The next morning, I woke up in Adrian’s arms. It hit me, this was the first time since that night in his office when everything had gone sideways between us. But this felt different. No pretending, no mask, no silent chess game. It wasn’t strategy anymore, it was just… us. Messy, bruised, alive.
“Good morning, Mrs. Cross,” he murmured into my hair, his voice still heavy with sleep.
“Good morning, Mr. Cross.”
He pulled back just enough to look at me. “How does it feel waking up as yourself, instead of as some role you’re forced to play?”
I thought about that longer than he probably expected. “Lighter,” I admitted. “And scarier. And more real.”
“Scarier?”
“When you’re performing, you can always hide behind the act. You can say, ‘that wasn’t really me.’ But when you’re honest…” I shifte
