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ChapterFive

Adrian Cross’s gaze found mine the instant I stepped into the glow of the ballroom, as if he’d been waiting for me all along. It wasn’t the polite glance of a host checking on guests; it was direct, deliberate. Even from across the room I felt the weight of it, a current sliding under my skin.

He murmured something to the knot of donors around him, then began to walk toward me. The crowd parted without him asking. My pulse thudded against the base of my throat. This was it: A.C. in the flesh.

“He’s coming straight for you, breathe” Ini whispered in my earpiece. She was two steps behind me, blending into the swirl of emerald dresses and black tuxedos.

I lifted the glass of champagne to my lips as the bubbles rose in a gold stream, catching the chandelier light.

And then he was there.

“Miss Bentley?” The voice was low, smooth, pitched just for me.

I tilted my head, feigning surprise. “And you are…?”

“Adrian Cross.” He extended a hand. The warmth of his palm sent a jolt through mine. “Host of tonight’s distraction. I hoped you’d come.”

“You know who I am?” I asked.

“I knew your father.” He guided me a few steps aside, into a quieter alcove where the quartet’s music dulled to a hum. “Brilliant man. Misunderstood by many.”

The air thinned. “You knew him? How?”

He smiled without warmth. “Let’s say our paths crossed in digital corridors. He had his way with secrets. He lifted a glass of champagne but didn’t drink. “You’ve inherited that, haven’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes held mine. “The flash.” Just like that; one word, the word that had burned a hole in my nights. “It was never meant to be easy.”

My breath caught. “You… know about it?”

He leaned closer, his scent — smoky and expensive — curling around me. “I know enough." But this is not the place.” His voice softened. “I’d rather talk about you.”

A ripple of heat moved through me, part anger, part curiosity, part something I didn’t want to name. “Why bring it up if you’re not going to explain?”

“To see if you’re ready,” he murmured.

Across the room, Ini’s voice buzzed. “Elena, don’t look now, but we’ve got company.”

I shifted slightly, pretending to adjust my dress. “What kind of company?”

“Back corner by the exit. Black suit, no mask. Been watching you since you walked in. I don’t like it.”

I forced a smile at Adrian to mask the adrenaline spike. “I thought this was a masquerade. Not everyone got the memo.”

Adrian’s gaze flicked over my shoulder. His expression didn’t change, but a muscle jumped at his jaw. “Stay close,” he said softly.

“Why?”

He brushed a stray strand of hair from my cheek, fingers cool and deliberate. “Because some people here aren’t who they claim to be.”

My heart hammered. The stranger by the exit melted into the crowd, and Ini whispered, “He’s moving.”

Adrian lowered his voice, his eyes locked on mine. “I can help you, Elena. But you’ll have to decide how far you’re willing to go.”

The room seemed to tilt. Music, laughter, champagne; all blurred into background noise.

“What are you really after?” I asked.

His smile was faint, unreadable. “Maybe the same thing you are.”

I tried to steady my breathing. His fingers still rested lightly on my wrist, not quite a touch, not quite a claim. A little too intimate for two people who’d just met, yet impossible to pull away from without drawing attention.

Ini’s voice again, low and sharp: “He’s circling. Heading toward the kitchen exit. Definitely watching you.”

Adrian’s eyes flicked to mine, reading more than I wanted to give. “You’re not the only one looking for answers tonight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He took a slow sip of his champagne and set the glass aside. “It means the board is bigger than you think. And some of the pieces don’t know they’re being played.”

My stomach tightened. “Like my father?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his jacket and produced a plain white card. No logo, no number. Just a time and an address scrawled in neat handwriting.

“Tomorrow. If you want to talk.”

I hesitated, glancing at the card, then at him. “Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t.” A flicker of a smile. “But you’re here anyway.”

Another glass shattered somewhere behind us. Guests turned, murmuring. The stranger was gone.

I didn’t know which scared me more; his disappearance or the way Adrian’s voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer, his breath brushing my ear.

“We’re running out of time, Elena.”

The words slid under my skin like a blade. By the time I turned to look for him again, Adrian Cross had melted back into the crowd as effortlessly as he’d arrived, leaving me standing alone under the chandelier with the taste of champagne on my tongue and a plain white card burning in my palm.