CHAPTER FOUR

The cool night air hit them as they stepped outside, a sharp contrast to the heat they’d created. The city hummed around them, unaware. Streetlights glowed softly, casting shadows that felt private, intimate. His car was parked just across the lot. Every step toward it felt like walking further into something they wouldn’t be able to undo.

When he opened the door for her, she hesitated.

This was the moment. She could still leave. Instead, she reached for him again.

Inside the car, the world shrank. Windows fogged faintly from their breath. The air felt too tight, too charged. His hands were gentler now, slower like he was memorizing rather than claiming.

Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, down his collar, sliding the fabric of his shirt open just enough to feel warmth beneath. He shuddered at the contact, restraint unraveling thread by thread.

They kissed again, deeper, slower. Clothes loosened. Fabric shifted. Skin met skin in hesitant exploration that felt both reckless and tender. He traces his lips down to my neck, down to my collarbone, and the next his hand made way between my thighs as a little moan escaped my mouth. His finger found way to my clit and there were fireworks. He moved slow and steady before I could take a blink he was moving very fast inside me. he quickly turned me and thrust into me, moving slow at first and then fast than I always imagined, loud moan escaped my mouth has he became faster until I reached orgasm and our collapsed on each other trying to get our breath.

It was need. And escape. And the illusion of being wanted without expectation. For one suspended moment, i wasn’t drowning in responsibility. What had felt intoxicating minutes ago now felt heavy.

And neither of them knew what it would cost

Adrian POV

The morning light cut through the tinted car windows, harsh and unforgiving. Adrian’s chest tightened as reality hit.

It wasn’t Seraphina.

Not her.

The moment of closeness the heat, the laughter, the taste of lips he thought he’d missed it wasn’t her. Every memory of her, every longing he’d felt all week, crashed into him at once. His heart, already tangled with anger, grief, and pride, slammed against his ribs.

“Elara…” he murmured, his voice low, uneven.

She blinked up at him, still disheveled from the night, hair falling in soft waves over her face, lips swollen from kisses, eyes half-lidded from alcohol and sleep.

He shook his head, sharp. “Get out of the car.”

Her brow furrowed, confusion and hurt flitting across her face. “What? Adrian—”

“Now.” His tone was cold, clipped. Controlled. The part of him that always calculated and protected himself snapped into place. He didn’t wait for argument. He started the engine.

Elara’s lips pressed together, swallowed whatever she wanted to say, and climbed out of the car, shivering in the early morning chill.

Adrian drove off, the city streets blurred past him in silence. The guilt, anger, and frustration twisted together, a storm he couldn’t contain. He wasn’t used to being wrong at anything, especially matters of the heart.

Adrian stepped out of the shower, muscles tense, the hot water doing little to ease the storm inside him. His phone vibrated insistently on the marble countertop. He grabbed it, water dripping from his hair onto the polished surface.

A single text from Jonas made him freeze:

“Sir… your grandfather has passed. The entire family has been summoned immediately to the estate.” Adrian’s pulse spiked. His grandfather his mentor, protector, the man who had shaped him was gone.

He dressed quickly in black, tension coiling like steel in his chest. Jonas followed him silently as the car cut through the quiet night streets to the family estate. The familiar gates loomed large, dark, oppressive, the air thick with anticipation and resentment.

Inside, the house smelled of polished wood and expensive incense, a quiet attempt to mask tension. Adrian’s gaze swept over the gathered family. No form of grief in their eyes.

His two younger brothers:

Derrick, the middle son, lanky with a crooked smile that hid arrogance. Always eager to undermine Adrian, he’d spent more time scheming than working, always assuming the firstborn would falter.

Lucian, the youngest, soft-spoken but sly. He had a knack for twisting words, planting doubt in the boardroom, and making allies out of servants and distant cousins alike.

His sister, Vivienne, tall, elegant, dripping with self-importance, eyes sharp enough to cut through anyone who challenged her. She had always kept a ledger of every mistake Adrian made, from childhood to adulthood, waiting for a moment to use it.

His stepmother, Helena, cold, polished, and calculating, perched herself beside the armchair like royalty. She had spent years quietly lobbying for control over his father’s assets, always polite but always hungry.

Aunt and uncle were present too: Uncle Howard, loud, opinionated, and greedy, always reminding Adrian he was “spoiled” and never truly earned anything, and Aunt Margot, manipulative, draping herself in sympathy while silently snatching opportunities for herself.

Adrian’s eyes swept the room like a hawk. Every whispered jab, every subtle look of resentment—it all added up. These people, bound by blood and convenience, would be testing him tonight.

The lawyer arrived. Mr. Wellington, grey-haired, precise, voice measured like a metronome. He cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “We are here to execute the last will and testament of your late patriarch, Mr. Reginald Vale.”

Adrian stiffened. Every ear leaned in.

“The estate, valued at over three hundred million dollars, shall be divided as follows…”

He read deliberately, each word a hammer striking expectations:

Adrian Vale: 70% of the company shares, contingent upon marriage within three months. The family gasped.

Derrick Vale: 10% of the company, plus a modest villa in the countryside.

Lucian Vale: 5%, with the stock in the father’s small ventures and a townhouse in the city.

Vivienne Vale: 5%, along with the summer estate in Marbella.

Helena, stepmother: The remaining 10% in liquid assets, to be managed at her discretion, with a small annual allowance from the main company to maintain comfort.

Uncle Howard and Aunt Margot: Minor real estate and trust funds earmarked for charitable use, to avoid contestation.

Adrian’s jaw tightened as he listened. Every allocation, every clause, was a reminder: power and legacy were never simple. His grandfather had left him the lion’s share but with conditions designed to control his life, to push him into a choice Adrian wasn’t sure he could make.