The Man I Shouldn't Want

2. The Mistake I Chose

The inside of the Range Rover was so quiet that I could hear my own thoughts, which was probably the worst thing that could happen right now.

The city lights stretched into long golden lines across the glass, but none of them could distract me from the disaster my life had become in less than twenty-four hours.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the seat.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” the man beside me said.

I opened one eye and looked at him. He was driving with one hand resting calmly on the wheel, completely unaffected by the chaos sitting beside him.

“Thinking too loudly?” I repeated. “Is that something you normally analyze people with?”

A small smile touched his mouth as he kept his attention on the road. “Only when they look like they’re about to start an argument with a traffic light.”

I frowned. “I was not.”

“You were staring at that red light for thirty seconds.”

“Maybe it deserved it.”

That actually made him laugh softly. The sound surprised me.

It was strange hearing him laugh because everything about him seemed controlled. His expensive suit, the calm way he carried himself, the way he never seemed rushed or bothered by anything.

Even when I had climbed into his car completely broken, he hadn't looked at me like a problem.

“You’re weird,” I muttered.

He glanced at me briefly. “That’s an interesting way to thank someone.”

“I didn’t thank you,” I said, tilting my head.

“I noticed that.” he nodded.

I looked away, but I couldn't stop the small smile that tried to appear.

“You know, I never asked your name.”

His eyes stayed on the road. “Adrian.”

I repeated it. “Adrian?”

“Yes.” he shook his head.

I studied him. “You look like an Adrian,” I said, rolling my eyes.

His eyebrow lifted slightly. “I have no idea what that means.”

I shrugged. “Neither do I.”

For a moment, he looked confused. Then he laughed.

After a few minutes, he spoke again. “Where am I dropping you?”

I looked at him. “My place,” I said.

“Ok give me an address. Since you’re clearly not in a condition to wander around the city alone.”

“You calling me helpless?” I mumbled.

“Nah, I never did,” he said.

“You were thinking it.” I insisted.

“I was thinking you’re stubborn, or more like a child.”

“Well, that’s not something new.”

He shook his head slightly, amused.

I tried to remember my apartment address, but my thoughts were still moving too slowly. Nothing came. The tequila had finally caught up with me.

“I don’t want to go home,” I admitted quietly.

He didn't ask why. That was probably why I felt comfortable saying it.

“Okay,” he replied simply.

I looked at him. “Okay?”

“Yes,” Adrian nodded like he had figured out every possible way to handle my answers.

"That’s it?" I asked, surprised by how easily he accepted my answer.

He shrugged slightly. “You don’t want to go there. I’m not going to force you.”

Something about that answer caught me off guard.

Most people always wanted explanations. They wanted details. They wanted to know why you were acting a certain way.

He didn’t. He just accepted what I said.

I looked back out the window. “Just drive, Smooth Operator.”

The nickname slipped out before I thought about it.

“Smooth Operator?” he asked, glancing sideways, his head slightly tilted.

“Yes.” I turned toward him, keeping my expression entirely serious.

“Why exactly?”

“Because you look like the type of man who has a plan for everything.”

His mouth curved into a dry, faint smile. “And that makes me smooth?”

“It makes you suspicious,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him, unbothered. “You should be worried.”

Adrian simply raised an eyebrow, his hands shifting on the leather steering wheel. “Why?”

“Because I’m judging you.”

He nodded as if that was completely reasonable. “Terrifying.”

Then my stomach decided to ruin the moment.

A sudden wave of nausea hit me so quickly that my entire body stiffened. “Oh no.”

Adrian glanced over. “What?”

“Stop the car,” I said.

His expression changed immediately. “Madison?”

“I said stop—” I didn't even finish the sentence. Unfortunately, tequila had already decided for me.

I gasped, but it was too late. Before he could pull over, I leaned forward and vomited right into the pristine passenger footwell of his luxury SUV.

I sat frozen in complete horror, staring at the damage I had just caused in a vehicle that probably cost more than my entire apartment.

But this man didn't even flinch. With an unbelievable, terrifying level of patience and calm, he smoothly parked the Range Rover at the side. He didn't look at his ruined car, no anger on his face. Instead, he reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a clean handkerchief, and gently wiped the corner of my mouth.

"Better?" he asked softly, his dark eyes searching my pale face.

I stared at him. “Yes.”

I was sober enough to feel the cold—and the heat of the man beside me.

Seeing how safe I was in his hands, my gut screamed at me that this was the man I shouldn’t trust… and still wanted anyway.

The thought hurt. So I pushed it away.

The Range Rover eventually stopped in front of Capital America Tower—the most exclusive high-rise in LA.

“Where are we?” I asked politely.

“My place.”

Alarm bells went off in my head, quiet ones but still clear. "You said—"

​"I said you'd be safe," he interrupted, turning to look at me. "You can walk away right now if you want to. I won't stop you.”

That hit me hard. He wasn't pressing. He was giving me full control.

So I followed him. Because he wasn't demanding. He wasn't expecting anything.

The penthouse was exactly what I expected from him.

It was quiet, expensive, and controlled.

Dark wooden floors, massive windows overlooking the city, and furniture placed perfectly as if nobody actually lived here.

There were no photographs. No memories displayed. No signs of a life outside the perfectly arranged furniture. It looked less like a home and more like a place someone came back to when they had nowhere else to go.

Adrian handed me a towel and a clean shirt. “The bathroom is there.”

After washing my face and changing into his T-shirt.

When I walked back out into the living room, Adrian had removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves up. Without the suit jacket, he looked less untouchable.

I walked up behind him, my bare feet silent on the wooden floor.

He must have heard my breathing because he turned around slowly. His eyes dropped to the bare skin of my legs beneath his shirt, and for a fraction of a second, his calm mask slipped. A dark, intense heat flared in his gaze before he forced it down.

“Madison.” The way he said my name sent a shiver through me. “You should sleep.”

I shook my head. “I don't want to.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re hurting, and you’re trying to forget.”

I looked directly at him. “Maybe.”

He stepped back. That surprised me.

Because every other man I had known would have taken the opportunity.

Adrian didn't. “You’re not making a decision tonight that you’ll regret tomorrow.”

I stared at him. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“No,” he said quietly. “You know what you want right now. That’s different.”

His restraint should have made me angry. Instead, it made me want him more.

Because for once, someone was choosing not to take advantage of me.

"I want this," I whispered, stepping directly into his personal space. I reached up and placed my hand flat against his chest, feeling the solid, rapid beat of his heart beneath the linen.

His expression changed. He didn't move, though his jaw tightened visibly. "Madison, you've had a lot to drink. You're heartbroken, and you're angry at someone else. I'm not going to take advantage of that."

"I know exactly what I'm doing," I said, tilting my head up to look him dead in the eye. "Stop being so noble. For once tonight, let me choose."

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting out a heavy, ragged exhale as he fought against himself. But when I raised my hands and slowly unbuttoned the next two buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric off his broad shoulders, his control finally snapped.

His hand touched my face gently, almost like he was making sure I was real.

“Madison…” he murmured.

“I’m sure,” I whispered.

"If you want this that bad," he growled, his hands coming up to grip my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto the edge of the nearby marble table, "don't you dare regret it tomorrow."

Before I could answer, his mouth came down on mine.

The kiss was heavy, urgent, and completely intoxicating. It wasn't gentle, but it was exactly what I needed. His warm hands slid down my back, pulling me flush against his hard body as I wrapped my legs around his hips. Every thought of Ethan, Aria, and the crushing humiliation of my ruined engagement evaporated under the weight of Adrian’s hands on my skin.

He carried me into the main bedroom; the darkness surrounded us. When he pulled the shirt over my head, his touch was surprisingly electric, his thumbs tracing the line of my collarbone before sliding down my ribs.

We collided like two people running out of time. Every gasp, every heavy breath, and every touch of his skin against mine felt earned, an intense push and pull where I tried to claim him and he completely consumed me. When his fingers tangled in my hair and he pulled me close, breathing against my neck, the sheer heat of his body anchored me to the present moment. There was no past, no betrayal, and no morning after—just the rise and fall of our chests, the friction of our skin, and the quiet, desperate sounds echoing into the penthouse.

When I opened my eyes the next morning, the bright California sunlight was streaming through the sheer curtains.

For a few seconds, I didn't remember where I was. I blinked against the light, my mind a blank slate for about three seconds—until the events of the previous night flooded back.

The bar. The Range Rover. The penthouse. Him.

I sat up slowly, my heart pounding.

I gasped softly and turned my head on the pillow.

Adrian was lying beside me, sleeping. His dark hair was messy, hanging over his forehead.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Oh my god. I actually did it.

Before I could process the panic curling in my stomach, my phone buzzed.

Fifty-three missed calls. All from Sophie.

The latest message appeared on the screen.

Madi, where the hell are you? It’s our first day. Get here ASAP. I’m waiting for you at the bistro near LAPD.

My stomach dropped. “Oh, my God.”

Adrian stirred behind me. I looked around quickly, searching for my clothes. I slipped into my dress and grabbed my shoes.

I made it toward the entrance hall, desperately looking for my purse. Then something caught my eye.

A framed photograph on the shelf. Adrian. Wearing an LAPD uniform.

My blood ran cold. He wasn't just some stranger.

He was a police officer. A senior one.

Of all the people in Los Angeles. Of all the strangers I could have followed.

I chose someone from the same world I was just entering.

"Please don't let him work at my department," I whispered.

The sound of water shutting off from the hallway made my heart jump.

Adrian was awake.

I grabbed my purse, opened the door, and escaped before he could see me.

I didn't know anything about him. I only knew one thing.

The stranger who made me forget my pain last night might be the one person I was never supposed to meet.