The streets smelled like asphalt and garbage, the late morning sun reflecting off the glass of office buildings. I kept my hood up and walked fast, heels in hand, backpack snug against my side. I had errands to run, bills to pay, and clients to think about.
Survival didn't take breaks. Neither did the city.
At the café on the corner, I grabbed a black coffee and nodded at the barista I saw almost every day. My reflection in the glass wall caught my tired eyes, hair messy from the wind, but I straightened my shoulders.
Confidence wasn't just a tool in the club. It was a weapon on the streets, in offices, in the presence of men who thought they owned the world.
I moved through the crowd, slipping past people who barely noticed me, until a text buzzed on my phone. Another client. I ignored it for a second, sipping the coffee and glancing around. Something about the street today felt… different. Tighter.
Charged.
From across the street, I saw him. Adrian Cole. Dark suit, hands in pockets, standing with two men I assumed were his associates. He wasn't approaching yet, just observing, watching how people moved around me. My stomach tightened, but I didn't stop. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
I walked past the small boutique I needed to check, browsed quickly, paid, and left. He stayed where he was, standing against the wall, his eyes following my every movement.
Not the casual glance of a man noticing beauty. No, this was deeper. Calculating. Evaluating.
Later, I ran into him again, accidentally—or maybe not so accidentally—at a corner store. He was holding a bottle of whiskey, talking quietly with one of his men. He looked up and caught my eye, and for a moment, the world felt smaller, tighter, as if all the noise had stopped. I forced a casual smile, pretending the encounter meant nothing.
"You're always in the right place at the wrong time," he said quietly, but there was an edge to his tone. Not playful. Not friendly. Sharp, dangerous, like a warning hidden behind words.
"I'm just running errands," I replied evenly, holding his gaze for a fraction too long. I wouldn't look away. He didn't like that. I knew it. Men like him didn't like anyone holding ground against them.
He said nothing more, just nodded slightly, turned, and walked away with his entourage. But I could feel the weight of his attention, the pull of that dark focus, and I shivered slightly despite myself.
Back on the street, I shook my head, forcing my thoughts elsewhere. Survival first.
Always. The city kept moving, people walking, taxis honking, smells mixing, lives colliding. And I reminded myself: I controlled my body, my choices, my boundaries. Not him. Not anyone.
But Adrian Cole had entered my world, and suddenly the rules weren't so clear. There was danger in his gaze. Possession, maybe.
Hatred, certainly. But there was something else I couldn't name. Something that made my chest tighten in a way I didn't want.
I walked faster, heels in hand, backpack tight. Survival was everything. And yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, I couldn't stop thinking about the man in the dark suit, and the storm he was quietly building around me.