Alana learned quickly that silence with Adrian Blackwood was never empty.
It was heavy. Charged. Watching.
That morning, the apartment felt colder than usual. Sunlight streamed through the floor to ceiling windows, illuminating the marble floor and the sharp lines of modern luxury. Yet none of it felt warm.
Adrian was already awake.
She noticed him standing near the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, eyes focused on his tablet. He looked… unreal. Too composed. Too perfect. Like a man carved from control itself.
"Good morning," Alana said quietly.
Adrian lifted his gaze. Just once. Enough to make her heartbeat stumble.
"You're late," he said.
She frowned. "Late for what?"
"For breakfast," he replied calmly. "We eat together. That was in the contract."
Of course it was.
Alana clenched her jaw but said nothing. She walked toward the kitchen, intentionally brushing past him too close, just enough to feel his warmth.
It was a mistake.
Adrian's hand shot out, gripping her wrist with precise control. Not rough. Not gentle. Just firm enough to stop her.
"You're testing me," he said softly.
Alana met his gaze, refusing to look away. "Or maybe I'm testing myself."
Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? Interest? Danger?
He released her wrist slowly, his fingers lingering for half a second too long.
"Sit," he ordered.
She obeyed but not without lifting her chin in defiance.
Breakfast passed in silence, thick and suffocating. Every clink of cutlery echoed. Every glance felt intentional.
"You don't look afraid anymore," Adrian said suddenly.
Alana froze. "Should I be?"
He leaned back in his chair, studying her like a puzzle he intended to dismantle. "Most women are."
"I'm not most women."
"No," he agreed. "You're not."
That acknowledgment unsettled her more than any insult could have.
Later that day, Adrian summoned her to his private office inside the apartment. A space she had been forbidden to enter until now.
"Why am I here?" she asked, standing near the door.
"Because," Adrian said, closing his laptop, "you're my wife. And appearances matter."
He walked toward her slowly, each step deliberate. The distance between them shrank until she could smell his cologne dark, masculine, intoxicating.
"You'll attend the company gala with me," he continued. "Tomorrow night."
"A public appearance?" she asked. "Together?"
"Yes."
"And if I say no?"
Adrian stopped inches from her face. His voice dropped. "You won't."
Her pulse thundered. "You're very confident."
"I don't gamble," he murmured. "I calculate."
His hand lifted, fingers hovering near her chin but not touching. The restraint was worse than contact.
"You want to know the rules?" he asked.
Alana swallowed. "I already do."
"No," he said. "These are different."
His finger finally touched her chin, lifting it gently, forcing her to look into his eyes.
"Outside these walls, you're mine. My wife. My partner. You don't embarrass me. You don't defy me."
"And inside these walls?" she whispered.
A pause. A dangerous one.
"Inside," Adrian said quietly, "you're still learning."
Her breath caught.
That night, Alana lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. The memory of his touch replayed again and again controlled, restrained, deliberate.
She hated how it made her feel.
Curious.
Aware.
Alive.
Across the hall, Adrian stood by his window, city lights reflecting in his eyes.
For the first time since the contract began, he admitted the truth to himself.
Alana Moore was no longer just an obligation.
She was a temptation.
And temptation, he knew, was far more dangerous than desire.
Alana couldn't sleep. Every thought of Adrian kept replaying like a scene she didn't want to watch yet couldn't look away from. The sharpness of his gaze, the faint smirk when she had dared defy him even slightly, the way his presence filled the room like gravity itself it all lingered, heavy, intoxicating.
She tried to remind herself of the contract. This was business. Obedience. A formality. And yet, her body betrayed her, responding to memories that should have felt neutral. A shiver ran down her spine just recalling the deliberate way he had lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. There had been no force, no aggression just control, and that made it far more dangerous.
Alana's thoughts wandered to tomorrow. The gala. Being in public, side by side, under countless eyes. She wasn't sure if she was bracing for scrutiny or for him. Adrian's dominance was clear, yet beneath it lingered a vulnerability she hadn't seen before. That contrast made her chest ache with curiosity and frustration.
She shifted on the bed, pulling the sheets tighter around herself. She couldn't decide if she wanted to resist him, test his patience, or surrender to the strange pull he exerted over her. Each choice seemed to tighten the coil of tension building between them. One wrong move, one slip of the gaze, and the careful boundaries they had established could shatter.
And she realized something terrifying. She didn't just want to test him. She wanted to know how far she could go before she broke. She wanted to see if Adrian Blackwood the untouchable, commanding, cold CEO would bend for her even just a little.
As sleep finally edged closer, her mind whispered the truth she refused to say aloud: she was ready for the challenge. But the question remained was she ready for the consequences?