E L A R A

I can’t hear the board anymore. Not the outrage, not the gasps, not the furious clicking of screens already blasting Adrian’s declaration across the world. All I hear is my heartbeat, frantic and painful, and the steady, shaking pressure of Adrian’s hand around mine.

He’s trembling. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and it makes something deep in my chest twist until I can barely breathe. I should say something. Anything. But my throat is locked, and my lungs feel like they’re wrapped in wire.

Then he looks at me and whatever mask he wears for the world falls apart. The arrogance, the heir’s calm, the perfect PR angles. Gone. What’s left is a man who threw himself into the fire without hesitation and is only now realizing how much it burned.

He leans in, voice raw enough to cut me open.
“Elara. Come with me.” Not a command. Just a plea.

Before anyone can grab him, or shout, or ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing, he pulls me out of the room. Ethan steps aside instantly, like he saw this coming. Phones track us, eyes widen, whispers spike, but Adrian doesn’t turn back. Neither do I.

The hallway air is colder than it should be. I brace a hand on the wall, trying to steady myself.

He notices instantly, turning toward me.
“Elara..”

“I’m fine,” I say, but my breath stutters and ruins the lie.

He steps closer, his eyes stripped down to something unbearably vulnerable. “We’re not doing this out here,” he murmurs. “Come on.” And I go. Because right now, his voice is the only thing holding me together.

The stairwell door shuts behind us, sealing out the chaos. Adrian stops on the landing, exhaling like his ribs hurt.

“I shouldn’t have said it like that,” he says. His tie is crooked, hair messy at the temples. He looks nothing like the untouchable heir. “Not with cameras everywhere. Not without warning you.”

“Warning me?” A laugh slips out, thin and shaky. “Adrian, you detonated the room. You chose me. In front of everyone.”

He flinches. “I didn’t choose you for them.”

He steps closer, slow, almost careful. I don’t back away. His body heat pulls at me, grounding and overwhelming all at once.

“I chose you for me,” he says quietly. My knees actually weaken.

I swallow. “You didn’t have to protect me.”

“I wasn’t protecting you.” His jaw flexes, eyes searching mine with something like desperation. “That wasn’t what that was.” The stairwell crackles with too much adrenaline, too much heat threaded through fear. I can’t imagine this space containing whatever’s happening between us.

He scrubs a hand down his face. “Rooftop,” he mutters. “I need air.” But I know he needs more than that. So do I.

The rooftop air hits like a shock. Cool, sharp, almost a slap across the face. Lights shimmer across the water below, blurry, distant, irrelevant. I walk toward the railing and grip it, trying to breathe through everything in my chest. But something inside me buckles. Hard.

A sound breaks free, small, cracked, humiliating. Tears follow, fast and hot, spilling down my cheeks before I can stop them. Weeks of pressure. Months of fear. All the guilt I carried about ruining his life, only for him to torch the world for me instead.

“Elara,” Adrian says behind me, softer than I’ve ever heard him. His footsteps approach slow, like he’s trying not to frighten me.

“I didn’t want this,” I managed through a shaking breath. “I didn’t want to be the reason everything collapses.”

He turns me gently, his hands warm but not restraining. My vision blurs. His face comes into focus slowly, concern carved deep, something pained behind it.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he says. “You didn’t cost me my island or my name.” His throat tightens. “You think that’s why I said it?”

I let out a broken laugh. “Why else?” He laughs too, quiet, disbelieving, aching.
“Because it was already true.”

The tears fall harder. He pulls my hands away from my face, brushing them dry with his thumbs, slow and tender.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “I’m shaking too.” That makes me laugh, wet and shaky. He smiles, small and helpless, like it’s the only good sound he’s heard all night.

The laugh fades, but the closeness remains, thick and fragile. Adrian reaches up, brushing hair from my cheek. His fingers linger against my skin, and heat spreads through me so fast it steals my breath.

“Elara…” he says, barely audible.

I lean toward him without thinking. His hand slides down my jaw to my throat, just a whisper of pressure, enough to make my breath catch. His other hand rests at my waist, drawing me the tiniest bit closer. The space between us tightens, warms.

“We shouldn’t,” I breathe, though my hands are already curled in his shirt.

“I know.” His forehead drops to mine, breath trembling against my lips. “Tell me to stop.” I can’t. Neither of us moves. Neither of us crosses the line.

It’s not a kiss, but God, it feels like standing on the edge of one—dangerous, breathless, electric. His thumb strokes my cheek, slow, reverent. My heartbeat stumbles into his. The world narrows to this: his breath, my pulse, the soft ache of almost.

The wind lifts my shirt hem, cool across overheated skin. I press my palm to his chest, steady, strong, rising too fast.

“I’m scared,” I whisper. “Not of you. Of wanting this. Wanting you. Every time I’ve wanted someone powerful, I’ve ended up losing myself.”

His eyes soften with something like grief.
“Elara… I’m not used to being wanted at all.” 

My breath stutters. “What?”

He looks away for half a second, then back at me, raw.
“People want my name. My influence. My power. I know how to be useful. I know how to perform. But I don’t…” He swallows. “I don’t know how to be wanted without all of that.” It floors me. Completely.

I take his hand from his neck and hold it between mine. “You think I care about any of that?” My voice breaks. “You think that’s what I see when I look at you?” His face tightens, like hope hurts.

“I see the man who risked everything for honesty,” I whisper. “The man who listens. The man who said something real even when it cost him everything.” His breath shudders.

“Elara,” he murmurs, “you’re the only one who’s ever seen me.” My chest aches so sharply I have to breathe around it.

He steps even closer, until our foreheads press together, not heated now, but gentle, grounding. His fingers thread with mine, holding my hand like it’s something fragile.

“Elara,” he whispers, “everything changed tonight. The board, the press—tomorrow will be hell. I know that.” His breath shakes. “But I don’t care about any of it if…” He stops. Not because he’s unsure, because the truth is too big to say cleanly. When he finally speaks again, the words scrape out of him.

“Stay.” My breath catches so sharply it hurts. He closes his eyes, voice breaking again.

“Not because of optics. Not because of pressure. Not because of the cave or the chaos or what I said downstairs.” His grip tightens. “Stay because I… don’t want to do any of this without you.” The rooftop goes silent. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he feels it.

I open my mouth.
“Adrian… I..”

The rooftop door slams open, metal crashing against the wall. We both jolt apart. Ethan stands in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes sharp with urgency. His expression says everything before he speaks.

“Adrian,” he says, “we have a problem.”

Adrian straightens, hand half-lifted toward me like he forgot he wasn’t touching me anymore.
“What kind?” Ethan scans the rooftop and then locks onto him.

“The kind that can’t wait,” he says. “And the kind that just went public.” My stomach drops. Adrian’s jaw tightens like a lock snapping shut. And whatever I was about to say, whatever answer was finally forming in my mouth, vanishes into the night.