Adam's chest still rose and fell with the aftershocks of what had just happened. His skin was damp with sweat, his muscles tense from the intensity of their lovemaking, but it wasn't just his body that was shaken. It was everything.
She had made love to him like a woman who had done it a thousand times. She was fearless, passionate, and utterly captivating. But she hadn't been. She was a virgin. And that realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
He hadn't expected it.
Not from the woman who had walked up to him with fire in her eyes and dared to flirt like she didn't care who he was. Not from the woman who kissed him like she knew what she was doing, who unraveled beneath him like a secret only he could unlock.
And now, he couldn't breathe right. Because something inside him had shifted the moment he claimed her.
He wrapped an arm around her as she lay curled against him, her breathing soft, almost fragile in the silence of his room. He could still taste her on his lips, feel her warmth lingering on his skin. And he wanted more, but not tonight.
She needed to rest. He could tell by the way her body trembled after, how she winced just slightly when he touched her. She must be sore. Spent. Vulnerable in a way he wasn't prepared for.
He pulled her closer, cradling her with a protectiveness that felt foreign to him. He didn't understand what she'd stirred inside him. He didn't want to. He just wanted to memorize her face, trace the curves of her sleeping silhouette, and drown in the silence they shared.
But exhaustion finally pulled him under. He hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, and now, wrapped around this woman who had flipped his world upside down, he let himself drift.
And when morning came, he reached for her. Only to find empty sheets, and he realized she was gone. He sat up abruptly, his chest tightening, eyes scanning the room in disbelief. His bed, once warm with her presence, now felt vast and hollow.
She had left without a word and without a trace. And he hadn't even asked her name.
Adam shot upright, sitting at the edge of the bed, the sheets still warm from where she had lain. His heart pounded, not from panic, but from disbelief. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in frustration.
For a fleeting second, he smiled at the sight of his suit neatly folded at the foot of the bed. She must be downstairs, he thought. Maybe she was making coffee, and waiting for him to wake up.
He slipped into his clothes quickly and made his way downstairs, scanning every corner of the living room, the kitchen, the hallway. Nothing. No sign of her. No trail of a presence except the lingering scent of her perfume, still haunting the air like a ghost that refused to leave.
He asked his housekeeper. The maids. Even the kitchen staff. They all shook their heads. No one had seen a woman. No one.
A knot of unease coiled in his gut as he stormed outside and approached the security booth at the gate. His last hope.
"She left, sir," one of the guards said with a hesitant nod. "She asked if we could call her a cab... and borrowed some money from me for the fare. Said she'd pay me back."
Adam's brows lifted in disbelief. "What?"
"Yes, Mr. Ravenstrong. She didn't give her name, she just smile and left." The guard said.
Adam let out a dry, bitter laugh—part amusement, part fury. His fists clenched as he stared out at the now-empty driveway.
She vanished. Just like that.
No note. No goodbye. Not even a damn name.
And the part that gnawed at him the most?
She'd borrowed money for the cab fare.
Was she really that broke?
Or was she just in that much of a hurry to get away?
Who the hell is this woman?
And as he turned back to the mansion, something shifted inside him.
He knew, without a doubt, that his once orderly life—built on control, contracts, and certainty—would never be the same again.
"So... how are you, my friend?"
Tristan's voice was laced with mischief the moment he stepped inside Adam's office without knocking—like always. He strolled in with a devilish grin tugging at his lips, hands in his pockets, and the kind of smug energy only a best friend who knew too much could pull off.
Adam didn't even look up from the file he was pretending to read. "Just fine."
Tristan raised a brow and dropped into the chair across from him, lounging like he owned the place. "Really? Because you don't look fine to me, buddy." His tone was light, but Adam could already feel the jab coming.
"I said I'm fine, Tristan." Adam's voice was clipped, his eyes still fixed on the document, though the words had long since blurred. He wasn't reading. He was waiting. Still waiting.
"For a man who's usually unshakable, you're doing a piss-poor job hiding whatever storm you're in," Tristan continued, unfazed. "Let me guess... it's about her."
Adam's jaw clenched his grip on the pen tightening.
"She left, didn't she?" Tristan leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "Didn't even say goodbye?"
Adam finally looked up, his eyes cold but burning beneath. "She left without a word."
"Damn," Tristan muttered, whistling low. "So the mysterious, sexy stranger slipped out before sunrise. And now you're sitting here like a man who just lost a bet with the devil."
Adam didn't answer. He didn't have to.
It was Monday. Two days had passed. Two nights of replaying her moans in his head. Two mornings of waking up hoping—half-expecting—he'd find her at his door. That she'd walk in like a storm and demand something or anything.
But there was nothing. No message. No name. Just the ghost of her taste on his lips and the scent of her skin on his sheets.
And it drove him insane.
"I don't think she will come back," Tristan said, watching him with knowing eyes.
"I am sure she will," Adam muttered.
"She didn't even want to know your name, right?" He asked.
Tristan smirked. "That's what you get for falling for the mysterious type. Hot. Bold. Vanishing act. Classic." He added.
Adam sat back in his chair, fingers pressing against his temple. "I didn't fall."
"Sure. You just let a woman get under your skin, haunt your thoughts, and mess with your control—but you didn't fall."
Adam glared.
"Okay, okay," Tristan chuckled, standing. "But you know what I think?"
"No," Adam muttered, voice low with a sharp edge.
"I don't think she's coming back to you," Tristan said, watching him closely. His tone wasn't mocking. It was quiet. Measured. The kind of truth only a best friend could say out loud.
Adam didn't look up. "She'll come back," he said flatly.
Tristan raised a brow. "Women like her don't just disappear, huh?"
Adam didn't reply, but even as the words left his lips, fear coiled in his chest—tight and unwelcome. A gnawing voice whispered she was already gone for good.
"You want me to find her?" Tristan offered, half-teasing.
Adam's head snapped up. "No."
His answer was too quick.
"I am sure it was just part of her little game, she must have search my wallet and found my driver's license to know my name, maybe her style is different from those women." Adam added.
And chasing women wasn't his style. And he sure as hell wasn't going to start now, especially not over one night with a stranger. Even if that night still haunted his every thought.
"She should be the one coming back," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Begging for more."
Tristan blinked. "You're serious."
Adam met his gaze. "Dead serious. When she comes back, I'll marry her."
The room went still.
"Wait—what?" Tristan sat up straighter, the smirk fading from his face.
"She'll be my wife," Adam said again, his voice calm, final. "She's perfect for the role. Detached. Mysterious. Not after love or commitment."
Tristan stared at him, stunned. "You fell for her."
Adam's eyes flashed. "Don't be ridiculous. I didn't fall. I chose. She fits the part. I need someone who can stand beside me without demanding my soul."
"And what about Raymond?" Tristan asked quietly.
"I'll talk to him," Adam said, brushing the issue aside like it was nothing. "He respects me. He'll listen."
Tristan arched a brow. "But if you believe she's not looking for love or commitment, why do you think she'll come back?"
Adam let out a breath, trying not to sound rattled. "Because women don't just walk away from me, Tristan. You know that."
Adam didn't look up.
"She'll come back," he said flatly, though even he wasn't sure if he believed it anymore.
Tristan smirked. "Right. I forgot—you're irresistible."
"I'm not being arrogant. It's just the truth. You've been my cleanup crew for years—bribing and gently letting down women who wouldn't take a hint." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "But she's not like them. I felt it."
Tristan folded his arms, unconvinced. "So what does she want from you then, if not your name, money, or heart?"
How can he tell Trsitan she said she'd pay the guard back for the cab fare. Was that really the thread he was holding onto?
How the hell was he supposed to tell Tristan that was his only proof she might return without laughing at him? Adam opened his mouth. But no words came.
That silence echoed.
And for a brief moment, the mask of confidence slipped from his face. Because the truth was—he didn't know. He didn't understand her. That was what terrified him most.
"She'll come back," he said finally, but the edge of certainty in his voice was thinner now. "She has to."
Tristan watched him carefully. "And if she doesn't?"
"If she doesn't..." Adam paused, forcing his voice to stay even, "Then I'll marry the woman Raymond arranged for me."
Tristan stared at him, eyes narrowing. "Just like that?"
"She'll come back to me before the week is over," Adam said with unshaken confidence—or at least that's how it sounded.
But even as the words left his lips, a sliver of doubt twisted deep in his chest, sharp and unfamiliar.
And damn it, it wasn't just his ego that stung. It was the way her absence echoed in the silence of his heart.