Chapter 4
1015 Words
Adrian sat in his penthouse office at Wolfe Enterprises. He was sitting alone in his office but every corner of the glass-walled space felt suffocating. He left Maddox Designs hours ago, but his mind has been on Elara Maddox.
He was thinking about her charm and the thought refused to pass. Everything about her clung to him including her scent, her voice, her damn presence. It clung even more potent than the strongest wine resting on the mahogany shelf behind him.
He has never seen a more raw talented beauty like her. Adrian knew he had never met a lady like her. All the women he had been intimate with in the past were either in fashion or they were celebrities. Her simplicity, her smiles, her blushes, her voice and her uniqueness is like a breath of fresh air.
He knows, he should not be thinking about her. Not like this.
He leaned back, fingers pressed to his temples, legs raised to the table. He should be thinking about Cole, about leverage, about revenge. He should be thinking about finding justice for his sister Leona, for the humiliation and the pain she is feeling. But all he could see was the soft curve of Elara’s neck, the way her lips parted when she spoke, and the heat that sparked in her eyes when she challenged him. That heat had set something off in him.
He’d gone there to size her up—as a tool. A means to an end. Instead, she’d thrown him off balance without even trying.
And Lucas. That smug bastard. The way he stood beside her, all easy familiarity and quiet possession. Adrian hadn’t missed the casual hand brushing hers, or the way Elara smiled a little too softly in his presence. Lucas had left the impression of a man who had once loved her—or still did. That disturbed him more than it should have.
He clenched his jaw and rose abruptly, the leather chair groaning beneath him.
He needs to stop this daydreaming. Control was everything. But for once, control wasn’t coming easily.
A soft knock broke the thick silence.
"Come in," he shouted
Veronica walked in with a stack of files, but there was nothing ordinary about the way she moved. Every step was slow, deliberate, more like a performance than a routine. Her white blouse, clinging tightly to her body, then one shoulder slipped slightly off, exposing a glimpse of her cleavage underneath. The black skirt hugged her curves unapologetically, riding just high enough to attract attention without saying a word. Her heels tapped gently against the floor, each sound measured—like she wanted to be heard.
She didn’t speak as she approached his desk. She didn’t have to.
Adrian noticed every detail. The slow swing of her hips. The sharp red of her nails against the pale paper. Her perfume, bold and sweet, curling through the air like a dare. When she bent slightly over his desk to tidy the stack of files, her blouse dipped just enough to expose more of her cleavage. She didn’t rush. She never did. And with that, he knew beyond any reasonable doubt that she knew exactly what she was doing.
She was beautiful. Undeniably. But it was the wrong kind of hunger she stirred.
His gaze lifted to meet hers. Cold. Controlled.
"Thank you."
She lingered. No words. Just a subtle shift of her weight, the arch of her back, the slight part of her lips. Seduction in silence. Veronica never begged. She offered.
But Adrian wasn’t a man who accepted leftovers from office fantasies. And certainly not now—not with Elara’s voice still echoing in his skull like a soft, sensual ache.
He dismissed her with a simple glance. Veronica, always reading the unspoken, straightened with a clipped breath and turned—slowly, hips sashaying as she walked away.
He didn’t watch her go. Instead, he dragged a hand through his hair and let out a sharp breath.
Elara had undone him with restraint.
That elegance. That fire beneath her stillness. The way her sketches breathed confidence—not loud, brash statements like Cole preferred, but the kind that made you lean in and look closer. She wasn’t trying to seduce him… and that only made her more dangerous.
He closed his eyes briefly. The thought of her in one of her dresses, red in colour, backless, clinging, her skin warm beneath silk, made his pulse quicken. What would she look like, standing before him in something she designed, not for her brother’s empire, but for herself?
A low groan escaped his throat. His body tightened. This wasn’t strategy anymore. It was something else. Something primitive. Damn.
He grabbed his phone.
His thumb hovered over her contact.
Don’t call her.
Don’t cross that line.
He pressed the button.
She answered on the second ring. Her voice was smooth, cautious. “Adrian?”
For a moment, he didn’t speak. Just listened to her breathe.
“Are you busy?”
“Not really,” she said slowly. “Why?”
“I want to see you.”
A pause.
“Is this about the designs?”
“No.” His voice dropped. “This isn’t business.”
Another pause. The line felt charged.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “When?”
“Friday evening. Two days. I’ll send the address.”
“All right. What should I wear?”
He smiled faintly. “Something of your own design. I want to meet the woman behind the sketches.”
The silence stretched again. This time, it wasn’t awkward. It was electric.
“Okay,” she whispered.
He ended the call before she could say more.
His pulse was still racing. Not from power. Not from revenge. From the danger of wanting something real in the middle of a lie.
Adrian stared out at the city skyline, jaw clenched.
He was supposed to destroy the Maddox name.
So why was he inviting its quietest flame into his private world?
Maybe because some fires weren’t meant to be controlled.
- Writer
