Chapter 5

He did not react at once, he did not look surprised, nor did he smile. He watched me with an unreadable expression as if he were weighing something up.

"Then the night doesn't have to end." Adrian finally said. "Are you certain?"

I should have hesitated, thought about the consequences of what I was saying, what this meant, but instead I held his gaze.

"I would not have said it if I were not sure."

A quiet pause stretched between us, but then he nodded.

"Alright, then let's go."

He placed the black card back into his jacket pocket, settled his tab and reached for my hand.

I didn't pull away.

The cool night air hit my skin as we left in silence. I realised what I was doing, but I was more aware of how little I wanted to stop.

Adrian pulled some keys out of his pocket and unlocked a car. I looked across the road at the sleek, black, expensive-looking car.

I hid my gasp and let him lead me across to the car. He immediately opened the door for me, and I slid inside without a word. The quiet hum of the city faded as he closed the door behind me. Adrian's car was clean and looked brand new inside. I could not believe that I was sitting in the car of a man whom I had just met. But, I didn't care.

I needed the distraction to forget about Noel and Mira. The weight of what had happened with them still sat heavy in my chest—memories of voices raised, things said and left unsaid, the sharp ache of disappointment still raw. I was tired of feeling out of place in my own life, of being reminded of what I had lost or could never have. Adrian was a way to quiet all of that, at least for tonight. I just needed to be held and wanted, if only for one night.

Adrian got into the driver's seat and glanced at me, a smirk on his face, and I felt my heart flutter as his eyes ran down to my chest and stopped.

"Last chance to change your mind," he whispered.

I almost smiled.

"I'm not changing my mind." I shook my head.

I saw something flicker in his expression. "Good," he started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

The car slowed as we turned into a quieter street lined with tall, modern buildings. Glass, steel, and understated wealth surrounded us, the kind of place that didn’t need to advertise what it was.

He pulled into a private parking area beneath one of the buildings and switched off the engine.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

The silence returned, heavier now.

Closer.

Then Adrian stepped out, coming around to open my door before I could reach for it myself. Again—no performance. Just precision.

I got out, my heels clicking softly against the polished ground.

“This way,” he said.

Inside, the building was just as controlled as everything else about him. Clean lines. Soft lighting. Quiet.

The lift doors slid open, and we stepped inside.

The space felt smaller.

Closer.

I could feel his presence beside me, not touching, but there. Aware. Intentional.

The lift moved smoothly upward.

Floor after floor.

Neither of us spoke.

I didn’t trust myself to.

When the doors finally opened, he led me down a short hallway and into his apartment.

And for the second time that night, I paused.

The penthouse was… unreal.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the far wall, the city spread out beneath us in a sea of lights. The space was open, minimal, and impossibly clean—everything placed with purpose, nothing excessive, nothing accidental.

Expensive.

Quiet.

Controlled.

Just like him.

“It’s…” I started, then stopped.

“Functional,” he finished.

I huffed a small laugh. “That’s one word for it.”

He set his keys down and turned toward me.

And just like that, the atmosphere shifted.

The distance between us suddenly felt smaller.

Charged.

“You can still leave,” he said.

I looked at him.

Really looked at him.

At the control of his posture. The calm in his expression. The lack of pressure in his voice.

That was what made this dangerous.

Not that he wanted something from me.

That he didn’t need to.

“I’m not leaving,” I said quietly.

A beat.

Then he stepped closer.

Slowly.

Giving me every chance to move away.

I didn’t.

His hand came to rest lightly at my waist.

Not pulling.

Not claiming.

Just there.

Asking.

I closed the space between us.

The kiss was slow.

Deliberate.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate; it built, steady and controlled, his mouth moving against mine like he had all the time in the world. I could taste the faint sweetness of wine on his lips, a hint of citrus lingering with every kiss. Heat spread through me, sharp and immediate, my fingers curling into the front of his shirt as I grounded myself in something real.

Something present.

His other hand slid to my lower back, guiding—not forcing—as I leaned into him. It was impossible for me not to respond; the kiss deepened, tension giving way.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead brushing mine.

“Still sure?” he murmured.

I didn’t hesitate this time.

“Yes.” I licked my lips.

That was all it took.

He kissed me again, slower, deeper, and this time there was no distance left between us.

Whatever this was—mistake, distraction, or something else entirely—

Adrian pulled me up onto the kitchen side, not breaking the kiss. I clung to his shirt and wrapped my legs around his waist, and a small moan escaped from my lips.

His hands steadied at my hips, firm but not forceful, holding me there as if he was giving me the chance to pull away.

I didn’t.

If anything, I leaned into him more.

He picked me up and carried me to his bedroom.

The bedroom was just as controlled as the rest of the penthouse, with clean lines, muted tones, and soft lighting, but I barely registered any of it. My focus stayed on him. On the way, his grip tightened slightly, not possessive, but certain. For the briefest moment, I let myself feel the weight of that certainty. There was no hesitation left in me, no fear. What I was choosing right now felt like reclaiming something I had lost, a quiet courage filling the space my doubts once occupied. In his steadiness, I found my own sense of resolve, as if the act of wanting this—of wanting him—meant I was finally choosing myself.

Intentional.

He set me down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering for just a second longer than necessary, as if making sure I was steady.

As if making sure I was still choosing this.

I reached for him first.

That seemed to change something.

The restraint was still there—but thinner now.

No, Noel with his cold silences and the way we unravelled, no Mira with her impossible expectations and the ache she left behind. Their memories lingered at the edge of my mind, bittersweet and unresolved, but here, with Adrian, those ghosts finally fell quiet.

It was just him and me.

A sharp breath left me as Adrian’s mouth moved lower, the sensation sending heat through me that I couldn’t ignore even if I tried. My fingers tightened against him, my head tipping back as everything narrowed to this moment.

He didn’t rush.

That was what made it overwhelming.

Every touch felt intentional. Measured. Like he was paying attention to every reaction, every breath, every shift in me before moving again.

“Adrian…” his name slipped from my lips, softer now, unsteady.

He lifted his gaze to mine immediately, dark and focused.

“You can still stop this,” he said quietly.

I shook my head, pulling him back toward me, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t want to.”

Something in him shifted then—subtle, but undeniable.

Less restraint.

More certainty.

His hands moved with quiet confidence, guiding rather than taking, giving me every chance to pull away even as the distance between us disappeared completely.

And I didn’t.

I chose this.