Chapter 3- The Morning After
1137 Words
Elena Cole woke up to the sound of her phone buzzing on the nightstand. For a blissful three seconds, she thought she’d dreamed the entire gala—the champagne disaster, the dance, Adrian King’s infuriating smile.
Then her phone buzzed again.
She groaned, burying her head under a pillow. “If this is Lila, I swear I’ll block her for a week.”
But curiosity won. She peeked at the screen.
Lila 🥂: Darling, you’re FAMOUS.
Elena sat up, hair a wild halo. She opened the message and nearly screamed.
Splashed across a gossip page was her own face, mid-dance, her hand tangled in Adrian King’s as chandeliers glittered above them.
The headline: Heiress Elena Cole Finds Her Match? Sparks Fly at Starlight Gala.
“Oh. My. God.”
Another text from Lila popped up: You’re trending. #SpillTheTea. Twitter loves you. Also, please check your angles you look stunning.
Elena flopped back onto the bed with a groan. “This cannot be my life.”
She stumbled to the kitchen, poured herself coffee, and tried to breathe. It was fine. One embarrassing dance didn’t mean anything. Adrian King probably hadn’t even thought about her since. Men like him didn’t.
Except—
Her phone buzzed again. This time, a notification from a business news app: Cole Enterprises and King Holdings—potential new alliance?
Elena blinked. “Oh no.”
⸻
By the time she arrived at her father’s office, her nerves were strung tight. Cole Tower loomed over the city, all glass and steel, intimidating in the morning sun. She pushed through the heavy doors of the executive suite, heels clicking against marble.
Her father, James Cole, didn’t look up from his desk when she entered. He never did. Papers were neatly stacked in front of him, his silver watch gleaming under the light.
“Elena,” he said, voice clipped. “Sit.”
She perched on the edge of the chair, bracing herself.
“Would you care to explain,” James asked coolly, “why every major paper is printing photos of you in the arms of Adrian King?”
She swallowed. “It was an accident.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Accidentally waltzing in front of three hundred guests?”
“More like accidentally dumping champagne on him,” she muttered.
A pause. Then—to her utter shock—her father’s stern expression softened into something that almost looked like approval.
“Even better.”
Elena blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Adrian King is in talks to expand his investments into real estate. If he chooses Cole Enterprises…” James leaned back, steepling his fingers. “…we’d have leverage like never before. And if he’s already taken an interest in you—”
“No. Absolutely not.” Elena shot to her feet. “You are not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”
James’s gaze sharpened. “I’m suggesting that—for once—you do something useful. If Adrian King is intrigued by you, encourage it. Keep him close.”
Her mouth fell open. “You want me to date him? As some kind of… corporate strategy?”
“Not date,” James said smoothly. “Simply… cultivate his attention. Long enough for him to sign with us.”
Her blood boiled. “I am not a pawn in your business games.”
James’s expression didn’t waver. “You’re a Cole. Which means sometimes you don’t get to choose.”
Elena’s fists clenched at her sides. She wanted to scream, but years of training held her tongue. Instead, she spun on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
⸻
She was still fuming when her phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
Dinner. Tonight. —A.K.
Her breath caught. Adrian.
She typed furiously: Bold of you to assume I’d say yes.
Three dots appeared. Then his reply:
Bold of you to think I’m asking.
Elena stared at the screen, stunned. Who was this man? Did he think the entire world bent to his will?
“No,” she muttered aloud, tossing her phone onto the couch. “No way. I’m not doing this. Not after last night. Not after my father’s insane plan.”
She paced the living room, hands buried in her hair. She would not let Adrian King manipulate her. She would not let her father push her into a ridiculous scheme. She would not—
…
Three hours later, Elena stood in front of her mirror, slipping into a scandalously perfect red dress.
“This,” she told her reflection firmly, “is purely professional.”
Her reflection arched an eyebrow, unconvinced.
⸻
The restaurant Adrian chose was one of those impossibly exclusive places where the menu had no prices, because if you had to ask, you didn’t belong there. A string quartet played softly in the corner. Candlelight flickered across marble tables.
Of course, Adrian was already seated when she arrived, looking maddeningly composed in a black suit that probably cost more than her car. His eyes found hers the second she stepped in, and he rose smoothly, pulling out her chair.
“Elena,” he greeted, voice like velvet and steel.
“Adrian,” she replied coolly, sliding into the seat. “You’re awfully confident I’d show up.”
His lips curved. “I knew you would.”
“And why’s that?”
He leaned in slightly, his gaze steady. “Because you wanted to see me again.”
Her pulse skipped. She forced a laugh, lifting her water glass. “Please. The only reason I’m here is to tell you last night was a mistake.”
“Funny,” Adrian murmured, swirling his wine, “it didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”
The waiter arrived, setting menus in front of them, but Elena barely glanced at hers. Adrian’s presence was magnetic, unsettling. He was too calm, too assured—as if he’d already won a game she didn’t even know they were playing.
She tried for bravado. “Let’s get one thing straight, Adrian. I’m not like the women you’re used to.”
His gaze flicked over her, slow and deliberate. “You think I don’t know that?”
Her throat tightened. She set her menu down with a snap. “I don’t play games.”
“Neither do I,” he said softly. “When I want something, I go after it.”
The air between them thickened. Elena’s mind screamed at her to leave, to stand up, to walk away from this man before he unraveled her completely.
But her body betrayed her—leaning ever so slightly forward, drawn to the spark in his eyes.
This wasn’t just dinner. It was the beginning of something dangerous.
And deep down, Elena knew—she wasn’t sure she wanted to escape.
- Writer
