Adrian excused himself and went upstairs to change. Emily sat in the dimly lit kitchen, swirling her tea absently as her thoughts raced. She could still feel the weight of their earlier conversation, the way Adrian’s calm, steady gaze seemed to quietly unravel all the worries she hadn’t even voiced aloud.
When he returned, Adrian had changed into casual loungewear—a fitted black shirt and dark sweatpants that looked effortlessly elegant. His damp golden hair had been lightly tousled, and his steady presence filled the room once again as he walked over to the counter to pick up his tea.
He noticed her shift her fingers slightly on the cup, as if the heat was bothering her. Without a word, he reached into a nearby drawer, pulled out a cup sleeve, and gently slid it over her mug. "Here," he said in his deep, measured voice. "Don’t burn yourself."
Emily looked up at him, startled by the gesture. Under the dim kitchen light, with his relaxed posture and calm demeanor, he looked impossibly composed—and yet disarmingly handsome. She quickly glanced away, murmuring, “Thank you.”
Adrian gave her a small nod, then leaned casually against the counter, watching her intently. "So," he said, his tone even, "what’s making you think this can’t be fixed?"
Emily hesitated, then sighed. “Adrian, I appreciate your offer to help, but this isn’t something you can fix. It’s… complicated.”
His silence prompted her to continue. She tightened her grip on the tea and began. “First of all, every piece I’ve ever designed belongs to Mike’s company—A Designs. Legally, my name isn’t attached to anything. And then there’s the issue with my shares.”
Her shoulders sagged as she spoke. “I own 20% of A Designs, but recently, Mike and the other shareholders have been pressuring me to sell. Mike was planning to bid on this huge design project—something that could make or break the company—but then a competitor came in and completely disrupted the plan.”
Adrian’s eyes sharpened slightly, though his expression didn’t change. “A competitor?” he prompted.
Emily nodded, her tone growing more bitter. “Yes. They’re incredible. They have brands everywhere, in every major city around the world. And they don’t just do jewelry—they’ve invested in tech, luxury goods, fashion houses, you name it. And now, they’ve launched a new jewelry division with a flagship brand. Their expansion has been so aggressive that A Designs’ board is panicking.”
Adrian picked up his tea and took a deliberate sip. Then, without breaking eye contact, he asked, “You’re talking about E International, aren’t you?”
Emily blinked in surprise. “Yes! That’s exactly who I’m talking about. They’re the reason A Designs is falling apart.” She let out a small, bitter laugh, setting her cup down. “And that’s why it’s so hard for me to leave. Between the pressure to sell my shares, the ownership of my designs, and the way the board is watching my every move, I don’t see a way out.”
Adrian set his cup down with a soft clink, his sharp gaze never leaving her face. He straightened slightly, his presence commanding yet calm.
“Emily,” he said, his voice steady, “if you trust me—and if you’ve truly decided to end things with Mike—I can help you.”
Emily frowned, confusion flashing in her eyes. “Help me? How?”
Adrian leaned forward slightly, his tone calm but deliberate. “I can make sure E International cancels its bid for the project A Designs is pursuing. Then, I’ll acquire A Designs myself. That way, your shares won’t lose their value, and I’ll ensure that the rights to all your designs are returned to you.”
Her breath caught, her mind struggling to process his words. “What?” she whispered, barely audible.
“I’ll acquire A Designs,” Adrian repeated firmly. “I’ll buy out the entire company, secure your rights, and free you from them completely.”
Emily stared at him, her chest tightening. “Adrian… You can’t be serious. That would take—” She stopped mid-sentence as the realization struck her like lightning. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Wait… Are you saying… You’re the CEO of E International?”
Adrian’s lips curved into the faintest smile, one that softened his otherwise serious expression. “Yes,” he said simply.
Emily froze, her pulse quickening as she stared at him. “You’re the CEO of E International,” she repeated, her voice trembling with shock.
“Yes,” Adrian confirmed, his gaze unwavering. “And if you want to be free, Emily, I’ll make it happen.”
Her tea sat forgotten in her hands, her fingers trembling. Adrian Blackwood—her best friend’s enigmatic older brother, the man she thought she knew—was the head of the very empire that had turned A Designs upside down.
Finally, she found her voice. “Adrian, you don’t understand. A Designs has… issues. There are a lot of unclear accounts, mismanaged funds. If you buy them, it might not be good for you.”
Adrian didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze softened as he reached out and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed lightly against her skin, and for a moment, Emily felt her heart skip a beat.
Realizing what he’d done, Adrian pulled back slightly and cleared his throat. “For you,” he said quietly, “I’m willing to take that risk.”
Emily’s breath hitched, her heart pounding. For a brief moment, she thought she saw something warm and tender in his usually stoic expression, but it was gone almost instantly, leaving her wondering if she’d imagined it.
“Adrian,” she began hesitantly, “we’re friends, but this isn’t a good idea. It’s too much.”
Adrian tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady and unwavering. “Emily, if I acquire A Designs and secure your rights, isn’t that the perfect solution?”
Emily hesitated. “Even if you return the copyrights to me, I couldn’t afford them. If E International owns them, I’d never be able to buy them back.”
Adrian’s lips curved slightly. “There’s a way you could own them.”
Her brows furrowed. “What way?”
Adrian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “Marry me. Share my assets, my company, my life. As part of E International, you wouldn’t have to buy anything—you’d already own it.”
Emily’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open. “What?” she stammered, staring at him in disbelief. “Marriage? You’re saying we should get married?”
“Yes,” Adrian said, his tone calm yet firm. “Marry me, Emily.”
Her breath hitched as his hand found the curve of her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.“You’re everything,” he murmured against her collarbone, his lips brushing the delicate skin there, as if mapping a constellation only he could see.She smiled, her fingers threading through his hair, guiding him back to her gaze.Their eyes locked, and in that moment, the world beyond the room ceased to exist—just them, tangled in the quiet rhythm of their shared breaths.He moved with her, slow and deliberate, each touch a promise, each sigh a confession.Her dress slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her waist like spilled silk. His shirt followed, discarded without thought. They took their time, as if relearning each other—inch by inch, breath by breath.When his hand grazed the inside of her thigh, she shivered, not from cold but from the aching tenderness in his touch. He paused, looking up at her, asking without words.She answered with a kiss, deep
She kissed him. The taste of wine still lingered on her lips, but it was him she was searching for—him she was finding. When she finally pulled back, her voice was low, eyes damp. “Don’t ever store something that bitter again,”she whispered.“So strong. So harsh. So—sad.” Adrian didn’t answer with words. He leaned in and kissed her back—slowly, gently, as if trying to rewrite every ache she had just swallowed. When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers. His breath was warm against her cheek. “It’s over,”he murmured.“All of it. Don’t be sad anymore. I have you now. That’s enough for me.” His arms wrapped around her again, drawing her close, and this time, he didn’t let go. They moved together, slowly, until the backs of her knees touched the edge of the round table in the center of the room. She didn’t resist when he lifted her up, settling her gently onto its surface. Through it all, their hands remained intertwined—never once breaking apart. “I added a n
The woman hesitated only a moment. Then nodded, retrieving it with careful hands and pouring a small glass. Emily lifted it to her nose first. Dark berries. Tobacco. Blackcurrant. A touch of smoke. Then the taste. Sharp. Tart. Uncompromising. It hit the tongue with a punch of acid and tannin—unyielding, intense, bone-dry. A wine that didn’t pretend to be gentle. Complex, yes. Structured, absolutely. But it carried the kind of bitterness that lingered long after the first sip. Emily swallowed slowly. The back of her throat burned. And suddenly, she understood. This was what it had felt like for him. That year. That silence. That kind of waiting—not soft or hopeful, but bruised and hollow. The wine didn’t cry out. It endured. Just like he had. She set the glass down. Her fingers hovered for a moment above the bottles…then reached for a new one. One that hadn’t yet been stored. “I’d like to add one,”she said. The attendant brought over the form. Emily
Night had fallen by the time Emily made the international call. She sat by the bedroom window, the city lights behind her casting long shadows across the floor. The world outside was quiet, stilled in twilight, but halfway across the globe, it was morning already—sunlight pouring over distant vineyards and limestone hills. She dialed the number listed at the bottom of the wine estate’s emails, her fingers steady despite the thrum in her chest. A few rings. Then a woman’s voice—warm, polished, with the faintest trace of a European accent—answered. “Good evening, Leclair Wine Estate.” Emily hesitated for half a breath. Then said gently,“Hello. My name is Emily Hart Blackwoods. I believe…you’ve been working with my husband for some time.” There was a pause on the other end. Then a small, delighted gasp. “Oh! Mrs. Blackwoods. My goodness—we’ve heard so much about you. It’s an honor to finally speak with you. Is there anything we can assist you with?” Emily’s lips curved
Most replies over the years were purely logistical. Address confirmations. Shipping instructions. Name labels. Early entries all bore the same default phrasing: Label:Ms. Emily Hart Requested by:A. Blackwoods But then she saw the timestamp. The date they got married. On that day, he had replied to the wine estate’s routine inquiry: “Would you like to keep the current label format:Ms.?” Adrian’s response was brief, typed in that same composed tone she knew by heart: Please update to:Mrs. Blackwoods. There’s something special I’d like to share—yes, we got married. She blinked. It wasn’t just that he’d kept every part of her in his world. It was that he’d claimed it, quietly, without spectacle. Even in a place she’d never meant to look. And somehow, it felt more intimate than any public vow. Emily sat still in front of the screen, her fingers trembling slightly above the mousepad.So many dates.So many moments.Each one chosen, remembered, recorded—like
A few days later, Adrian left the country. Emily woke alone the next morning, the bed still faintly warm where he’d last laid. On the pillow beside her, a folded note waited, written in his slanted, elegant handwriting. Remember to eat well. The chef will still come by every day at the usual time. Call me if you feel even a little lonely. We’ll video chat every night. I already miss you. —A. She smiled, touched the edge of the note, and tucked it carefully into her drawer. The first few days passed in quiet rhythm. Mornings with soft light and coffee, afternoons spent working in her studio. The private chef arrived at noon each day, polite and precise, preparing elegant meals in the sleek open kitchen. By the fourth day, the doorbell rang unexpectedly. It was Lila. And Adrian’s mother. “We figured you’d pretend you’re not lonely,”Lila said with a grin, walking right in with a paper bag full of pastries.“So we decided not to give you the chance.” “We just came