Chapter 18
983 Words
The morning sun poured into Elena’s small apartment, flooding the room with a golden glow that did little to settle the unrest in her chest. She had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt Adrian’s lips on hers, heard his husky voice asking her to stay, saw the look in his eyes when she said no.
Why did it feel like she had left part of herself in that penthouse last night?
Her phone buzzed, startling her. She reached for it, half-expecting a message from Adrian. But it wasn’t him. It was from Ava.
Coffee? You owe me details.
Elena groaned softly. Of course Ava would know. Her best friend had an uncanny ability to sense when something was up.
An hour later, they sat across from each other in their favorite café. The smell of roasted beans wrapped around them as Ava leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
“Well?” Ava pressed. “Don’t even try to tell me nothing happened. You look like a woman who’s been kissed into oblivion.”
Heat rose to Elena’s cheeks. “It was… one kiss.”
Ava gasped. “Oh my God, you kissed Adrian Kane? The Adrian Kane? Billionaire, recluse, heartbreak waiting to happen?”
Elena groaned. “Lower your voice!”
But Ava just smirked, sipping her latte. “So? Tell me everything.”
Elena hesitated, then spilled the story—about the gala, the wine, the kiss, and his plea for her to stay. When she finished, Ava sat back, eyes wide.
“Girl, you’re in trouble,” she said softly. “That man doesn’t just kiss for fun. If he’s letting you that close, he wants you.”
Elena’s chest tightened. That was the problem. She wanted him too—badly. But want wasn’t enough. She needed to know what she was stepping into.
Later that evening, her curiosity got the better of her. She opened her laptop, typing “Adrian Kane scandal” into the search bar.
Page after page of headlines appeared. Some were the usual billionaire gossip: business deals, charity appearances, women linked to him at one point or another. But one headline froze her in place.
“Tragedy at Kane Industries: Fiancée’s Mysterious Death Still Unresolved.”
Elena’s blood ran cold. She clicked the article.
Two years ago, Adrian Kane’s fiancée, socialite Cassandra Monroe, died in what was reported as a boating accident off the Hamptons. Though police ruled it an accident, rumors of foul play surrounded the incident, fueled by whispers of tension between Kane and Monroe in the weeks before her death. Kane has refused all interviews on the subject and has largely retreated from public view since then.
Elena’s heart pounded. He had never mentioned Cassandra. Never once in all their conversations. Was this the shadow that haunted him? The reason behind that flicker of vulnerability in his eyes?
Her mind swirled with questions. Had he loved Cassandra? Had he lost her tragically—or was there truth in the darker rumors?
The following day, when she arrived at Kane Tower for work, she could barely focus. Adrian’s presence was everywhere—his name on the building, his portrait in the lobby, his commanding aura echoing through every glass hallway.
By the time she entered his office, her nerves were frayed. Adrian was at his desk, reviewing documents, but when he looked up and saw her, his expression softened.
“Elena,” he said warmly. “I was going to call you.”
She forced a smile. “I was going to call you too.”
He stood, walking toward her with that slow, deliberate stride that always made her knees weak. But before he could reach her, she blurted out:
“Why didn’t you tell me about Cassandra?”
The question landed like a shard of glass between them. Adrian froze, his eyes darkening. “You’ve been digging.”
“I had to,” Elena said, her voice trembling. “I can’t get involved with you without knowing who you really are. And I find out from Google that you were engaged? That she died?”
Adrian’s jaw clenched. For a moment, silence stretched so thin Elena thought it would snap. Finally, he spoke, his tone low and rough.
“She was my fiancée. And yes, she died. But don’t believe everything you read.”
Elena’s heart hammered. “Then tell me the truth. What happened?”
Adrian turned away, running a hand through his hair. “The truth is complicated. The media twisted it, as they always do. Cassandra and I… we weren’t happy. She wanted the life, the money, the spotlight. I wanted something real. The night she died, we argued. She left angry. Hours later, the boat capsized.”
His shoulders stiffened, his voice breaking. “I wasn’t there. I couldn’t save her. And I’ve lived with that every day since.”
Elena’s chest ached. The pain in his voice was raw, unpolished, real. But still, questions lingered. “Do you blame yourself?” she asked softly.
Adrian turned, his eyes tormented. “Every damn day.”
The room was heavy with silence, filled only by the weight of his confession. Elena wanted to reach out, to touch him, to tell him he wasn’t alone. But part of her still feared the shadows in his story.
“I don’t know what to believe,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.
Adrian closed the distance between them in two strides, his hand cupping her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Believe this, Elena—I would never hurt you. Never.”
Her breath caught. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much to bear. And in that moment, she believed him. Against her better judgment, against the whispers of doubt, she believed.
But belief was dangerous. Because belief meant trust. And trust could break her heart.
- Writer
