The Guarded Obsession

“Your rivals must hate you tonight.”

The man said it with a half smile that didn’t even reach his eyes, envy bleeding through his breath. Adrien didn’t even bother to slow down. He gave him a quick smile, which was gone as soon as it showed and kept on walking. The man’s eyes dropped first. Adrien didn’t need to answer. Silence said more than he ever would.

Adrien Cross is thirty two years old and already a self made billionaire. And the youngest CEO of Cross Enterprises. He is mean and ruthless, he didn't even feel the weight of the world he carried it like as if it belonged to him daring anyone to take it back. 

Cross Enterprise is one of the most talked about companies and Adrien posed as a machine of glass and steel devours his rivals for breakfast and splits out billions.

Tonight, in his Manhattan penthouse, which is a three story building with floor-to-ceiling windows and marble that gleamed too much, he was on display.

 A gala for the newest acquisition, a hostile takeover dressed up as champagne and string quartets. Everyone was here, both politicians he didn’t respect, investors he didn’t trust, models who looked at him like he was a bank vault instead of a man.

They called him ruthless. He called it survival.

Laughers which probably were not real filled the entire room. With crystal glasses in everyone's hand which they clinked with each other, the sound of it was too loud and it was covering the desperation in people's eyes.

The orchestra was playing some elegant sound in one corner. Adrien moved through the crowd like he owned not just only his penthouse, but everything inch and square of Manhattan beneath it.

The tuxedo he wore fits him like it had been stitched onto his and he looked like one of those models from magazines. He skimmed his eyes over the crowd, his gaze was sharp enough to pierce the mask most people wore and to make people flinch or lean it, depending if they wanted his favour or feared it.

“Adrien, you are such a genius yunno” a hedge fund relic said, his tie was rough and he was probably drunk, with an overpriced wine. “This deal is untouchable. You're untouchable Adrien. 

Adrien smiled,his smile was thin and quick. “I appreciate that Tom,” he said. We will catch up next week.

He wouldn’t. Tom’s fund was sinking, like a boat in the water. Adrien didn’t save men who didn’t know how to swim.

He kept moving. Shaking hands, with practiced nods,and the occasional smile when it suited him. He spoke the right words, dropped lines that cut through egos or built alliances. 

Power was easy. He had mastered that years ago. What clawed at him wasn’t power—it was the silence that came later, when the penthouse emptied and only the echo of all this remained.

Three years ago, Marcus Hale had filled that silence. His best friend, his lover, the only person Adrien had let inside. Until Marcus had sold him out—leaking secrets that almost gutted Cross Enterprises. Adrien had rebuilt, bigger and sharper, from scratch again but he had buried trust with Marcus. Love was a trap. Affection was a weakness. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

He sipped his scotch, it burned him on his throat . His gaze caught movement at the entrance. Evelyn. His stepmother. 

She's fifty years old and polished. She wore a black gown that clung to her, she wore expensive jewellery which were blinking. She had always hated him, but never showed it in public. Theo, her son, who was walking behind her. He is twenty-eight years old, and drunk already, with his tie hanging loose, and his expression set in permanent sulk.

Evelyn’s smile was all for the public show as she air-kissed his cheeks. “Adrien. What a night. You’ve outdone yourself again.”

“Evelyn. Theo.” Adrien’s tone was polite enough to pass, but his eyes stayed flat.

Theo snorted into his glass. “Yeah, it must be nice. King of the world and all that.”

Adrien didn’t bother rising to it. Theo had grown up spoiled by his mother, he was waiting for an inheritance that would never come.

 Cross Enterprises wasn’t Evelyn’s to hand out. It was Adrien’s and he’d built it brick by brick while Evelyn schemed and Theo sulked. He watched her hand tighten on her son’s arm, a subtle leash, her eyes flicking with something colder. She wanted Adrien’s throne for Theo. She always had.

When they drifted away, Isabella Torres slid into the space they left. She's Adrien’s CFO. She's thirty, with a sharp bob, and a sharper tongue, the only person in his empire who didn’t flinch when he cut. She didn’t smile when she leaned in, her words for his ear alone. “Evelyn’s been working the board tonight. Watch your back.”

Adrien raised one brow, sipping his scotch. “When don’t I?”

“More than usual,” she said. Her loyalty was one of the rare things in his world that felt steady. He gave her a nod, a silent command to keep eyes where his couldn’t.

Then Adrien saw him. Standing across the room, by the windows. A man who didn’t belong.

He had broad shoulders that made the suit strain. His knuckles are scarred. The way he stood, he stood still, too still, like waiting was a weapon. His dark eyes locked on Adrien and it didn’t look away. Not even when Adrien stared back.

“Adrien’s heartbeat quickened faster, and uneven, though his face stayed unreadable. He hated being watched, especially like that.”

“Who’s he?” Adrien muttered to Isabella.

“He’s Damien Wolfe. Security’s pick after… the threats.” She said it flat, but her mouth tightened. “Ex-military. And he starts tomorrow.”

Adrien’s jaw clenched. The anonymous emails, the cryptic voicemails, he had ignored them, and deleted them. He didn’t need a guard dog. “I don’t want him.”

“You don’t get a choice.” Isabella’s eyes cut sharp. “Not after the car bomb scare last week.”

Adrien’s fingers were curled tightly around his glass. He hated cages, and he hated being reminded he wasn’t untouchable. 

But Damien held his stare. And under the bite of irritation Adrien felt, something else rose, a want, which was sudden and unwelcome, the kind he hadn’t let himself taste in years. He tore his gaze away, forcing it down like it might burn him.”

The orchestra shifted, cueing him that it was time for his toast. Adrien strode to the small platform at the room’s center, every step measured. The crowd hushed as the lights were angled toward him, expectant faces tilting up. He lifted his glass, his voice steady, sharp with command.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” The words came out smooth, edged like glass. “Tonight isn’t only about a deal. Tonight we celebrate power. Cross Enterprises doesn’t bend. It breaks what stands in its way. To dominance. To the future.”

Applause cracked like gunfire. And glasses were lifted, cheers echoed. Adrien drank, but the scotch was bitter on his tongue. He stood tall in his glass tower, the city spread beneath him, like it all belonged to him. For a moment, he let himself believe it.

Then a sound split the air.

A crack, sharp, wrong, tearing through music and laughter.

Glass behind him blew out, shards cutting the air. A bullet sang past, close enough to burn his ear and flash his vision white. It buried itself in the far wall with a heavy thud that swallowed the room whole.

Screams tore loose. Guests scrambled, diving under tables, heels snapping on marble, champagne bursting, spilling sticky down gowns and suits. The orchestra broke apart in a crash of strings, bows hitting the floor like bones. Adrien stood locked in place, breath stuck, the glass slipping from his hand and smashing at his feet.

For the first time in years, he wasn’t a king. He was nothing. Just a man, too exposed, while his fortress cracked around him.

And through the panic, his eyes found Damien’s again. The soldier hadn’t flinched. He was already moving. Already coming for him.