He came without warning

The first thing that woke me up wasn’t my alarm.

But blue eyes staring into the depths of my soul.

And guess who it was? Who could it be if it was not the one and only Adrian Blackwood.

When I was just adapting to the remote work and working from the comfort of my home.

I jerked up from my bed, confused.

“Mr. Blackwood—what are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

That was the first thing that unsettled me.

Adrian Blackwood stood in my bedroom like he belonged there—tailored black coat discarded over the chair, sleeves rolled back just enough to reveal his watch, his presence heavy in the air. Morning light filtered through the curtains, catching in his eyes, turning that familiar blue into something darker. Sharper.

Predatory.

“You scream my name in your sleep,” he said calmly. “I thought I should check on you.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“I did not—”

“You did,” he interrupted, voice smooth, almost amused. “Twice.”

I swallowed hard, suddenly too aware of the fact that I was wearing an oversized T-shirt and nothing else. Too aware of how close he was. Too aware of how little distance separated us.

“How did you even get in here?” I demanded.

Adrian glanced toward the door. “You left the chain unlocked.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you need.”

He stepped closer.

Not rushed.

Not aggressive.

Measured. Like he was fully aware that every inch he closed would register in my body before my mind could catch up.

“You’re working remotely,” he said, gaze flicking briefly to my laptop on the desk before returning to me. “Yet your schedule still belongs to me.”

“I didn’t invite you,” I said, though my voice lacked the sharpness I wanted.

“No,” he agreed softly. “You didn’t.”

He stopped at the edge of my bed. Close enough that I could smell him—clean, expensive, faintly dangerous. Close enough that my pulse betrayed me completely.

“I didn’t come to talk about work,” he added.

That did it.

My breath hitched.

“Then why are you here?”

Adrian tilted his head slightly, studying me like a puzzle he’d already solved but still enjoyed dismantling.

“Because you’ve been testing me,” he said. “And I wanted to see how far you were willing to go.”

I scoffed, even as my nerves sparked. “Breaking into my apartment doesn’t feel like a test. It feels like a felony.”

A slow smile curved his mouth. Not kind. Not apologetic.

Interested.

“You sabotaged my system yesterday,” he said quietly. “You missed a call on purpose. Rerouted a report. Lied to my head of operations.”

My spine stiffened.

“I followed protocol.”

“You followed the version of protocol that suited you.”

He leaned down then—hands braced on the mattress on either side of my legs, trapping me without touching me. His face was level with mine now, his presence overwhelming, controlled, deliberate.

“I admire that,” he murmured.

I should have pushed him away.

I should have told him to leave.

Instead, I said, “You don’t get to show up here just because I didn’t behave the way you expected.”

His eyes darkened.

“I didn’t come because you disobeyed,” he said. “I came because you didn’t flinch.”

My throat went dry.

“Most people panic when they realize the rules,” Adrian continued. “They fold. Apologize. Beg for clarification.”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping.

“You challenged them.”

My breath mingled with his.

“That doesn’t mean you own me.”

“No,” he said immediately.

The word landed heavier than I expected.

“It means,” he continued slowly, “that you’re finally aware of the game you’re playing.”

His gaze dropped—to my mouth. Just for a second. Long enough to feel intentional.

Electric.

“I don’t play games,” I whispered.

A corner of his mouth lifted.

“Everyone does. Some just pretend they don’t.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and charged. My body reacted before my logic could intervene—heat pooling low in my stomach, nerves buzzing under my skin.

“You’re very comfortable here,” I said, trying to regain ground. “For someone who claims to care about boundaries.”

“I care deeply about boundaries,” he replied. “That’s why I know exactly how close I can stand without crossing one.”

His thumb brushed the mattress near my thigh.

Not touching me.

But close enough to make my muscles tense.

“You should be angry,” he added softly. “But you’re not.”

I hated that he was right.

“I should call security,” I said weakly.

“You won’t.”

“Why are you so sure?”

His gaze lifted back to mine, unwavering.

“Because if you wanted me gone,” he said, “you wouldn’t still be looking at me like that.”

Heat rushed to my face.

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither is pretending this is only about work,” he replied.

The room felt smaller. The air heavier. Every instinct screamed that this was dangerous—crossing lines that couldn’t be uncrossed.

“Adrian,” I said, using his first name for the first time without thinking.

Something flickered across his face.

Approval.

“You should get dressed,” he said after a moment, straightening and stepping back, reclaiming control with terrifying ease. “We’re going out.”

My head snapped up.

“We’re what?”

“Breakfast,” he said casually, retrieving his coat. “I’ve already cleared your schedule.”

“I didn’t agree to that.”

He turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to look back at me.

“You didn’t agree to a lot of things,” Adrian Blackwood said calmly.

“And yet—here we are.”

Then he left.

And I sat there on my bed, heart racing, body humming, realizing with unsettling clarity—

He hadn’t come to check my work.

He hadn’t come to threaten me.

He’d come to see if I wanted him to stay.

And the worst part?

I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted him gone.