Ch. 3: First crack in the mask

The city was a blur of silver and gold through the penthouse windows, its restless hum muffled by floor-to-ceiling glass. Adrian stood with one hand braced against it, staring out as if the skyline could give him answers. Behind him, the clock ticked toward midnight. The aftertaste of champagne and fake congratulations still lingered in his mouth. The door to the private elevator slid open with a soft chime, and Ethan stepped inside without knocking.

“You’re still up,” Ethan said, setting a folder down on the kitchen island. His suit jacket was gone, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just enough to reveal the strong lines of his throat.

Adrian didn’t turn. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Ethan’s gaze lingered on him. “Because of tonight?”

Adrian finally faced him, and the laugh that escaped his mouth was brittle. “You mean because my father auctioned off my future in front of half the city?”

Ethan crossed the room slowly, the quiet confidence in his movements making Adrian’s pulse do things he didn’t appreciate. “You could have refused him.”

Adrian shook his head. “You know it’s not that simple.”

“It’s exactly that simple,” Ethan said, voice low. “You just don’t like the cost.”

Adrian stepped closer, heat sparking under his skin. “And what do you know about the cost, Ethan? What do you know about being tied to a family name that can strangle you if you step out of line?”

“I know,” Ethan said, his voice a quiet knife, “that if you keep letting other people dictate your life, you’ll wake up one day and not recognize the man in the mirror.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The city stretched endlessly around them, but the air between them felt impossibly small. Adrian’s eyes flicked over Ethan’s face—the steady gaze, the stubborn set of his jaw, the faint shadow of exhaustion around his eyes. “You’re awfully brave tonight,” Adrian murmured.

“Or maybe I’m just tired of watching you play a part you hate,” Ethan replied.

Something cracked inside Adrian then—not loudly, not visibly, but enough for the truth to slip through.

“You think I don’t hate it?” Adrian said, voice rough. “You think I want Cassandra Rossi in my life? That I want to smile at her father while he measures the value of my loyalty?”

Ethan’s expression softened, but he didn’t step back. “Then why let it happen?”

Adrian’s breath caught. “Because I…” He stopped, the words lodging in his throat. Because I have too much to lose. Because I can’t lose you.

Ethan tilted his head slightly. “Because what?”

Adrian’s voice dropped. “Because the only person I’ve ever actually wanted… I can’t have.”

The words hung between them like live electricity. Ethan’s eyes darkened, but his face remained unreadable. Adrian took a half step closer, enough for their breath to mingle. He could smell the faint trace of Ethan’s cologne, could see the pulse at the base of his throat. For a dangerous second, Adrian imagined closing the space, pressing his mouth to Ethan’s, finally breaking the tension that had been building for years. But Ethan moved first, turning away just enough to break the moment.

“I should go,” he said, his voice rougher than before.

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Is that what you want?”

Ethan hesitated, hand on the elevator button. “It’s what will keep us alive.”

The doors slid shut, taking him away. Adrian stood alone in the quiet, heart pounding, a thousand unsaid words burning his tongue. He knew the line they’d danced on tonight wasn’t going to disappear. If anything, it had been drawn deeper, sharper. And for the first time, Adrian wondered if it wasn’t the Rossi alliance that would destroy him but Ethan Cross.

The next day, the Rossi family didn’t just walk into a room—they arrived. A ripple moved through the Valerio boardroom as Cassandra stepped in ahead of her father, her heels clicking like the opening notes of a symphony she fully intended to conduct. Adrian had seen beautiful women before. His world was saturated with them—models at charity galas, actresses at premieres, heiresses with last names that bought them invitations. But Cassandra Rossi was not simply beautiful. She was precision.

Her dress was a deep emerald that made her dark eyes seem sharper, her lips painted in the exact shade of red that meant war and seduction at once. When she smiled, it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Adrian,” she said, her voice a purr that somehow carried across the room. “Finally, we meet properly.”

Adrian stood, giving the practiced half-smile he reserved for moments he hated. “Cassandra.”

She reached for his hand, and instead of shaking it, she let her fingers linger, cool and deliberate, her nails tracing lightly against his skin. The move wasn’t romantic—it was possession.

Ethan watched from the corner, invisible to most of the room but not to her. She glanced at him briefly, a flicker of curiosity—or calculation—passing through her gaze before she looked back at Adrian.

Marco Rossi, all expensive suits and silent menace, took a seat near Adrian’s father. The two older men began their strategic dance of words, leaving the younger generation to size each other up.

“I’ll be honest,” Cassandra said as they sat. “I’m not here for love stories or fairy tales. I’m here because our families require… stability.”

Adrian arched a brow. “And you think marrying me provides that?”

“I know it does,” she said simply. “You’re the perfect face for the kind of power we intend to build. I’ll give you loyalty in public, freedom in private.”

“Freedom,” Adrian repeated slowly, testing the word. “You mean, you don’t care what I do as long as it doesn’t make headlines.”

Her smile widened slightly. “Exactly. I’m not a jealous woman. I’m a strategic one.”