บททั้งหมดของ Accidentally His: The Girl Who Trespassed: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

Adeline's POV --- I'm surely going to get arrested for this. I mutter it under my breath as I approach a Mercedes G-Class, phone raised. October sunlight hits the glossy black paint, the car glowing against the gray Manhattan sidewalk, screaming money I'll never have. Just another Friday on the Upper East Side. The street runs with its usual chaos. Businessmen rushing with heavy briefcases, a delivery cyclist almost committing vehicular manslaughter against a tourist squinting at G****e Maps. Me? I'm here with one goal. Borrow a little luxury for my I*******m. My feed is becoming a graveyard, my grand plan to escape poverty by turning into a content creator overnight is flopping. Grad school doesn't pay for itself, and my two part-time jobs barely leave time for sleep, let alone proper photoshoots. So I make do. I hunt for decent light, throw on the best outfit I own, and fake my way into these neighborhoods. Today's ensemble is high fashion at its finest. An oversized cream

Adeline's POV --- City noise fades the second I step off the sidewalk, the address Matteo texted leading to a door tucked between a gallery and a private bank. There's no sign, no window display, just gleaming steel and a small intercom button that costs more than my laptop did. I stop in front of the door with my thumb hovering over the buzzer. Five minutes pass. Five whole minutes. I could've walked away at least twenty times by now. A woman in head-to-toe Chanel glides past without glancing at me, which is the most New York interaction I've had all week, her heels clicking against the pavement with that assurance of people who have nothing to prove. I glance down at my jeans, the rip in the knee that used to feel vintage now feeling cheap. My sweater has a loose thread at the hem. I tug it and the thread gets longer and longer. A frustrated sigh slips out, I basically rip off the thread. The steel door throws my reflection back at me. Ginger hair that lost the argument with m

Albert's POV --- The Metropolitan Museum swallows sound. Thirty minutes before guests arrive, the main gallery gleams, ice sculptures catching light from chandeliers that cost more than most people's homes. Near the Temple of Dendur, a string quartet tunes its instruments. Everything is where it should be. If something goes wrong tonight, it won't be because we forgot a centerpiece. My tuxedo sits precisely on my frame. I hold a champagne flute without drinking from it, crystal catching light between my fingers, a prop more than a drink. Not tonight, not when I need every advantage sober. I press my palm flat against the glass railing and let the chill bleed through. Matteo. ‘Car's five minutes out.’ I check my watch, third time in two minutes, my fingers drumming against the railing before they stop. She signs the contract. She attends six events. We both move on. It was a simple arrangement. I seem to have misplaced the simple part. Matteo's report was thorough, twenty-

Albert's POV --- I almost cancel the dinner twice before the first guest arrives. The second time, my thumb is already over Matteo's contact when the elevator doors open behind me. Too late now. The private dining room stretches across the entire fortieth floor, all glass and candlelight, and carefully controlled privacy. Heavy curtains frame the skyline while my security team finishes sweeping the room an hour ahead of schedule. Staff signed a non-disclosure agreement before noon today, and all personal phones stay outside these walls. Nothing leaves this table unless I allow it. Usually that's enough. Tonight my fingers find the whiskey glass anyway. Tap. Tap. I stop them. From forty floors up, Manhattan almost convinces you everything works. You can't see broken sidewalks from this height or people pretending they're fine. Matteo steps beside me quietly and breaks the silence. "The car is three minutes out.” I check my watch anyway, then I look down at it again thirty s

Albert's POV --- The champagne glass explodes against the marble fireplace. Crystal shatters across the penthouse floor. Matteo doesn't flinch. Neither do I. Whiskey slides down the marble. I don't notice. I'm still looking at the photograph. Adeline. Inside the backseat of my car. Emerald silk against black leather. Her face turned toward the window. Unaware someone was photographing her through tinted glass from across the street. Timestamped twelve minutes ago. Beneath it: Curious what the board would think about the CEO's judgment. Wind pushes through the open balcony doors hard enough to stir the papers on my desk. Manhattan glows below us in fractured gold and white. Forty floors down, traffic keeps moving like nothing in the world has shifted. Someone brought a camera. Someone waited. Someone knew where she'd be. I set the tablet down carefully before I put it through the window. "Route?" Matteo's voice stays level. "Already pulling traffic feeds and neighboring