It had been a week since my ankle drama, and I could finally walk properly again without limping like an old market woman carrying too much load. Sophia had retired from her career as my self-declared nurse, which mostly consisted of yelling, "Sit down, Amara, unless you want to hobble for life!"
So there I was, scrolling aimlessly through my phone when the knock came.
I opened the door—and nearly swallowed my tongue.
Adrian stood there. Black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, eyes softer than I remembered. My heart instantly betrayed me, sprinting like it was in the Olympics.
"You're walking fine," he said, his gaze flicking down to my healed foot.
"Yeah," I mumbled, suddenly shy. "All healed. Thanks to Sophia's… military care."
He chuckled, then cleared his throat. "Dinner?"
I blinked. "Dinner?"
"As in—let me take you out."
"Oh." I tried not to grin like a fool. "Yeah. Sure. Why not?"
Dinner with Adrian Cole. The words themselves felt like an event. He drove us to this upscale restaurant where the chandeliers sparkled like they were made of actual starlight.
We ordered, we laughed, we teased each other—it almost felt normal. Almost. Until disaster strolled right up to our table.
"Adrian!"
The voice was sharp enough to cut glass.
I turned, and my stomach dropped. A woman in a red dress stormed over like she was auditioning for the role of "Ex Who Refuses to Move On." Before I could even process her words—"I can't believe you did this to me!"—a glass of wine flew into Adrian's face.
"Oh my God!" I gasped.
Adrian sat there, jaw tight, dripping like a drenched mannequin.
Without thinking, I stood, grabbed my own glass, and poured it right on her.
"Amara!" Adrian looked shocked.
"What?" I snapped, chest heaving. "You think she's going to pour a drink on you and get away with it?"
The woman shrieked, mascara running down her face. "Why would you do that? You don't even know what he did to me!"
I squared my shoulders. "And I don't care what he did. You don't assault him. Period."
Her jaw dropped. Before she could launch into round two, the restaurant security rushed over, politely but firmly escorting her out. Adrian stood, and I tugged his sleeve. "Let's go."
Outside, I pulled a hanky from my bag and reached up to dab his face. My hands trembled slightly, but I kept wiping, stubbornly gentle.
"Who was that?" I asked quietly.
Adrian exhaled. "Forget her. She's not important."
I raised a brow.
He paused. Then: "My ex. She reacted that way because I dumped her without giving a reason."
My hand stilled. "Why'd you dump her?"
His eyes went cold for a moment. "Because I caught her cheating. But I didn't tell her that. I just… ended it."
"Oh." I leaned back, still holding the hanky. "Sorry to say this but… she's a bitch."
The corner of his mouth curved upward.
"I mean," I added, "pouring wine at dinner? That's not heartbreak, that's Nollywood-level pettiness."
Adrian actually laughed. And just like that, the tension broke.
By the time he drove me home, he'd insisted on stopping at his place first so he could change his wine-soaked shirt. I didn't argue—curiosity had me itching to get a thorough look at his place.
His house—or should I say mansion—was breathtaking. This one was different from the house I went to before. He said that was the family house. Belonged to his grandpa, Although he spent most of his time over there.
High ceilings, art that probably cost more than my entire life savings, a view of the city glittering like treasure.
I wandered, whispering, "Wow" every five seconds. This isn't a house. This is… a museum where rich people hibernate.
I turned and he was in the hallway, fresh shirt on, eyes locked on me. The intensity in them made me freeze.
He walked closer. Stopped in front of me. And then, without warning, lifted me onto the sleek marble counter.
My breath caught.
"Is this okay?" His voice was low, almost reverent.
I swallowed hard, nodding.
Then he kissed me.
Slow at first, but deep. Possessive. Like he'd been holding back for too long.
When he pulled away, his forehead rested against mine. "I promised myself I was going to do that," he murmured. And then he kissed me again.
I melted. Completely. My hands clung to his shoulders, my body arching toward his. Fire licked down my spine, and before I could stop myself, I whispered, "Please."
His pupils darkened. His hand slid to my thigh, parting them gently. Fingers brushed aside my panties and found me where I ached most.
I gasped, clutching him, moaning into his ear as his touch sent waves crashing through me.
"You're so wet," he whispered, voice husky, almost broken.
I shuddered, clinging tighter, moans spilling out as pleasure consumed me. My lips found his neck, sucking hard, leaving a mark I didn't care about.
Then he whispered, "Can we go further?"
My heart stumbled. Panic flickered.
"I've never… um…" I hid my face, cheeks burning.
Adrian froze. Gently, he tilted my chin up. "Amara… are you a virgin?"
I looked down, embarrassed, and gave the smallest nod.
His expression shifted. Not disappointment, not annoyance—just… softness. He pulled my skirt back down, pressed a kiss to my forehead.
"Then we'll stop."
My stomach twisted. "Wait—you don't want me because I'm inexperienced?"
Disappointment laced my words before I could stop it.
But then Adrian guided my hand to the hard bulge straining against his trousers.
"Trust me, baby," he whispered, voice thick with restraint. "I'm very interested."
My whole body flushed red.
And for the first time, I realized: this man wasn't just my fake boyfriend anymore.
He was the one person who could set me on fire… with just a touch.
And I was ready to burn.