Meant To Be

Chapter 6- Unwanted Attention

Elena had survived enough social scandals in her twenty-four years to know how quickly the internet could turn on someone. Still, when she woke up the morning after the gala, bleary-eyed and clutching her phone, she wasn’t prepared for the storm that awaited her.

Her notifications had multiplied overnight—text messages from friends, calls from her father, and a flood of social media mentions. Headlines screamed at her from every angle:

“Heiress Elena Castellano and Billionaire Adrian Drake—A Match Made in Manhattan?”

“The Gala Dance Everyone’s Talking About.”

“Enemies or Lovers? Sparks Fly Between Two Titans’ Heirs.”

Elena groaned and rolled over, burying her face in her pillow. She’d gone viral—and not in the cute, look at this dog dancing in pajamas way. No, hers was the kind of viral that involved strangers dissecting her life, her dress, her body language, and, of course, her accidental almost-romance with Adrian Drake.

“Of course,” she muttered into the pillow, “of course it’s him.”

The memory of their forced dance flickered in her mind. His hand firm at her waist, the sharpness of his jaw, that infuriating smirk he wore as if he had already won some unspoken game. It had been mortifying. And yet—her stomach betrayed her with a tiny flutter. She immediately scolded it. No. Absolutely not. I hate him.

The sound of her apartment door clicking open pulled her from her thoughts. Seconds later, Lila—her best friend since prep school—stormed in holding two iced coffees and a look of absolute glee.

“Elena Castellano,” Lila announced dramatically, “you are officially the internet’s new favorite ship. The people have spoken, and apparently you and Adrian Drake are ‘couple goals.’”

Elena peeked out from her blanket cocoon, horrified. “You’re lying.”

Lila whipped out her phone and shoved it in Elena’s face. “Read it and weep. Or in your case, scream. Look—this thread alone has fifty thousand likes. They’re dissecting the way he looked at you, like—” Lila put on a fake swoony voice—“he was a man finally seeing sunlight after years underground.”

Elena nearly choked on her own breath. “What?! He wasn’t looking at me like that!”

“He was,” Lila teased, sipping her coffee smugly. “And the world agrees. You’ve got edits, fan accounts, conspiracy theories—girl, it’s a circus.”

Elena threw her blanket off and scrambled to her mirror. Her hair was sticking up in every direction, her eyes still swollen from too little sleep. “Oh God. This is the worst day of my life. Dad is going to—”

Her phone buzzed as if on cue. Father.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, she paced her room. “I’m doomed. Completely doomed. Adrian is probably sitting in his penthouse right now laughing at how easily I handed him more attention.”

⸻

Adrian, in fact, was not laughing.

He sat at the head of a long glass conference table on the top floor of Drake Enterprises, his phone buzzing relentlessly with notifications he ignored. The wall of windows behind him displayed a glittering Manhattan skyline, but all eyes in the room were on him.

His senior executives shuffled papers nervously, pretending to focus on quarterly reports while whispering among themselves. His assistant finally cleared her throat.

“Mr. Drake,” she said carefully, “I… suppose congratulations are in order?”

Adrian looked up, his expression cool. “Congratulations?”

She gestured vaguely toward his phone. “You and Ms. Castellano. The press seems… enthusiastic. Investors, too. Your stock went up two points this morning. Apparently, people like the idea of you settling down.”

A low murmur of agreement spread around the table. Adrian’s jaw tightened. Settling down. That phrase again. It was like everyone in the city had decided his life was incomplete without a ring and a wife to smile on magazine covers.

“I don’t make business decisions based on gossip,” he said flatly, shutting down the conversation. But when the meeting ended, he lingered at the window, staring down at the ant-like chaos of the streets below.

Against his will, the image of Elena came back to him. Her emerald dress catching the light, her fiery glare when she accused him of being arrogant, the stubborn lift of her chin. She had been chaos wrapped in silk, and he hadn’t been able to look away.

He shook his head. “No,” he muttered. “I don’t have time for this.”

And yet, hours later, he found himself in a part of town he rarely visited. Standing outside a small, stylish café with a discreet Closed for Private Event sign hanging on the door. He didn’t know why he came—only that the thought of her hiding away, bracing for the storm alone, unsettled him.

⸻

Elena was behind the counter of her café, her hair tied back, apron smudged with flour. She had escaped here to find normalcy—her little sanctuary from her family’s empire, from the world that expected her to be perfect. Here, she was just a girl pouring lattes.

So when the door chimed and she looked up to see Adrian Drake himself, her jaw dropped.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she said, slamming the milk frother down a little too hard. Foam hissed angrily.

Adrian slipped his hands into his pockets, completely unfazed. “Hello to you too.”

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, glancing around as if paparazzi would burst in at any second.

“Damage control,” he said smoothly. He pulled out his phone and placed it on the counter between them. A photo filled the screen—their dance at the gala. His hand on her waist, her lips parted mid-smile. The camera had caught them at the exact moment where annoyance blurred into something else. Something that looked dangerously like chemistry.

“This is everywhere,” Adrian said. “And it won’t go away on its own.”

Elena snorted. “So what, you came here to scold me? To gloat? Don’t waste your time. I’ve already seen the memes.”

“I came,” he said evenly, “to offer a solution.”

She crossed her arms. “Oh, this should be good.”

“We pretend,” he said. “For the cameras, for the press—for everyone. We pretend to date. Publicly.”

For a moment, Elena just stared at him. Then she laughed so hard she had to grip the counter to stay upright. “You—you actually think I would agree to that? Me? Date you? I’d rather—”

The sudden flash of cameras cut her off.

Elena froze. Outside the café’s wide windows, paparazzi had swarmed like vultures. Dozens of them pressed against the glass, shouting questions, bulbs popping like fireworks.

“Elena! Adrian! Are the rumors true?”

“When’s the engagement?”

“Is this love or business?”

The café erupted into chaos. Customers ducked, covering their faces as the flashes blinded them. A barista dropped a tray of mugs with a crash. Elena’s heart pounded.

And then Adrian was in front of her, stepping close, his tall frame shielding her from the onslaught of light. His cologne—clean, sharp, expensive—wrapped around her. He leaned in, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

“See?” he murmured. “You don’t have a choice anymore. Either we let them devour us, or we play the game together.”

Elena’s breath caught. She wanted to shove him away. She wanted to scream. But the world outside was already spinning out of control, and here he was—steady, infuriating, impossible.

Her pulse thudded in her ears. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but they burned into hers with something that felt dangerously close to sincerity.

“Think about it,” he whispered. “Think about what we could do… together.”

Elena swallowed hard, her entire body buzzing with the kind of electricity she didn’t dare name.

And for the first time, she wasn’t entirely sure she hated the idea.