For a long, embarrassing moment, I forget how to speak. The words are at the tip of my tongue, but Adrian's eyes are boring holes through my face and into my brain, cutting off the part that connects to speech.

"Then again," he murmurs, "I doubt you had any time between the jobs and shifts you had to pick up to learn how to dance."

He releases my hand abruptly and I lose my footing a bit. Adrian's eyes dance with curiosity as he folds his arms. "My brother is...reckless. He does things as he wants, with no regard of how it affects others, as long as he's having fun. I would've expected you to know better, Miss Wilson."

His gaze trails over my body with barely a flicker of interest-not like the gaping stare the bartender gave. And yet, heat travels down the path his eyes take, pooling in my belly. I will myself to ignore it.

He doesn't think it's pretty. He's probably calculating how much it cost and why Julian had to spend so much money on someone like me.

I cross my arms over my chest, defensively. "I'll return it tomorrow. It didn't come with a tag, but I'm sure I can persuade them to take it. After all, it was your brother who suggested something outrageously expensive."

I feel bad for throwing Julian under the boss, but he dragged me into it.

Adrian tuts softly. "It looks good on you."

Huh?

I stare at him, unblinking. My lashes lift and fall, once. Faster, twice. He did not just give me a compliment? I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, feeling very self-conscious all of a sudden. "What?" he asks. "Would you rather I said yellow doesn't look good on you? That it doesn't complement your eyes and the way they shine under the chandelier light?"

"I-"

A flush rises quickly to the back of my neck. I feel...hot. I glance around, searching for something. A waiter, a glass of cold water-a drink, for heavens sake. Because either Adrian Hawthorne had a concussion before he came up to me or I'm hallucinating.

"But if you were to throw yourself into the arms of any man here-" his voice turns serious, "-you'll only end up giving them bloody ties. And then, I'd have the unfortunate responsibility of explaining how someone with no social graces got into a party like this."

"So, you see, Miss Wilson," his eyes narrow and his tone deepens with a note of distaste," perhaps you should've stayed home after all."

I take back everything I just said.

Adrian Hawthorne didn't hit his head and sudden become a normal member of society. He's still the arrogant, narcissistic asshole I know. And the heat in my stomach is because I haven't had anything to eat since I left the campus.

Julian promised me overpriced caviar.

"You know what?" I purse my lips tightly with a bitter smile. "I get it. I'm going to stay out of your way. I won't bother you with the insult of watching me make a fool of myself, just because I'm doing my best to fit in with your social circle."

A lump thickens in the back of my throat and my eyes sting with tears. "I'm going to put myself in time-out, find a corner and stay there until you're ready to send me away to where you think I belong."

I march away without another word-without waiting for the response I know will never come-swiping my eyes angrily with the back of my hand. I move out of the way, just in time to avoid a waitstaff carrying a tray of bubbly glasses.

I change my mind at the last minute, snagging one.

"Ma'am," she protests weakly, but I'm tipping my head back already and letting it pour down throat. The liquid is thick and fruity, not like the punch and burn I expected. I scoff with a sharp breath, staring at the glass with disappointment. "You too?" My voice cracks pitifully.

"Here," the server hands me another, a smile touching her lips. She tilts her head when I stare at it questioningly. "The people who asked for it won't miss it anyway. They're probably blacked out by now. And," she says in a hushed, excited whisper as she leans closer, "it's a twenty-year-old bottle of rum. If you can't taste it, why would you drink it?"

I end up with a bottle of rum, standing outside on the balcony, away from the party and the noise. The evening-night-breeze beats on my skin mercilessly. I shiver, wrapping an arm tightly around my chest as I take another swig from the bottle.

It's still sticky and sweet, but it fights off some of the cold.

I hate it here.

I didn't think ending up in the home of the man who picked me up like a discounted tab at a hole-in-the-wall diner was going to magically turn my life around...but I didn't think it was going to be this horrible.

I don't have to worry about money, tuition or a roof over my head, but now I have to deal with a narcissist who doesn't miss any opportunity to remind me of how inadequate I am, compared to him.

Alina Wilson, pauper. Adrian Hawthorne, CEO of Hawthorne Industries, billionaire and recluse.

A tear slides down my cheek. I don't bother brushing it away this time. My lips are all bruised from holding the back and the wind, brushing harshly against the tiny cuts, sting horribly.

I want to go home.

I'm not sure where that is, but I'm done being strong.

I go to take another swig, only to discover that the bottle's empty. "Crap." I shake it, growing furious by the second. I'm nowhere near drunk. The server said it was aged rum, but she must've been confused.

"Oh well," I shrugged. I'm Murphy's Law little experiment. If anything can go wrong, it's bound to go wrong for me. I slowly bend down, placing the bottle on the ground. The floor tilts as I try to stand up and my head lolls forward, dangling off my neck. My vision swims as my surrounding blurs into a mix of hazy colors and distorted images.

 "Woah," I mutter as I grip the railing, slurring the word. "That was trippy."

A tiny, high-pitched laugh that resembles nothing like me, pours out. I shake my head. "Gotta try again...slowly."

I turn, raising one foot. The ground distorts, sinking deeper and then magically rising higher than my shoe. I squint in confusion, trying to make sense of it, while balancing on one foot.

Bad idea.

It happens in slow drunken motion. My arms flail out, my shoes fly off my feet, landing somewhere in the dark and my legs give way from underneath me, like a rug roughly pulled forward. And then I'm falling.

I open my mouth to scream for help, but nothing comes out. Just pure horror, coursing through my veins and the late dawning that perhaps I shouldn't have drunk the half-bottle the staff snuck out for me.

It was rum, after all.

I close my eyes, thinking about all the things I thought about doing. The boring goals on my list. My graduation walk in mere months.

This is how I die, I think to myself. In a yellow, expensive dress I was going to return, outside a party where I don't belong, drinking stolen rum. From a split brain.

I wait for the end-

And end up slamming into something hard, with a firm grip digging into my waist. I feel something beating against my ear. Thump. thump. thump. Warm breath floods my ear as an amused drawl fills the thundering silence of my near-death incident.

"Is this a desperate cry for help, Miss Wilson. Or are you trying to appear more approachable due to your lack of social etiquette?"

My attempt to pull away from Adrian fails as his arm tightens around my waist. "Not so fast, Miss Wilson," he grunts softly. "Unless you want to end up with a concussion."

I try one more time, glaring at him when he doesn't budge. "What do you care? It would keep you from having to see me, wouldn't it? You won't have to bother about my lack of social etiquette and how much of a sore thumb I am."

My words slur as I speak, and the anger in my voice is nothing compared to how it sounds in my head.

Adrian's brow lifts a fraction as he leans closer. "Have you...been drinking?"

Duh? I shrug. "Why? I didn't get it from the bar, if that's what you're worried about. And I haven't assaulted any of your guests yet," I say snappily, sarcasm and frustration evident in my voice. "So, you can let me go now."

He doesn't.

He looks me over, his gaze tracing an invisible pattern from my face, over my lips that feel parched, and my dress-my chest, actually, with the gaping cleavage space. His jaw tightens as his eyes flare sharply with something too quick to name.

His arm falls away abruptly, but his presence has sucked away some of my inebriation, so I don't fall to the ground. I step back, thrusting my arms to my chest. "What? You're going to lecture me now on how much I can drink, by myself?"

"Your dress," he mutters, his voice coming out with a thick rasp. I scoff, ready to defend myself, but a soft breeze blows by, and I feel a patch of cold on my chest. Not the chill in the air, but a brush in one particular spot.

I glance down.

"Shit, shit!" I groan, turning around quickly to do damage control. Between my near kiss with death and Adrian's timely arrival, my dress...malfunctioned. The plunging space that was supposed to be in the middle had moved to one side, exposing my-

And he saw it.

Oh heavens, strike me dead now.

I wouldn't mind going this way, without doing anything on my list.

"I didn't see anything," Adrian says from behind me.

My face floods with embarrassment, and my cheeks turn so red I can feel the heat burning through them. "Please," I mumble, unable to muster anything beyond a whisper, "can you go? I'd like some space."

I hear footsteps retreating moments later, and my shoulders slump, a raw exhale slipping out of me, tears burning my eyes again. I yank the dress to its original position, but it slips away, refusing to cooperate.

I yank harder, and a loud rip fills the air.

I tore it.

It was supposed to be a beautiful dress, but I ruined it. "Stupid dress," I say, gritting my teeth to fight the tears. "Stupid party." It's my fault. I tried to be like them-the people who can actually afford expensive things and don't have to steal a bottle of rum.

My shoulders tremble as a thick sob catches in my throat. It burns as I shove it down, spreading through my chest like a punishing, icy fist. I wrap my arms around my stomach, staring off into the twinkling night sky. "What karma am I paying for? Was I such a terrible person in my past life that you've decided I don't deserve a break?"

"There's no such thing as karma."

A thick coat settles on my shoulders before I can turn. "Human beings take what they want."

My lips stretch into a thin smile as I face Adrian. "What would you say about me, then? That I'm too weak? That I should've been stronger, smarter-" my voice cracks with exhaustion and bitterness, "-and probably seen ahead of time that my stepfather was going to take everything I had?"

He says nothing for a minute, but his jaw flexes subtly, a muscle ticking there. He glances away for a moment, dragging a hand across his chin.

"Let's go."

"What?"

"Home. Let's go home."

I shake my head slowly, confused at his sudden decision. "Why? Isn't this your party? You're the host. I'm the one who wasn't invited. I can take an Uber or something."

Adrian's lips twitch as he chuckles. My eyes widen. It's the first time I've ever heard him laugh. Or do something close to it. "I don't care about the party, Alina. I couldn't give a fuck about the people in there, either. But I'm required to perform certain activities, to pretend as if I care about their vacations and beach homes, to keep my family's name on their lips."

"Oh..." I mutter.

He sighs softly. "And I doubt you'll be going anywhere with that dress. You're my excuse to call it a night."

I roll my eyes, but a tiny smile floats on my lips for a second. "I don't think it's fair to use me, Mr. Hawthorne, after I was so easily discarded just hours ago. That sounds very unfair."

"Hour," he corrects me without missing a beat. "And you had a few glasses from a scheming staff member to keep you company, didn't you?" He looks at me, his expression unreadable.

I squint.

It takes a second for it to click. "That was you?" My voice rises as I point a finger at him. "Why would you ban me from the bar, then?"

His shoulder tips in an imperceptible shrug. "I was saving you from a terrible situation. While you were wondering if you fit in, there were a handful of men staring at you...leering, I should add. None of them would've passed up the opportunity to take advantage of you, Alina."

Oh.

And because I feel silly now that he's pointed it out, I mutter again, "Oh."

Adrian nods. "Unfortunately, my world isn't kind to people who don't understand how it works. Which is why I forbade Julian from bringing you. I knew he was going to pull something tricky, and I wanted to be sure he wasn't going to use you."

So...the social etiquette, the comment on my ability to dance, and his cold attitude were to keep me from waking up in a stranger's bed tomorrow morning without knowing how I got there.

I blink slowly, my gaze to the floor, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, feeling thoroughly guilty. "I-" I lift my head, but he's already walking away.

"Try to keep up," he says, "or you might have to call the Uber after all. Or walk-" he throws me a look over his shoulder, "-you did say you could walk to your uni."

I just-

I was about to take back everything I thought about him tonight. "Ugh." I roll my eyes hard, scoffing under my breath. Adrian Hawthorne is irredeemable.

There's another car waiting for us, with a chauffeur holding the door open. Adrian gets into the back seat, and I start to go forward when the chauffeur's hand shoots out. "I'm sorry, Miss Wilson, but Mr. Hawthorne insists that you ride with him at the back."

The car feels smaller-suffocatingly small-sitting close to Adrian. There's some space between us; I'm seated at the very edge with my face plastered to the window, but I can still feel him.

His scent mingles with the cool air, drifting over to my end no matter how I try to ignore it. My skin tingles with something I've refused to pay attention to, counting the cars we speed past instead.

There's not that many of them, because the driver insists on keeping the speed limit.

I groan as I catch another whiff-digging my fingernails into the leather seat. It's going to leave marks, but it's all his fault. I could've sat in the passenger's seat, and we'd all be okay.

I'd be okay.

"Miss Wilson."

I shut my eyes tight. If I can just pretend that I've dozed off, then maybe...

"You're going to leave a strain on your neck being that close to the window," he says, in an even tone, like he's making an observation. "I don't assume you'd want to wear a neck brace to class for the next two weeks, because you're hellbent on pretending I don't exist?"

I turn, before I realize he'd been baiting me. "I'm not pretending you don't exist," I say firmly, defending myself. "I find the view interesting, that's all."

His gaze drops. I follow it to find my fist tightly clenched. I swiftly hide it between my thighs. "That doesn't mean anything," I tilt my chin stubbornly. "Besides, even if I wanted to, you're sitting right there. And your cologne..." I stop abruptly, pursing my lips to the side before I say anything else.

He tilts his head, barely, turning his upper body just a little bit. "What about it, Miss Wilson? Does it...bother you? Would you like some air?"

Yes.

I would like to breathe far away from here-where I can't feel the slow warmth spreading through my belly, sneakily working its way through my weakening defenses.

"It's the alcohol."

"What?"

I shake my head. I thought his presence earlier was enough to make me sober, but the rum must've found its way back. "I'm fine," I simply say.

"I see. That's fine, then. You may go back to what you were doing." He picks up a device beside him, and the screen lights up, casting a warm glow on a part of his face, like a tasteful silhouette. His lashes flutter as he scrolls with his thumb, his jaw moving once.

His cheekbones are impressively high...almost perfectly sitting on his face. His nose sits just right, like a pair of glasses would do so well on them. My eyes wander lower, watching him tap against his thigh absently. Long, strong fingers, with a firm grip...I'm sure.

Adrian runs his fingers through his hair as his mouth tightens with a brief frown, his eyes squinting at the screen. A soft, breathy sigh slips past my lips. He touches his nose, rubbing the tiny arch just right at the end.

Perfect.

For something to balance on.

Glasses, maybe.

Or something else.

Something warm and firm and...

I slap both hands to my cheek before I can complete the thoughts, tearing my gaze away. My shoulders slump as I face the window, staring at the buildings and the lights as they merge and blur.

I'm never drinking rum again. And I'm never letting Julian trick me into attending any parties. I lean back with an exhausted exhale, and my head tips sideways, my hair falling over my face.

I wake up in the air.

Quite literally.

The feeling of weightlessness, as if dangling from a high building, jolts me awake. My eyes open to the view of the ground moving underneath me. I panic, squirming and trying to jump down, but a strong arm pins me in place. It clamps down on the small of my back, like a stubborn vice.

"Settle down, Miss Wilson," a low, unbothered voice orders. "I don't intend on throwing out my shoulder because you sleep like the dead."

Adrian. Wait. I look down again. I'm in the air because he's carrying me over his shoulder. My panic dies down, but embarrassment sets in. "Put me down," I hiss as my face turns bright, flaming hot red. "Put me down, please."

"I tried that before," he says as he continues walking, leaving me to dangle like a sack of potatoes. "You were more than willing to spend the night curled up on the ground."

Me?

"That's a lie," I counter with a huff. I twist my body, pushing his forearm with all my strength, but it doesn't work in the slightest. And unfortunately, my limbs still feel like deadweight from the rum. "I'm not lightweight, and I definitely would know if you'd tried to wake me up."

His shoulder lifts with a nonchalant half-shrug, bouncing me in the air for a moment. "Sure. However, playing babysitter or designated sober chauffeur isn't something I enjoy doing, Miss Wilson. Or like, at all."

"So-"

I feel gravity as it swallows me whole in fast forward-my butt hitting the floor before I can make sense of what's happening. The impact slams through me like a dull hammer, shooting straight through my spine, rattling my tailbone with a deep bruising ache that I feel before the yell rips out.

"What the-"

"Why would you do that?!"

He stares at me. "You asked."

I-

"I asked to be put down," my voice rises as I struggle to stand up. My legs wobble a bit, and the shock of the cold terrazzo ground against my bare feet steals a surprised gasp from my lips. "Where are my shoes?" I ask.

"You left them at the party."

"And you didn't bother telling me?" I scoff loudly, planting my hands on my hips. "They were expensive. I was going to return them. I-" I throw my hands in the air, fed up with talking. Of myself, too, because I should've noticed my bare toes hanging out when I left the balcony with him.

Except he threatened to make me walk...so it's his fault.

Everything is Adrian Hawthorne's fault.

"I asked you to let me down," I insist, glaring at him, "not toss me like a wet rag. I would've been fine sleeping on the cold, hard floor, you know. It's far better than having to accept help from you."

I drop to the floor to prove my point, folding my arms. "I'm peachy right here, Mr. Hawthorne. You can go into your warm, spacious house."

Adrian takes a step closer. He leans over until I can see my reflection in his pupils. A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You forget the one rule I have, Alina. Perhaps I should remind you."

He crouches and tips my chin with his fingers, his thumb grazing my cheek. My tongue darts out, wetting my bottom lip as my pulse thickens slowly, a reluctant drumbeat, as heat drips through me like molten honey. I arch, without thinking-without meaning to, as my mouth turns dry.

"You sleep in my bed. In my house. As long as you belong to me."

"I don't belong to-"

He cuts me off before I can finish, sweeping me off my feet. I dangle from his shoulder with a yelp. "Let me go!" I scream off the top of my head, driving my fist into his back. He doesn't flinch, striding to the house, where the door's already open. I sway back and forth as he climbs the stairs, mercilessly throwing me around. I hear the sound of a door being kicked open, and then I'm flying again, through the air...my body landing on soft sheets and a soft mattress.

He climbs on, caging me on both sides with his arms. My chest rises and falls sharply, my breathing uneven as I gaze up at him. His eyes drag over my face with undisguised interest, lingering on my cleavage...the torn part of my dress...the dip of my waist. Unwanted warmth creeps through my veins and pulses under my skin, making my dress feel like thin paper.

Adrian's voice heads straight to my stomach-a jolt that steals my breath as my hips jerk off the bed.

"Now," he drawls. "Do I have to tie you up, Miss Wilson, or are you going to keep mouthing off to me?"