Elena’s POV
The next morning started with the scent of fresh espresso and warm croissants. Adrian had slipped out of bed early, leaving a note tucked under my pillow in slanted, elegant handwriting: “Breakfast and courage.”
I smiled as I padded barefoot into the kitchen, following the faint clatter of dishes and the low hum of classical piano echoing through the penthouse. Adrian looked up from the espresso machine, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie still hanging loose.
“Good morning,” he said, and his smile softened when he looked at me. “You slept well?”
“I did,” I replied, running a hand through my hair. “Did you?”
He poured the coffee into two mugs. “Not really. I kept thinking about tonight.”
“The dinner?”
He nodded, handing me a cup. “Charles doesn’t do casual. When he invites
