Emma didn't remember how she made it back to her bedroom. One moment she was tearing through the dark hallways, the next she was curled up on her bed, still wearing her slippers and clutching a pillow to her chest.
Her mind wouldn't stop replaying that moment through the panel gap:
> Cassandra's mouth on Adrian's.
His hands braced on the desk, not pulling her closer—but not pushing her away, either.
Maybe he's under some obligation, part of her whispered. Maybe it meant nothing.
But the other part, the raw wounded part, only replayed Cassandra's smug words:
> Sooner or later, you'll remember why you can never truly let me go.
The next morning, she couldn't face either of them. She sent word she was ill and stayed locked in her room. Meals went untouched. She drifted in and out of restless sleep, dreams filled with dark roses and Adrian's cold eyes.
By evening, there was a knock on her door.
She didn't answer. The handle turned anyway. Adrian stepped inside, filling the room with his too-powerful presence. Even at her angriest, some traitorous part of her still responded to him—heart skipping, breath catching.
"You've been avoiding me," he said quietly.
Emma sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Why wouldn't I? You're still married to her. I saw you last night. I saw you let her—"
"It wasn't what it looked like."
She gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "It never is with you, is it?"
Adrian moved closer. "Emma, look at me."
When she wouldn't, he crouched in front of her, gently catching her chin and tipping her face up. His eyes were shadowed, tired in a way she hadn't noticed before.
"She's blackmailing me."
"Over what?" Emma whispered.
"Things from before. Things that could destroy my company… even put lives at risk."
"That's why you're keeping her close? Paying her off like some disgusting arrangement?" Her throat tightened. "Why didn't you tell me? Don't I deserve the truth?"
Adrian's thumb brushed a tear from her cheek. "No. Because the truth would only hurt you more."
For a moment, neither spoke. The storm outside had returned, rain lashing the windows. Emma shivered, though she wasn't sure from cold.
Adrian stood and moved to the fireplace, striking a match. As flames caught, he rested one hand on the mantle, back to her. His shoulders looked so heavy, as if bearing weights she couldn't see.
"Why me?" she asked softly. "Why drag me into this at all? You could've picked any woman for your little contract."
He didn't turn. "Because you're not like them. You're… real. Honest. The first genuine person I've met in years."
"That didn't stop you from lying to me."
A muscle jumped in his jaw. "That's why I'm trying so hard to keep you at arm's length. To protect you from what I am."
Emma rose from the bed, crossing to him. "I don't want your protection if it means living in ignorance. If it means standing by while you let her—"
He spun suddenly, grabbing her shoulders. The movement startled a gasp from her. His hands were gentle but firm, eyes blazing.
"Don't ever compare yourself to Cassandra. You're nothing like her. That's exactly why this can't happen."
"Why what can't happen?" Her voice cracked.
His breath shuddered. "This."
And then he kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, hungry—like he was starving for her. His mouth claimed hers, one hand tangling in her hair, the other sliding to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him.
Emma melted into it. All her anger and pain poured out in a low sob against his lips. Her hands fisted in his shirt, needing to touch every solid line of him.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard. His forehead rested against hers.
"I've been trying so damn hard to stay away from you," he rasped. "To keep this cold and simple. But you make that impossible."
"Then stop trying," she whispered. "Adrian, I—"
He kissed her again, softer this time, hands cupping her face. Their tears mingled. When he pulled back, he rested his brow against hers and exhaled a shaky laugh that sounded almost broken.
He lifted her, carrying her to the bed. As he laid her down, he hovered over her, eyes searching hers for something she didn't fully understand.
Then his mouth was on her neck, tracing fire over her skin. Her hands slid under his shirt, feeling hot muscle tense beneath her palms. Every touch, every sigh, every shiver felt like it mattered more than anything that had come before.
She arched into him, whispering his name like a prayer. For a few heartbeats, nothing existed but this—this fragile, breathless, perfect moment.
But then, abruptly, he pulled away. His hand came up to grip the headboard over her, shoulders heaving. His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched as if in pain.
Emma reached for him. "Adrian—?"
He shook his head, voice strangled. "I can't."
Her chest caved inward. "Why? What is so horrible that you can't even let yourself—"
He looked down at her, and in that moment his eyes were bottomless pits of anguish.
"Because loving me is a death sentence," he whispered. "And I will not let you pay that price."
Then he stood and walked out, leaving her on the bed, trembling and hollow.
Hours passed before Emma could even bring herself to move. Outside, dawn was breaking, painting the storm-washed sky in bruised purples and reds.
She pressed a hand to her lips. They still felt swollen from his kisses.
I can't love you. His voice was a raw wound inside her.
But it was far too late for that.
Just then, her stomach twisted painfully. She darted to the bathroom, barely making it before she retched into the sink.
A cold realization slowly coiled through her.
Missed periods. Nausea. The way her body had felt so strange these past days.
No. Please no…
She pressed a shaking hand over her abdomen.
I might be pregnant.