Chapter Five: Old Wounds, New Fire
681 Words
It had been nearly two weeks since Maya moved into the Kessler mansion, and despite their arrangement, the lines between real and pretend were beginning to blur.
Adrian’s presence no longer felt foreign. They had slipped into a rhythm—quiet breakfasts, scheduled public appearances, and evening conversations that grew increasingly personal.
But there were still walls. Thick ones.
Maya sat in the garden one morning, sketchbook in hand, drawing the fountain that Adrian’s mother had designed. The mansion grounds were vast, but this corner—hidden behind hedges and old ivy—was her favorite.
Adrian found her there.
“You’re avoiding me,” he said, without preamble.
She didn’t look up. “I’m not avoiding. I’m decompressing.”
He sat beside her on the bench. “From what?”
She turned a page in her sketchbook. “From a life that doesn’t feel like mine.”
He was quiet for a moment. “You’re not the only one pretending, Maya.”
That caught her attention.“You seem so in control all the time,” she said. “Like nothing gets through.”
“That’s the point,” he said flatly. “Getting too close only ends badly.”
Her gaze softened. “What happened to you?”
He hesitated—long enough for the silence to feel heavy. Then he stood. “Don’t ask questions you won’t want the answers to.”
The tension lingered into the evening.
Adrian disappeared into his study, and Maya retreated to the guest wing. But sleep didn’t come easy. At midnight, she found herself wandering the halls. She ended up at the door to his study, hesitated, then knocked.
He didn’t answer.
She pushed the door open.
The room was dim, lit only by the dying glow of the fireplace. Adrian sat at the desk, a glass of whiskey in hand, staring into the flames.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said without turning.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
He finally looked at her. Something in his expression was different—tired, raw.
“I told you not to ask,” he said. “But maybe I owe you the truth.”
She stepped closer, nodding.
“My father built this company. Brick by brick. But he was cruel. Manipulative. He loved power more than people. Especially me.” Adrian took a sip. “When I finally stood up to him—took control—he disowned me. That same night, he drove drunk... and died.”
Maya’s breath hitched. “You blame yourself.”
“I took everything from him. He took himself out.”
She reached for his hand. “You didn’t kill him.”
“But I lit the match.”
Silence fell between them—thick, unspoken, heavy with the ghosts of the past.
Maya sat on the edge of the desk, her fingers still loosely wrapped around Adrian’s. “You’re allowed to grieve him… even if he hurt you.”
Adrian’s jaw tensed. “Grieving him feels like forgiving him. And I don’t know if I can do that.”
She studied his face. “Maybe you’re not forgiving him. Maybe you’re just forgiving yourself.”
The words hung in the air like a secret neither of them had said aloud.
Adrian stood, restless, moving toward the window. The city lights blinked in the distance—so alive, so unaware of the weight he carried.
“I’ve spent years building walls,” he said, voice lower now. “People see the billionaire CEO. The ruthless strategist. But you? You see... too much.”
Maya stood, walking toward him. “Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s dangerous.”
“For who?”
“For both of us.”
He turned suddenly, closing the distance between them. “You make me forget why I built those walls in the first place.”
She didn’t step back. “Then maybe it’s time to knock them down.”
The kiss came unexpectedly—
fierce, hungry, born of pain and need. But it wasn’t just desire. It was confession.
- Writer
