Warning: The content of the following chapter has visual descriptions that might not suit certain readers, I request readers below 18 years of age to skip it.
Location: Shelb Estate.
Adrian leaned back against the balcony, the crisp morning air brushing against his face as memories stirred from that fateful evening. It was an inspection trip—a duty passed to him by his father, Duke Louis—and one he took seriously, though he couldn't have known it would change everything.
The com-tab chats had been abuzz with whispers of Greta Halvora's impending marriage to Duke Olson, a man thrice her age and twice as ambitious. Her family, comprised solely of women, had long been scorned by the aristocracy, and this arrangement was yet another weight placed on their shoulders.
After a long day, Adrian sought refuge at a modest hotel on the outskirts of the Dukedom. The evening's quiet was shattered when the lobby doors burst open, revealing Greta in a state of disarray. Her red hair was wild, her emerald eyes frantic.
"Adrian," she gasped, relief washing over her face as her eyes locked onto his. Without hesitation, he crossed the room to her side.
"Greta? What happened?" His voice was low, calm, though his gaze scanned her for any sign of injury.
She hesitated, her voice trembling. "Duke Olson... he's insufferable. I couldn't... I couldn't stay."
Understanding flickered in Adrian's eyes. He placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her toward the quiet sanctuary of his room.
"You're safe here," he assured her. "Take a moment to breathe."
Once inside, he poured her a glass of wine, offering it with a reassuring smile. Greta took it gratefully, her hands trembling as she sipped. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice still unsteady.
Adrian settled across from her, studying her with quiet concern. "You don't need to thank me, Greta. But... you're sure you're alright?"
She managed a small, wry smile. "Alright might be a stretch. But seeing you here? It helps."
As the evening wore on, the tension between them ebbed, replaced by the warmth of familiarity. They shared stories, teasing and laughing as the wine flowed. Greta's fiery nature, so often suppressed by societal expectations, shone brightly as she recounted tales of their shared school days.
At one point, Greta's laugh burst forth as she knocked over her glass, spilling wine onto Adrian's shirt. "Oh no!" she exclaimed, covering her mouth with a hand. "I'm so sorry!"
Adrian chuckled, waving it off. "It's just a shirt," he said, though his cheeks reddened when Greta leaned in to dab at the stain.
"Still," she insisted, her hands lingering as she worked. Her fingers brushed against his skin as she unbuttoned the shirt, and the playful atmosphere shifted. Her touch stilled, her gaze softening as she looked up at him.
"You've changed," she murmured. "Not just physically."
Adrian's breath caught as her hand trailed down to his chest. "Greta..."
She silenced him with a smirk, her fingers deftly removing the tie from his hair and letting the golden strands fall freely. "You always were the golden boy," she teased, though her voice carried a note of something deeper.
"You have a fiancé," Adrian said, his voice hoarse as he fought to maintain control. "You'll regret this."
Greta's smile widened, her emerald eyes blazing with determination. "If I let this chance slip by, I might regret it more."
She leaned closer, her chest brushing against his arm. "Tell me, Adrian. Are you going to stop me?"
Her words hung in the air, stirring memories of their brief academy days when they had courted in secret. Back then, they had shared stolen moments and whispered promises, only to part ways reluctantly upon realizing their parents stood on opposing sides of courtly factions.
But now, in this fleeting moment, Greta's fiery confidence ignited a spark in Adrian—a spark he thought had been extinguished long ago.
She pressed her chest against Adrian's toned arms, her movements deliberate as if daring him to deny her. Adrian's body betrayed him with a reaction he couldn't hide, and Greta's emerald eyes flicked downward, noticing his discomfort.
She traced the bulge in his pants, her fingers light and teasing, a knowing smirk curling her lips.
"You seem rather flustered," she whispered, her tone carrying a playful provocation befitting her noble airs. "I've often wondered how I might look beside you in bed, but I must admit, you're far more charming like this than the roguish playboy the court always imagined you to be."
Her purring tone sent shivers down Adrian's spine as she slid closer, her body brushing against his legs. The heat between them was undeniable, and Adrian struggled against the haze of alcohol and the overpowering pull of her presence.
He groaned inwardly, unsure which was more torturous—the ache in his pants or Greta's relentless teasing.
Unable to resist any longer, Adrian finally reached for her, pulling her into his arms as he carried her toward the bed.
"Greta," he murmured, his voice thick with both hesitation and desire, "are you sure about this?"
She looked up at him, her eyes burning with determination. "Would you regret letting me go back tonight?" she asked, her voice soft but steady.
Adrian swallowed hard, his resolve crumbling. "Yes," he admitted, his voice barely audible.
"Then don't stop," she whispered, guiding his hands to the ties of her gown.
The fabric slipped away, revealing Greta's peach-shaped curves. Adrian's breath hitched as he drank in the sight, his hands trembling slightly as he traced the lines of her body. Yet, even as he leaned in to kiss her, he paused once more. "Greta, I need to hear it from you. Do you want this?"
She smiled, cupping his face with her hands. "I've never been more certain of anything," she said, her tone a mix of vulnerability and boldness. "Make me regret nothing."