Chapter 4

The place Marcus chose hadn’t changed.

That alone unsettled Adrian more than she expected.

The private lounge sat tucked behind an unmarked door downtown, dimly lit and deliberately discreet. Years ago, it had been neutral ground. A place where conversations stayed quiet, where names carried weight, and promises were never written down.

She hadn’t missed it.

Adrian arrived first, stepping inside with measured calm. She chose the seat farthest from the entrance, back straight, posture relaxed, eyes already scanning the room. Habit. Control had become second nature over the years, refined into something smooth instead of sharp.

Marcus arrived ten minutes late.

On purpose.

He moved with the same easy confidence she remembered, shoulders loose, gaze alert. When he saw her, his mouth curved into a slow smile.

“You look different,” he said as he pulled out the chair across from her.

“I didn’t come here for commentary,” Adrian replied evenly.

Marcus chuckled, unbothered. “Still direct. That’s something you never lost.”

She folded her hands neatly on the table. “Why are you really here?”

He leaned back, studying her like a puzzle he once thought he’d solved. “Expansion. New money. New reach.”

“You don’t invest,” Adrian said flatly.

“I do now.”

She didn’t believe him. Marcus Reyes didn’t chase legitimacy unless it benefited him. Whatever he was building, it wasn’t clean. It never was.

“And you thought I’d help you?” she asked.

“I thought you’d listen,” he replied. “You always did.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You mistake patience for permission.”

Marcus’s smile faded just enough to notice. “Careful. You didn’t always talk to me like that.”

“I didn’t always have options,” Adrian said calmly.

That landed.

Across the city, Elliot Cross stared at his phone longer than he meant to.

He hadn’t planned to text her. He told himself it was late, inappropriate, unnecessary. Still, his fingers moved anyway.

Elliot:

Everything okay?

Adrian’s phone vibrated softly against the table. She glanced down, registered the name, then turned the screen face down without replying.

Marcus noticed.

“Someone important?” he asked.

“Not relevant,” Adrian said.

Marcus leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “That’s a lie.”

Her eyes didn’t waver. “You don’t get access to my world anymore.”

Marcus studied her for a long moment. “You don’t erase history that easily.”

“I don’t need to erase it,” Adrian replied. “I survived it.”

The server arrived, breaking the tension. Drinks were poured. Ice clinked softly against glass. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“You’re standing too close to dangerous men again,” Marcus said finally.

Adrian’s expression hardened. “You don’t get to warn me.”

“I get to remind you,” he replied. “People don’t forget who you are just because you changed your address.”

She lifted her glass, unfazed. “I didn’t change who I am. I changed my leverage.”

Marcus laughed quietly. “Still sharp.”

She met his gaze. “And still uninterested.”

Across town, Celeste Ashford sat at her kitchen island, laptop open, eyes narrowing as she read the name glowing on her screen.

Marcus Reyes.

Her brows lifted slowly.

She hadn’t expected him. Hadn’t planned for him.

But she adjusted quickly.

Celeste leaned back in her chair, fingers tapping thoughtfully against the counter. The pieces were crowding together now. Too many men orbiting the same woman. Too much overlap.

Proximity, she decided, was becoming crowded.

And crowded spaces were easy to manipulate.