His Father's Bride

CHAPTER002

Adrian entered his room, the dark mahogany door clicking shut behind him like a vault. He loosened his tie and let it fall to the floor, his muscles still tensed from Clara’s presence.

His phone buzzed. Once. Twice.

Layla.

He stared at the name for a while, his jaw tightened, then he answered.

“I was starting to think you had forgotten me,” her voice came through low, sweet and sultry.

“Why haven’t you called me? It’s been two days.”

“I’ve been busy,” he replied, his tone clipped.

“With what, your empire or your secret?” she teased, half-laughing.

He leaned against the door frame, the shadows of guilt crawling under his shirt. “Work, Layla. I told you.”

“Well, your work better not be touching you the way I do.” She whispered, her tone like warm honey.

His voice dipped, rough. “Layla…”

“I miss you,” she whispered. “Come to me, let’s meet at our place.”

He hesitated.

“You said it was just for now, that we’d figure this out, but you haven’t even touched me in days.”

He inhaled, his chest tight. “I can’t tonight.”

“You will tonight. Don’t make me beg, Adrian.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then softly, “I’m at Eden. 9C, like always. I’ll be waiting.” Without responding, he ended the call, grabbed his coat and slipped out the back staircase.

No driver. No trail.

The Eden Hotel wasn’t just a luxury. It offered discretion. A glass tower during the day transforms into a palace of secrets at night. It wasn’t where people checked in, it was where they vanished.

Adrian slipped in through the staff entrance. And the security recognized him right away, offering a silent nod. He was quietly led through a staff-only corridor. They knew him. No check-in. No name. No questions asked.

Up a private elevator, past unmarked doors and quiet offices, a discreet hallway opened like a secret passage

.

Room 9C

He knocked twice. The door opened slowly. The scent hit Adrian immediately.

Rosewood. Vanilla. Warm jasmine.

The lights were dimmed to amber hues. Candles flickered on low marble shelves and soft jazz played low from unseen speakers. As he entered, the air became thicker with the fragrance of jasmine and something that was definitely hers.

Layla stood near the bed, barefoot, her hair cascading down, her robe slipping off one shoulder. The deep red silk clung to her curves like a secret.

“You came,” she whispered.

Adrian closed the door behind him and stepped forward. She walked towards him, graceful, eager. She reached up, her fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss.

Their kisses weren’t soft, they were hungry.

She clutched his shirt, dragging him into her like a tide pulling the moon. His hands gripped her waist, lifting her against him as her legs wrapped around his hips. They stumbled back, lips locked, bodies desperate until he pinned her to the wall. She moaned against his mouth.

“You smell like wine and lies,” she murmured against his lips.

He chuckled darkly. “I’ve missed this.”

“No, Adrian. You missed me.”

“You’ve been punishing me,” she whispered breathlessly. Making me wait. Making me ache.”

“I had to.” He growled, kissing down her throat. “I was going crazy thinking about this.”

She dragged her nails down his back. “Then shut up and make up for it.”

Clothes melted away. Her robe fell. His shirt joined it. Her fingers trembled as they undid his belt, like she’d been holding her breath for days. He lifted her onto the velvet chaise near the window, candles casting warm shadows on their skin. Their rhythm was messy yet passionate. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her onto the bed. She chuckled, biting her lips partly.

He crawled over her, mouth on her throat, then her chest, igniting fire with every kiss.

“God, Adrian don’t stop tonight!” she gasped.

“I wasn’t planning to,” he muttered, his voice rough, his lips brushing the curve of her hip.

They didn’t make love, they took each other. Her nails raked his back, his hands gripped her thighs against him like he never wanted to let go. She let out a loud moan. At one point, she was straddling him, her hair wild, her breath uneven.

“You’re mine,” she whispered, grinding her hips into him. “Even when you pretend you’re not.”

He grabbed her by the waist and flipped her underneath him. “Always.” He lied.

As they tangled in sweat and sheets, her head on his chest, she said softly, “Are you hiding something from me?”

Adrian stared at the ceiling.

“No.” he said

But his silence spoke louder than his words.

NEXT MORNING

The room at the Eden Hotel still smelled of candle wax and jasmine. The room was still dim, draped in soft golds and shadowy blues as the early morning sun peeked past the blackout curtains. The air was thick with the scent of last night, wine, perfume, and the afterglow of passion.

Layla stirred beneath the silk sheets, her hands reaching for the warm body that was no longer there. She sat up slowly, blinking as her gaze landed on him, already dressed.

Dark suit. Crisp white shirt. His tie had already tightened. He stood by the dresser, slipping on his watch with a speed that spoke of routine.

“You’re leaving?” her voice was soft, tinged with sleep and a hint of surprise. “Already?”

Adrian didn’t look at her. “Yeah, I’m late.”

“Late for what?” she asked, sitting up a bit, letting the sheet slide down her bare shoulder.

He adjusted his watch, “I've got somewhere to be.”

She frowned, pulling the sheet to her chest. “No goodbye kiss?”

Adrian finally turned, his expression unreadable. “Later, Layla. I’ll call you.”

And just like that, he was gone. No kiss. No touch. Not even a playful smirk. Just the soft click of the door closing behind him.

Layla stared at it, confused and empty. He always kissed her goodbye, even when they argued, even when he was in a rush. Always.

So why not today?

Still wrapped in the sheet, Layla swung her legs over the bed and reached for her blouse. As she did, something caught her sight, half-crumpled and tucked beneath the edge of the bed, near where they had tangled the night before.

A cream-colored card

.

She picked it up, her heart raced as she read the gold-embossed text.

Sterling Estate

Private Dinner

Date: Friday, 27th June 2027

Time: 6pm

With Miss Clara Anderson.

She read it again. Then again.

Layla's gaze was fixed on the card, her fingers gripped the edges. Adrian had told her he was busy. He’d said nothing about a private dinner. Nothing about Sterling Estate. And definitely nothing about Clara Anderson.

She whispered the name softly to herself. “Clara Anderson….”

The name meant nothing to her. Yet it felt like an icicle piercing her spine, so intentionally. So deliberately.

Why would Adrian keep this from her?

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. He hadn’t kissed her. He had somewhere to be. He was hiding something.

And this card? This card just revealed.

Everything.