Maya noticed the smile before anything else.
It wasn't the polished, camera-ready curve Adrian wore in front of investors or the press. This one was subtle—barely there, tucked into the corner of his mouth as he stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, pouring coffee like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
Like they were ordinary.
"Your cup," he said, sliding it across the counter toward her.
She stared at it. "You remembered."
"You don't like sugar," he replied. "And only a splash of milk."
Maya's fingers tightened around the mug. She couldn't remember telling him that.
She looked up at him.
"Since when do you pay attention to details like that?"
Adrian met her gaze, unbothered. "Since it became relevant."
That should have reassured her.
Instead, it made her uneasy.
The smile appeared again later that morning.
They were stepping out of the building together when a group of employees slowed, openly staring. Adrian's hand settled at the small of her back—warm, steady—and he smiled. Not at them.
At her.
It was quick. Private. Gone almost as soon as it appeared.
Maya missed a step.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," she lied, regaining her balance.
But her heart was racing.
This wasn't in the contract.
By noon, the internet had noticed.
Photos circulated of Adrian opening doors for her, adjusting her coat collar, leaning in to whisper something that made her laugh despite herself. Headlines shifted tone—from suspicion to fascination.
CEO Adrian Cole's softer side revealed.
Is love changing Blackwood's iron leader?
Power couple goals?
Maya scrolled through her phone in the car, frowning. "They're rewriting you."
Adrian glanced over. "Let them."
"You don't care?"
"I care about outcomes," he said. "And this is working."
She hesitated. "Is it… necessary?"
He studied her. "You want them convinced, don't you?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then trust me."
That word again.
Trust.
At Blackwood International, the shift was immediate.
Board members smiled more. Conversations softened. Even the air felt lighter, as if Adrian's apparent domesticity had humanized the entire building.
During a meeting, one of the senior directors laughed at a joke Adrian made—something dry and understated that somehow landed. Maya blinked in surprise.
Adrian Cole didn't make jokes.
When the meeting ended, she followed him back to his office.
"You're enjoying this," she said flatly.
He loosened his tie. "Enjoying what?"
"Playing husband."
He paused. Just for a second. "I'm playing a role."
"Then why does it feel… different?" she asked.
Adrian looked at her then, really looked at her. His gaze lingered longer than professional necessity required.
"Does it?" he asked.
Her breath caught. "Yes."
Silence stretched between them, thick and charged.
Adrian broke it first. "We have a dinner tonight. Investors. Be prepared."
Of course.
The dinner was intimate—too intimate.
Low lighting. Soft music. Candles flickering between them as if mocking the rules they'd written. Adrian sat close enough that their knees brushed beneath the table.
Maya shifted instinctively.
His hand covered hers.
She froze.
Adrian didn't look at her immediately. When he did, his expression was calm—but his thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles, slow and deliberate.
For the audience.
She reminded herself of that.
"You're tense," he murmured. "Relax."
"Your hand," she whispered back. "It's unnecessary."
"It's expected," he said quietly. "Smile."
She did.
And for the first time, it wasn't entirely fake.
The realization scared her.
Later that night, back in the car, Maya pulled her hand away the moment the door closed.
"That was too much," she said.
Adrian leaned back, studying her. "They were watching."
"They always are," she snapped. "But you didn't need to—"
"What?" he interrupted. "Hold your hand?"
"Yes!"
He frowned slightly. "You weren't uncomfortable in front of them."
She looked away. "That's not the point."
"What is the point, then?"
She hesitated, words tangling in her chest. "It felt… real."
Adrian went very still.
The car continued through the city, the silence between them loud enough to drown out the engine.
"Don't confuse realism with reality," he said finally.
"Then stop acting like this," she shot back. "Stop smiling at me like I'm—"
"Like you're what?" he asked quietly.
She couldn't finish the sentence.
The next morning, she woke to the smell of breakfast.
Actual breakfast.
She padded into the kitchen to find Adrian flipping pancakes with practiced ease.
"You cook now?" she asked incredulously.
"Occasionally," he replied. "Sit."
She didn't move. "Why?"
He glanced over his shoulder. "Because you didn't eat dinner."
She stared at him. "You noticed that too?"
"Yes."
Her heart did something traitorous.
She sat.
They ate in near silence, but it wasn't awkward. It was… comfortable. The most dangerous thing of all.
When she stood to leave for work, Adrian reached out, straightening a loose strand of hair near her face. The touch was brief—but intimate.
Maya sucked in a breath.
He realized what he'd done at the same moment she did.
"I—" Adrian began.
"Don't," she said quickly. "Just… don't."
He withdrew his hand, jaw tightening. "This is getting complicated."
"You're the one complicating it," she said softly.
He didn't deny it.
By the end of the week, everyone believed it.
The staff. The board. The media.
Even Victor Hale, watching from afar, noted the change with narrowed eyes.
Adrian Cole was smiling.
Not for cameras.
For her.
That night, as Maya stood brushing her teeth, she caught her reflection and whispered, "Get a grip."
She turned off the light—and nearly collided with Adrian standing in the doorway.
"I need to talk to you," he said.
Her pulse spiked. "About what?"
"About boundaries," he replied.
She nodded quickly. "Good. We need to reset."
He stepped closer.
"Yes," he said. "We do."
But he didn't move away.
The air between them crackled, heavy with things unsaid.
Adrian's gaze dropped to her lips—just for a second.
Too long.
Maya's heart slammed against her ribs.
This was supposed to be pretend.
So why did his smile feel like the most dangerous truth she'd ever seen?
Next: Chapter 10 - Office Whispers
He learned how to pretend.
Then he forgot how to stop.
Tonight | 11:30 PM – 12:30 AM