A D R I A N

The boardroom doors shut behind us with a soft click, but it feels like a gunshot. Marina’s fear is still hanging in the air, sticky and electric, clinging to my skin like smoke. Elara walks beside me, sharp, steady, pretending she isn’t shaken, even though I can see it in the way her fingers twitch around her folder. She’s too calm. That kind of calm only comes after a storm hits straight to the ribs.

We don’t speak. The corridor is too narrow, too quiet, too bright—hallway lights humming with that smug, sterile glow that makes everything feel cleaner than reality actually is.

I stop first. I don’t even remember deciding to. Her shoulder brushes mine when she has to halt too fast, and the contact is nothing, barely a second, but it hits like open flame. She looks up at me, blinked-wide, pupils blown just a little, breath too shallow.

“What was on her phone?” I ask, low.

She swallows. “Something she didn’t want us to see.”

“No,” I say. “Something she didn’t expect.” Her lips part, her breath catching like she wants to say more. But she doesn’t. The air between us tightens. My pulse climbs into my throat. And suddenly we’re not just talking about Marina anymore.

“You shouldn’t have snapped at her like that,” Elara says. Not a reprimand but closer to a warning. Something small and trembling under it, something she’s trying to hide. “The board was already listening to you.”

“She was lying,” I say. “And you know it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“That is exactly the point.” Her jaw tightens, that little muscle jumping. God, she’s furious. And she’s right here, close enough that I can feel the heat of her through her clothes. She doesn’t back up. Not an inch.

“You’re going to make her desperate,” she murmurs. “Cornered people do stupid things.”

“She cornered herself,” I shot back.

“You helped.”

I huff a humorless laugh. “You want me to apologize to her?”

“No,” she snaps, sharper than I expect. “I want you to stop..” She breaks off, exhaling through her nose, eyes sliding shut for half a second. When she opens them, something raw sits behind the gray-green. “I want you to stop looking at me like, like I’m the only real thing in the room.” The words hit the center of my damn spine.

My voice comes out low. “Elara…”

“You keep doing it,” she whispers. “In the boardroom. In the hallways. Now. And I can’t… I don’t know how to hold my ground when you..”

“Then stop pretending you’re unaffected,” I cut in, stepping closer. Her back hits the wall, soft, barely a brush. “Because I saw your face in there.” Her breath stutters.

“And you saw mine.” I’m close enough now that if either of us exhales wrong, we’ll touch. And I don’t know if I’ll stop when we do.

She doesn’t move. And neither do I. The moment stretches, thins, breaks. My mouth crashes to hers like I’ve run out of choices. Not soft or careful but desperate. Her gasp spills into me, lips parting, and then it’s heat, tongue, breath, friction. Her fingers fist my shirt and pull like she wants me closer than skin.

She kisses like she’s drowning. Like she wants to claw something out of me. And I let her. Her back hits the wall again. This time harder, a dull thud against the smooth plaster. My thigh slides between hers, lifting just enough to part her legs. She gasps, rocking against me, and the sound is wrecked. Dangerous.

“Elara,” I whisper against her mouth, voice fraying. “Say stop.”

“Don’t,” she says instead, one hand yanking my belt with a frustrated whimper. “Just—don’t.”

Her shirt rides up under my hands. Smooth skin, warm and trembling under my palms. Her hips roll into me, seeking friction. I press harder, my thigh catching the center of her. She moans into my mouth, sharp and raw, and I swallow the sound. My hand finds her breast, thumb flicking her nipple through the thin fabric. She arches, gasps, her nails biting into my shoulders.

“God.. Adrian,” she pants. “I shouldn’t..”

“But you want to.”

“Yes,” she groans, and it’s all the permission I need.

I lift her just enough to pin her between me and the wall. She wraps her legs around my waist like it’s instinct, and I grind against her, hard, slow. We both groan. Her head falls back, baring her throat, and I bite it gently, tongue soothing the mark.

Someone walks past the hallway, footsteps clipped and fast. We freeze. She buries her face in my neck, trying to quiet her breathing. I feel her heartbeat through her thighs, her chest, her pulse thudding against my mouth.

When the steps fade, I press my forehead to hers. “Too fucking close.” She nods, but doesn’t let go.

“I can’t,” she says, barely audible. “Not like this. Not here.”

“I know.” I pull back, hands still cupping her thighs, not ready to let go. “But I can’t stop wanting to.”

Her breath catches again, but this time it’s from restraint, not hunger. Her legs loosen, and I let her slide down slowly. Her hands are still on me, and mine are still under her shirt, and for a second we stay like that, panting, not speaking. My cock is hard against my zipper, throbbing. Her thighs are slick where they met mine. Her nipples are tight under my fingers. I pull away like it hurts. Because it does.

“We crossed a line,” she says, smoothing her shirt, trying to catch her breath. “Again.”

“I’m not sorry,” I say. “I won’t be.”

“That’s the problem.” She won’t look at me. I want to touch her again just to make her meet my eyes. But I don’t. We’ve already gone too far. She steps back. Fixes her hair. I adjust my belt. The silence between us screams.

“I’ll update you on the safety protocols,” she says flatly, already turning to go.

“Elara..” But she’s already gone.

I lean against the wall for a long time after she’s gone. My heartbeat is still loud enough to drown out the lights. Every cell in me feels rewired, raw. The air smells like her—salt, heat, antiseptic, something soft beneath it I can’t name.

I shove off the wall, straighten my shirt, run a hand through my hair. My reflection in the glass door looks nothing like control. It looks like a need. Ethan rounds the corner before I can reset my face. He stops short, scanning me once. His gaze flicks to the hallway behind me, then back. “Everything alright, sir?”

“Fine,” I say too quickly. He raises a brow. “Because security just flagged something unusual. The courier dropped a sealed envelope at your office. No sender.”

My pulse stumbles. “Now?”

“Five minutes ago.” He nods once, then keeps moving, leaving me alone with the echo of footsteps and the ghost of her mouth on mine. I push off the wall and head for my office, every nerve in my body trying to crawl back to where she was standing a minute ago.

The envelope waits dead center on my desk, heavy cream stock, embossed seal I don’t recognize. It’s not from the board. Not internal. The kind of letter meant to wound on sight.

I break it open. One sheet. No greeting.

Effective immediately, the Lantern Tide Festival is under review for suspension pending environmental and safety violations. All permits are frozen.
Any continued preparations will result in legal action and permanent license withdrawal.

My throat tightens. I read it again, slower, but the words don’t change. Frozen. Legal action. Permanent. Lantern Tide—the festival that anchors Seraphine’s reputation, the one my parents built their legacy on, the one Elara’s clinic just fought to keep safe—dead in the water.

There’s an attached note, scrawled in pen:

“You were warned.”

No signature. I sink into the chair, paper crackling in my hand. Outside the glass wall, the ocean looks perfectly calm. Lying. Pretending it isn’t about to eat everything I’ve built.

“Sir?” Ethan’s voice comes through the intercom, muffled. “Courier’s gone. Want me to track the origin?”

“Yes,” I say, voice flat. “Immediately. No chatter, no leaks.”

“Understood.”

The line clicks dead. I stare at the letter again, at the ink bleeding faintly where it must’ve gotten wet. My fingers leave smudges across the margin, proof I’m still human enough to sweat.

Someone is coming for us. Not rumors, not competition, this is a threat meant to collapse the island. I fold the paper once, twice, slide it into the drawer, and lock it. My reflection in the glass watches me do it, jaw clenched, pulse hammering.

Elara’s face flashes in my mind—her promise, her defiance, the heat still clinging to my skin. She’s part of this now whether she knows it or not. Because if the Lantern Tide goes down, it won’t just destroy my family’s empire. It’ll destroy her too.