Chapter 3
1267 Words
The boardroom always smelled like ambition—polished wood, filtered air, and faint traces of arrogance from whoever last sat in the chairs. But this morning, it smelled different. Warmer. Sharper.
Maybe because he was coming.
Elara smoothed down her skirt for the third time. It wasn’t nerves, she told herself. She was used to power plays and smug men in custom suits. But Adrian Wolfe… he didn’t walk into a room and demand attention.
He just took it. Quietly. Completely.
She shouldn’t feel the heat still lingering under her skin at the memory of his skin brushing against hers yesterday… She could remember how the scent in the atmosphere changed to the intoxicating aroma of his cologne. He had opened something in her. Pure naked desire. He had also seen something about her. Something she’d buried under years of being who Cole needed her to be. Who her family expected.
Not even Lucas spoke to her like that.
Her chest tightened briefly. Lucas.
The world still saw her as his fiancée. Polished. Promised. Perfect. But only she and Lucas knew better—knew the truth he whispered to her that rainy night years ago. That he couldn’t love her the way she deserved. That the marriage everyone planned was never theirs to begin with. He was her best friend now. Her protector. And she is his secret keeper.
But still, she wore the image like armor. And sometimes... like chains.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
Lucas strolled in without waiting for a reply, carrying two takeaway cups and his usual smirk. “Don’t say I never bring peace offerings.”
She looked up, the corner of her lips lifting despite herself. “Is that coffee or gossip?”
“Both.” He handed her a cup and settled onto the edge of the long boardroom table. “And neither will fix that storm on your face.”
Elara sighed, sipping the drink. “Wolfe’s on his way. Cole scheduled the meeting without even consulting me. Classic.”
Lucas’s brow lifted. “And yet you’re here early. Dressed like you’re going into battle, but designing like you’re going to church.”
She raised a brow. “Thanks?”
“It’s a compliment,” he said, nudging her shoulder. “You’ve always created like your soul depended on it. That’s what makes you better than the rest of them. Cole doesn’t get it. He never will.”
She didn’t respond.
He studied her for a moment longer, then his tone softened. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said after a beat. “Just... trying to be more of myself lately.”
Lucas nodded. “I like that version of you. The quiet storm. That’s the Elara I always admired.”
He stood then, brushing invisible lint from his jacket. “I should head out before your charming guest arrives. Don’t want to scare him off.”
“You? Scary?” she teased.
“Only to men who think they can handle you.”
As he reached the doorway, footsteps echoed from the hall.
Lucas turned just as the boardroom door opened—and Adrian Wolfe stepped in.
Elara straightened instinctively.
And then froze.
Because everything about him was wrong in the most intoxicating way.
Navy blue suit, crisp shirt undone just enough to hint at collarbone and heat. His eyes, sharp and unreadable. His presence—a slow invasion of air and space. The air around her changed. Thickened.
His gaze flicked between her and Lucas—assessing, weighing, claiming nothing but noticing everything. The relaxed way Lucas lingered. The curve of her smile before it vanished.
Adrian didn’t react. But something in his eyes darkened. For a heartbeat.
“Adrian,” Elara said, recovering quickly.
Lucas turned, extending a hand. “Lucas Vale.”
Adrian accepted it. “Adrian Wolfe.”
Their handshake was brief, firm, silent.
“I’ll leave you both to it,” Lucas said easily. He gave Elara a look only she could read—Be careful, but be bold—then exited with the kind of quiet confidence that still made her ache a little.
Adrian watched the door close before he moved. Each step was deliberate. Silent. Devastating.
“Elara,” he said again, like a whisper drawn over silk.
She gestured to the seat across from her. “Adrian.”
He sat, but he didn’t settle. He was occupied. His gaze swept over her—slowly. Deliberately. Not like he was checking her outfit. Like he was undressing her with patience.
Elara’s skin prickled.
She reached for the first sketch to ground herself, but her fingers trembled. Slightly. She prayed he didn’t notice.
He did.
She started the presentation, forcing steadiness into her voice. But the moment she leaned forward to spread the swatches across the table, her body betrayed her. Her chest tightened. Her breath dipped low. Her thighs tensed beneath the table.
He hadn’t even touched her.
“These silhouettes are meant to move with the body, not trap it,” she said, not meeting his eyes.
But she felt him watching her mouth.
“They’re for women who want to be noticed without having to scream.”
A pause. His voice followed like smoke.
“Cole wouldn’t approve.”
“No,” she whispered. “He thinks subtlety is a waste of space.”
“And you?”
She met his gaze. Slowly. “I think subtlety is power.”
Something flared in his eyes then. A quiet, hungry kind of heat.
“I agree,” he said.
The air stretched between them—too quiet, too charged.
He leaned in slightly. “May I?”
She nodded, sliding one of the concept sheets toward him. Their fingers brushed.
The contact scorched her.
It was nothing, really. A second. But her pulse thundered, and her n*****s tightened beneath the lace of her bra. Heat crawled up her neck.
He didn’t look away.
He studied the sketch—a backless evening gown with whisper-thin straps and a curved hemline that teased the skin beneath. The kind of dress a woman wore when she wanted to be remembered.
“You drew this?”
“Yes.”
“It’s…” He paused. His gaze lifted. “exquisite.”
She swallowed. “It’s meant to be.”
“I like that,” he said. “It owns the room without begging. It walks in and says—‘I don’t belong to you, but you’ll wish I did.’”
Her stomach flipped.
“You sound surprised,” she said, voice tighter than she intended.
“I’m not,” he replied. “I saw it in you yesterday. I just didn’t expect it to stay with me.”
Something low and forbidden uncoiled in her belly.
Adrian rose from his seat then, not abruptly—but with a quiet finality that unsettled her.
She stood too, slower.
“I’ll have the samples ready by next week,” she murmured.
“No rush,” he said. “Some things are worth waiting for.”
Her lips parted slightly. He didn’t wait for a reply. Just turned and walked to the door.
But just before he stepped out, he paused.
Not to look back.
Just long enough for her to feel him leave.
And still… her phone buzzed on the table.
Unknown Number.
> “You see things others don’t. I like that. —A”
Elara stared at the screen, her fingers tingling.
This wasn’t the start of business.
It was the beginning of obsession.
And her body already knew it.
- Writer
