console. "You didn't eat."
She rolled her eyes. "I did."
He glanced at the untouched plate on the counter. "Lying doesn't look good on you."
"Neither does regret, but here we are."
His jaw clenched at that.
He stepped closer. Not dangerously close but close enough to make her pulse spike.
"Mia, we need to keep things professional."
She snorted. "Oh, now we're professionals?"
"Yes." His tone hardened. "We are."
"You kissed me."
"And I shouldn't have."
"You keep saying that," she said softly. "But you never explain why."
He hesitated.
And finally. Finally. He said it.
"Because wanting you makes me weak."
The words were a punch to the chest.
Her breath caught. "Adrian…"
He didn't let her speak. "Because you're not supposed to matter. Because this marriage is supposed to be a transaction. Because feeling anything for you, anything real, destroys the purpose of all of this."
Her heart squeezed painfully. "And what about me? I'm not allowed to feel anything either?"
"No," he whispered. "You're not."
It was the cruelest thing he had ever said.
But his eyes, God, his eyes, betrayed him completely.
He looked like it was killing him.
Mia swallowed the ache rising in her throat. Her voice wavered, but she held her ground.
"Well, it's too late," she said quietly.
Adrian froze.
"Something happened last night," Mia continued. "Something neither of us can pretend away."
His breath faltered. "Mia…"
"And if you're going to treat it like a mistake, then do it properly. Don't hover. Don't worry if I'm eating. Don't stare at my mouth every time I talk."
His gaze flicked down to her lips on instinct.
She caught him.
He cursed under his breath.
"Mia, don't—"
But she cut him off.
"If you want distance, Adrian, take it."
A long, agonizing moment.
The room held its breath.
Then he nodded once.
Cold. Controlled. Destroyed.
"Fine," he said. "Distance."
But he didn't move.
Neither did she.
Because distance was the last thing either of them actually wanted.