Six: The Line She Couldn’t Draw

Eva had spent the better part of the morning pacing the living room. The coffee she’d poured hours ago had gone cold, untouched on the table beside the couch. Every time she tried to sit, her body tensed. Every time she closed her eyes, last night came rushing back — the heat, the taste of him, the sound of her own voice gasping his name.

She wanted to forget. God, she needed to forget.

But forgetting wasn’t possible when the man she was trying to run from had the keys to her front door — and to her will.

The sound of her phone buzzing later that day on the table made her flinch.

Adrian.

Her breath hitched. She didn’t want to answer, but her thumb betrayed her.

“Eva,” his voice came through, low and calm — that perfect mix of command and care that always made her pulse spike.

“I’m outside.”

Her stomach twisted. “Adrian, you can’t keep coming here.”

“I’m not keeping anything,” he said. “I’m making sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. “You don’t need to—”

The line went dead.

Moments later, there was a knock on her door. Not urgent. Just… expectant.

Eva closed her eyes. For a full minute, she didn’t move. Then, as if on autopilot, she walked to the door and opened it.

He stood there — crisp shirt, black slacks, the faintest trace of his cologne wrapping around her like memory. He held a bouquet of lilies in one hand, a small paper bag in the other.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she said softly.

He smiled. “You said you liked lilies.”

Her heart clenched. “How come you remember?”

“I remember everything you say,” Adrian replied, stepping inside before she could stop him. His presence filled the room, instantly altering its air. He set the flowers on the counter, then the bag. “Croissants. From that café on Sixth. Your favorite.”

Her lips parted, words failing. “Adrian… this—this isn’t right. What happened last night… it can’t happen again.”

He turned, his gaze steady, unreadable. “Why not?”

“Because my husband is in the hospital,” she said, voice trembling. “Because I made vows, Adrian. For better or for worse.”

He took a step closer. “And where was he when you cried alone every night? When you begged him to open his eyes, to touch you, any sign to show he was fighting to stay alive?”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t make this about him.”

“I’m making it about you,” he countered. “You’re starving for affection, Eva. For someone to look at you and actually see you. I do.”

Her throat ached. “You’re manipulating me.”

“Maybe,” he said softly, his expression darkening. “Or maybe I’m just giving you what you’ve always needed.”

She stepped back, but he followed — not touching her, not yet, but close enough that she could feel his warmth, smell the hint of coffee on his breath.

“Adrian, please,” she said again, though her voice had lost its edge.

He studied her face for a long moment, then reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek — feather-light, reverent. “You’re trembling.”

“Because I’m scared.”

“Of me?”

“Of what you make me feel.”

Something flickered in his eyes — hunger, yes, but also something gentler, almost pained. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmured. “I’ll never hurt you.”

But she knew that wasn’t true. Because what he was doing — what they were doing — was already tearing her apart.

He moved past her then, setting the croissants on a plate, acting as though the conversation hadn’t happened. “Eat something,” he said casually. “You skipped breakfast this morning.”

Her anger flared. “I don't need you checking up on me?”

His eyes met hers. “Why not?”

Her breath hitched. “That’s not your place.”

He smiled faintly, a sharp, knowing curve of his lips. “You made it my place when you let me inside you.”

Her pulse thundered. She wanted to throw him out — to scream, to make him see that he was crossing a line — but every time he spoke, her resolve frayed a little more.

He leaned against the counter, folding his arms. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

Eva froze, glancing down. She hadn’t even realized it — the white button-up she’d thrown on after her shower that morning still carried his scent.

“I didn’t—”

“It looks better on you,” he interrupted, his tone lowering.

Her body betrayed her again — warmth coiling low in her belly, shame burning hot behind it.

“Stop doing that,” she whispered.

“Doing what?”

“Making me forget what’s right.”

He pushed away from the counter and closed the space between them, his fingers sliding into her hair. “Maybe right and wrong don’t apply to us anymore,” he murmured. “Maybe we’re just... inevitable.”

She shook her head weakly, but he was already kissing her — slow, deep, deliberate. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission but promised devotion.

And just like that, the line she’d drawn between guilt and desire blurred again.

When she finally tore herself away, her breathing ragged, she whispered, “I need space, Adrian.”

He studied her for a long time, then nodded — but there was something in his eyes that made her shiver.

“Of course,” he said. “Take all the space you want.”

But as he turned to leave, he added quietly, “Just don’t expect me to stop loving you in it.”

When the door closed behind him, Eva’s knees gave out. She sank to the floor, shaking, her heart a storm of longing and regret.

Because she knew, deep down, that Adrian Cole wasn’t giving her space.

He was tightening his grip — one thoughtful gesture, one lingering kiss, one unrelenting day at a time.

And the worst part?

A part of her didn’t want him to stop.