CHAPTER EIGHT—-The Taste of Trust

The walls were white, too white, and the sheets felt foreign. Naya woke gasping.

She sat up abruptly in the soft guest bed, one hand gripping the duvet like it might anchor her back to reality. Her heart pounded in her chest, her skin clammy beneath the oversized T-shirt she didn’t remember putting on. The dream still clung to her—the echo of Daniel’s laughter, Chloe’s syrupy voice dripping venom behind glass.

You're the joke, Naya.

She pressed her palms into her eyes. No prison bars. No Daniel. No Chloe.

Just her. And the soft hum of air conditioning.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, taking a moment to breathe. Adrian had brought her here after the crash. She remembered the warmth of his hands, the low rasp of his voice telling her to breathe, the way his arms had wrapped around her like armor.

Why the hell did that comfort her?

Naya padded barefoot down the hallway. It was dark except for the glow spilling from the living room.

He was there.

Adrian sat at a long wooden desk, a soft amber lamp casting a halo of light around him. He wore a simple black T-shirt, glasses perched low on his nose. He didn’t notice her at first. He was reading, lips slightly parted, brow drawn in focus.

God, he looked nothing like the smooth, smug lawyer who'd swaggered into her jail cell. He looked... human.

She watched him for a second too long.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

His voice was low, but it startled her.

Naya leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely. “Not a fan of nightmares.”

He looked over his glasses, eyes shadowed but alert. “You okay?”

She shrugged, though the gesture felt brittle. “You don’t have to keep asking me that.”

Adrian set the file down and turned toward her, glasses now folded in his hand. “I’ll stop asking when it stops looking like you’re about to bolt.”

Naya tried to hold his gaze. Failed.

“I don’t bolt.”

“Sure,” he said, voice dry. “You just pace like you’re five minutes from breaking through a window.”

She smiled without meaning to. “You’re a smug asshole.”

“Only when I’m right.”

She stepped closer, bare feet soundless on the hardwood. “What were you reading?”

He lifted the file slightly. “Something you’re not supposed to see.”

“Of course.” Her tone was clipped, but there was no real bite.

There was a pause.

Then—unexpectedly—he said, “I used to trust people too fast.”

Naya blinked. “That’s... random.”

Adrian leaned back in the chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “It’s not. You’re not the only one who got burned.”

She stared at him.

He didn’t look away.

“Someone betrayed you?” she asked quietly.

“My best friend. Business partner. We built a company together in our twenties. First big win. I thought we were family. He used my name to hide money he was laundering through a shell firm.”

Naya’s lips parted.

“I lost everything. Reputation. Clients. Took me years to rebuild. I don’t even remember the version of me that thought loyalty meant safety.”

There was something raw in his voice—not vulnerability exactly. But truth.

It made her feel like maybe… maybe she wasn’t alone in being the fool.

Naya sat across from him. “Chloe was my safety net. Since high school. I told her everything. Trusted her with everything.”

“And Daniel?” he asked.

“He didn’t have to lie. He just had to stop looking at me.” Her voice cracked on the edge of that sentence, but she kept going. “First it was small. Canceling dinners. ‘Forgetting’ dates. Then one night, I caught him texting her. Something stupid. A meme. But the way he laughed when he read it...”

She trailed off.

Adrian didn’t rush her.

“He looked alive,” she whispered. “I hadn’t seen him laugh like that with me in a year.”

A long silence passed. Then she felt it—his hand closing over hers. Naya stared at it. At the contrast of their skin, the quiet comfort. She didn’t pull away.

She didn’t want to.

***

Later that night, she stood in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a cold glass of water. The moonlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows spilled across the counters like silver. The penthouse was still—only the occasional creak of the building settling and the hum of the fridge filled the silence.

She hadn’t cried. Not since the crash. Not since the betrayal. But something inside her ached. Not for Daniel. Not for Chloe.

For the version of herself that still believed love meant safety. She took a sip.

“You okay?”

Adrian’s voice was closer this time. She turned. He was behind her, barefoot now, in sweats and that same black shirt. Sleepy, maybe. But his eyes were sharp.

“I’m fine,” she said softly.

He stepped closer. “You look like your head’s still back in that dream.”

“Maybe it is.”

Another step. She could feel the heat of him now.

“What did you dream?” he asked.

Naya didn’t answer. She didn’t have the words, not really. Just echoes. Images. Instead, she set the glass down. She turned to say something. Anything.

But there was nothing to say. Because in the next breath, their mouths met. It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t explosive.

It was slow. Careful. Like tasting something forbidden and trying not to get addicted.

His lips moved over hers like he was memorizing the shape, the softness. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer, and she melted into him—like it was inevitable.

She didn’t think. She just let go.

Her hands slipped up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt, dragging him closer until there was no space left. He groaned low, the sound vibrating against her skin as he kissed her deeper, tongue brushing hers with deliberate heat.

She gasped against his mouth, and he took advantage of it, kissing her harder now, one hand threading into her hair.

Then he lifted her—effortlessly.

Her back hit the edge of the kitchen island, and she let out a small breath as he settled between her thighs. The cool marble against her thighs was a shock compared to the warmth of him, all muscle and tension and control barely held in check.

His hands slid under her shirt, palms flat against her skin, and she arched toward him, needing more. His mouth traveled down, grazing her jaw, then her neck, teeth grazing just enough to make her whimper.

“Adrian…”

That one word came out like a plea. And he answered it with a kiss so deep it stole her breath again. She didn’t care about the past. Didn’t care about t

he questions.

Not at this moment.

Not with his hands on her hips and his mouth on her throat and the tension pulling tighter and tighter—