The morning after the gala was quiet in the penthouse—but the calm was deceptive.
Adrian's phone rang constantly, messages flooding in. Investors. Board members. Lawyers. And beneath the flood of professional concern, one name appeared repeatedly: hers.
"She's persistent," I murmured, echoing what he had said the night before.
"Yes," he replied grimly, scanning a message. "And she isn't finished."
I felt it then—the first real weight of consequence. Choosing me publicly hadn't just been romantic—it had been dangerous. Power didn't forgive challenges. And neither did people who thought they could manipulate him.
Minutes later, a knock on the door shattered the fragile calm. Security tensed immediately, but Adrian moved faster.
He opened the door himself. Outside, a sleek car waited. A man stepped forward, sharp, confident, with an air that reeked of menace. A threat. Calculated. Personal.
"You crossed a line," he said coolly. "She's not supposed to matter. You've made enemies, Blackwood."
Adrian didn't flinch. His hand found mine—steady, grounding. "She's with me," he said, voice low, sharp. "And you will not touch her."
The man's smirk faltered under the weight of Adrian's gaze. For a heartbeat, it seemed the threat might break—but Adrian didn't step back. Not from me. Not from his choice.
When the man finally retreated, Adrian closed the door and leaned against it, breathing hard, but unyielding. His hand stayed on mine, his fingers tightening, possessive.
"You're safe," he whispered, though the tension in his body betrayed the truth. "For now."
I leaned into him instinctively, the danger making our closeness unavoidable. His chest pressed to mine, solid, unwavering. Even under threat, even under pressure, his presence grounded me.
"You don't get to protect me from everything," I murmured, voice low.
"No," he admitted, lips brushing my temple. "But I get to protect you from this. From them. From me losing you."
The city outside felt distant, the world narrowed to the two of us, tethered in a space where danger and desire collided.
And I realized something terrifyingly beautiful: surviving in Adrian Blackwood's world meant standing in firelines—and somehow, I wanted to stand there with him.