Chapter 03-Adrian

My PA's voice filled the study, efficient and businesslike.

"Since last night's announcement, we've had seven requests already," he said over the phone. "Two want design deals, three are pushing for long partnerships. The rest...they just want their names tied to yours."

I smirked faintly, walking closer to the window. The city stretched out in front of me, glass and concrete catching the weak Saturday light. It was still waking up from Friday night, same as the people in it.

"And the Europe deal?" I asked, finishing my coffee.

"Finalized," he said. "Three more years, confirmed."

"Good."

My company had its hands everywhere-buildings, hotels, real estate that scraped the sky. Towers with my name on them. Every deal was another stone added to the empire I'd built piece by piece. I'm really proud of this.

But my mind wasn't really on business today.

"You've done well," I told him. "Take the weekend off."

A pause. "Are you sure, sir?"

"Yes. I'll call if I need you."

I dropped the phone onto the desk, rolled my shoulders back, and left the study.

Downstairs, the house was quiet. I poured myself another cup of coffee, leaned against the counter, and let the steam rise into my face. The smell was addictive. First sip-hot, bitter, strong. My one weakness. Some men needed whiskey. Mine was coffee. Always had been.

But even coffee couldn't clear away what was stuck in my head.

Her.

Hazel eyes, startled, widened. The soft weight of her body when she fell into me. That moment was still burned into my chest.

Paul's wife. Evelyn.

Even saying her name in my mind made something shift inside me. She had been stunning in that gown, untouchable almost. Like art behind glass. But in my arms she wasn't art. She was real. Warm. Trembling.

And when her lips parted slightly, God...I knew she had felt it too.

I should have stepped back sooner. Should have acted like nothing. Instead, when Paul introduced us, I made it worse. I kissed her hand. A simple gesture. But her breath caught. Her pulse jumped under my touch. I saw it in her eyes, she wasn't untouched by it.

I set my mug down, flexed my hand as if her skin still lingered there.

This wasn't just lust. It was recognition. Dangerous, because I knew it wasn't one-sided, I hope.

Then Paul came to mind. Paul, Paul-unchanged, after all these years. Still full of arrogance. Still wearing his pride like armor. Still clutching his resentment like a child refusing to let go of a toy.

I'd seen it in his face last night when I raised that glass to him. He hated it. I enjoyed it.

Poor Paul. Always desperate for control. Always so easy to anger.

But this time, he had something I wanted.

My grip tightened on the mug until it groaned.

What did that make me? A villain? A thief? Or just a man finally taking what should've been his?

The truth was simple: I didn't come back only for business. I came to set things straight. Paul could keep pretending to be the perfect husband, perfect smiles, perfect life. I knew the truth. He was the same insecure boy he'd always been. The one who hated me for being chosen. For winning when he couldn't.

I'd taken from him before. Why should this be any different?

A dry laugh slipped out, rough in my throat. I wasn't blind, I knew going after her would mean war. There'd be no turning back. Paul would never forgive it.

But honestly? I wasn't sure I cared.

I took another slow sip of coffee, the burn grounding me.

Evelyn. That woman.

She had looked at me like she wanted to hate me, but couldn't. Like she knew she was slipping and couldn't stop herself. That look kept me awake long after the party ended.

And if I was being honest, I didn't want to fight it.

I wanted her eyes on me again. I wanted her lips open for me, not in shock, but in surrender. I wanted her voice, soft and low, saying my name. Not his.

Was it wrong? Of course. Did that matter? No.

Because the truth was already carved into me, Paul's wife was definitely my obsession now.

And the question wasn't if I'd touch her again.

It was only when.

Chapter 04-Evelyn

Steam clouded the bathroom mirror as I stood under the rush of water, head tilted back, letting it pour down my face and shoulders. Last night had been...good. Paul had been gentle, the way he always tried to be, and I gave myself to him, let myself belong to him like I always did. Still, as the water ran over me now, another picture pressed in where it didn't belong.

His cologne. His nearness. The way his hand had caught me, steady, but not letting go fast enough.

Adrian.

My chest tightened, and I pressed my palms flat against the tile as if that could shove the thought out of me.

Stop it, Evelyn. He's your husband's brother. Stepbrother, but still-Paul's blood in a way. You love Paul. You chose him. You belong here. I told myself each word, like reciting a line I didn't fully believe.

But my body refused to listen. The memory of Adrian's scent clung too strong, darker than soap, heavier than steam. And a traitorous part of me wondered-what if he hadn't stopped? What if those eyes had stayed locked on me while his hand moved lower?

"No," I said aloud, scrubbing hard at my skin until it stung. "No. That's not me. That won't be me."

When I finally stepped out and wrapped the towel tight around myself, I forced my face into calm. Composed look. Paul was my husband, and I would keep things exactly that way.

He was already awake when I entered the bedroom, sitting stiff on the edge of the mattress, his tablet glowing in his hands. His face strained with stress.

"Morning," I said lightly.

"Mm." His answer was clipped, without warmth.

I slipped into my robe and moved closer. "Something wrong?"

He dropped the tablet on the bed, and my eyes fell on the screen. Headlines blared across it: The Billionaire Step-brothers-Hartwell vs. Blackthorne. A photo from last night froze mid-frame, Adrian holding a glass high in toast while Paul and I stood beside him in the light, caught too still, too uncomfortable.

Paul cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "It's everywhere. It's trending. Now people think I'm tied to him. Or worse-that I've been feeding off him all this time."

I sat down carefully, trying to soothe him. "Paul, maybe it's not that bad. More attention could mean more people noticing your work. Even if it's curiosity at first-"

He snapped his head toward me, eyes flashing. "You think I need Adrian to get clients? You think Hartwell Constructions wasn't already successful before he dragged me into his circus?"

"That's not what I said." I replied quickly, lifting my hands. "I only thought-"

"Thought what?" He barked out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Do you have any idea how long I've worked to separate myself from him? From that family name? People already measure me against him like it's some race I never signed up for. The last thing I need is this-this mess, making me look like I'm hanging on his success."

It's not like I knew anything about you both. I thought.

I bit down the words forming on my tongue, because I knew his pride was always unyielding, sharp as steel.

"Paul," I tried once more, softer, "all I meant was that sometimes exposure can work in your favor. If people-"

"I don't want exposure with him," he cut in, voice like a blade. "Not as a partner. Not as competition. Nothing. Hartwell Constructions exists because I built it. My hands. My years. Not his. Not anyone's!"

The certainty in his tone left no space for argument.

So I just nodded faintly, smoothing the sleeve of my robe. "Alright then. Forget I said anything. I'll be heading out with Clara today, she's been begging me to come."

That made him pause. His gaze dragged to me, really looking this time, his eyes dark and possessive.

"Don't wander off too long, mi amor," he said at last, his hand brushing over my thigh. It was gentle, almost tender, but the weight behind it pressed harder than it should.

The words wrapped tighter around me than his touch. They should have sounded protective, loving even. But there was something else hidden in them, something that made my chest ache.

I forced a small smile, pretending to take it as care. "Of course. I won't."

He seemed satisfied with that, already turning back to his screen, already elsewhere. Like I was another detail in his life he needed to smooth out.

I grabbed my purse, slinging it over my shoulder as I left the room. But his words clung to me like smoke.

Don't wander off.

And underneath them, like a shadow I couldn't shake, another whisper followed.

What if I already have?

Chapter 05-Evelyn

When I got back from my outing, Paul was waiting in the bedroom, his tablet propped on his knee, his expression hard, almost tired. He looked up when I stepped in, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Mi amor," he said, patting the mattress beside him. "There's news. We've been invited to a gala in Paris tomorrow. It's a big deal."

My chest lifted. Paris, A gala. That was our thing and we never missed them. But before the excitement could settle, his smile slipped.

"But..." he sighed, rubbing his temple, "I can't go."

I froze halfway out of my heels. "What do you mean, you can't go? Paul, you've never missed one. Not once."

He tossed the tablet aside with a little too much force. "There's a contract I've been chasing. If I don't lock it down now, I'll lose it. And you know who." His voice carried a bite. He didn't need to say Adrian's name.

I unclipped my earrings slowly, trying not to show my disappointment. "Couldn't it wait just two days?"

"Not this one." He reached for my hand, the edge softening. "I need you to go, Evelyn. Represent us. Look beautiful like you always do. Make them remember who we are."

I pouted without meaning to. "But it won't be the same without you."

He forced a smile, cupping my cheek. "You'll dazzle them. You always do. And once I close this deal, we'll celebrate in Paris-our way."

I nodded, though it didn't feel like enough.

***

The flight was smooth, the one hour-long drive wasn't that smooth. By the time we reached the hotel, my body ached. Camille, my secretary, slipped out of the car with her usual fixed look , already giving orders like she hadn't sat still for hours.

"Three days cleared for you," she said as a bellboy wheeled our bags. "Fittings tomorrow, gala the following night. Interviews pushed to next week. You'll have some air to breathe here."

I gave her a grateful smile. Camille had been with me since the start of Maison Evelyn-what began as perfume lines had grown into couture and jewelry. It was my own world, carved out beside Paul but not under his shadow. Thinking of it comforted me.

The Royal Hotel pulled me in at once. The walls dripped with gold, chandeliers dangled like frozen fireworks, and the ceilings stretched forever. Opulence in every detail.

"This is your first time here?" Camille asked.

"Yes," I murmured. "Paul and I always stayed somewhere else. Never here."

I was already wondering why though.

Later, alone in my suite, the city lights spilled in through the tall windows. Paris glittered, alive, but it only made me feel hollow. Maybe that was why I slipped into a gown, let my hair down, and wandered out, telling myself I just wanted to explore.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. I stepped inside, eyes fixed on my phone. Camille's reminders, Clara snaps to me, Paul's short message, a flood of emails. My reflection flickered in the mirrored walls, gown glowing.

Then a sound which was low and deliberate disrupted my moment. A throat cleared.

I looked up.

Adrian Blackthorne leaned against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a phone he clearly wasn't using. His eyes met mine, unflinching.

"Well," he said, his voice deep, laced with amusement. "Nice to see you again, Evelyn."

My pulse tripped. "I..." Words tangled. "I didn't know you'd-"

Before I could finish, the elevator jolted violently, cutting me off. Lights flickered, the box shuddered to a stop. I stumbled in my flats, slipping.

Strong hands caught me, yet again. His hands. One at my waist, the other steadying my arm, pulling me close before I could hit the ground.

Heat surged through me, his touch burning through silk and skin. My hair brushed his chest, and the scent of him wrapped around me.

For a suspended moment, nothing existed but him. The press of his body, his breath grazing my temple, the dangerous closeness of a man I should never want.

The silence of the elevator stretched, too heavy, too charged. My heartbeat thundered loud enough I was sure he could hear.

"Careful," he murmured. "Wouldn't want Paris to start with you on the floor."

I swallowed hard, trying to step back, but my body betrayed me, leaning just slightly into his hold.

Trapped between floors, trapped in his gaze, I didn't know what terrified me more- was it being stuck here with Adrian Blackthorne, or wishing the elevator never moved again?