The rain started without warning.
Not the dramatic kind just a steady, relentless fall, tapping against the glass like it had something to say but didn’t know how to begin.
The city blurred outside the penthouse windows, lights smudged into soft gold and silver streaks.
Elara stood barefoot in the living room, arms wrapped around herself, watching it all melt away.
Sleep had refused her again.
She turned when she heard footsteps.
Adrian.
No suit this time. Just a dark shirt, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly undone. He looked… less guarded. More real. And that scared her more than his cold CEO mask ever had.
“You’re still awake,” he said quietly.
“So are you,” she replied.
Silence stretched between them, thin and fragile.
The rain filled it.
“I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” Adrian spoke at last. “At the gala. About it being just a contract.”
Elara’s breath caught but she didn’t turn around. “Which part didn’t you mean?”
He stepped closer, stopping just short of touching her. “The part where I acted like none of this affects me.”
Her fingers tightened against her sleeves.
“Adrian,” she said softly, “this arrangement was supposed to be simple.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “And somehow… it isn’t.”
That was the crack.
Small. Almost invisible.
But once it formed, everything inside began to leak through.
She turned to face him.
“I don’t like feeling replaceable,” she admitted. “I don’t like wondering if I’m just… convenient.”
“You’re not,” he said immediately too quickly.
“Then what am I?” she asked.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
“I don’t know,” he said finally, voice low. “And that’s the problem.”
The rain grew louder, as if urging him on.
He took another step closer. She could feel his presence now warm, steady, dangerous.
The space between them felt charged, like a question waiting to be answered.
“Sometimes,” he said, “I look at you and forget why we started this.”
Her heart skipped.
“Sometimes,” she whispered, “I wish you wouldn’t.”
Their eyes locked. Something unspoken rushed forward, pressing against the edges of restraint. His hand lifted hesitated hovered near her arm.
If he touched her now, everything would change.
“Adrian ” she began.
A sharp buzz cut through the moment.
His phone.
The sound felt cruel.
He froze. Then stepped back, hand dropping like it had been burned.
He glanced at the screen, jaw tightening.
“I have to take this,” he said, voice distant again.
Of course you do, she thought.
The wall slid back into place.
“Good night,” she said, turning away before he could see the disappointment in her eyes.
“Good night, Elara,” he replied but it sounded like a regret.
Later that night, the rain finally slowed.
But sleep still didn’t come.
Because some words
once almost spoken—
echo louder than confessions.
once almost spoken—
echo louder than confessions.
The penthouse settled into an uneasy quiet after Adrian disappeared into his study.
Elara remained where she was for a long moment, staring at the rain-smeared glass. Her reflection looked unfamiliar eyes softer, shoulders heavier, heart dangerously awake.
Why did it feel like I was the one left behind… when nothing had even begun?
She exhaled slowly and turned away, heading toward her room.
Halfway down the corridor, she stopped.
Voices.
Muted.
Controlled.
Adrian’s.
She hadn’t meant to listen but his name, his tone, pulled her in like gravity.
“No,” he said sharply.
“That’s not acceptable.”
A pause.
“I don’t care what the board thinks. This isn’t up for discussion.”
Elara leaned against the wall, heartbeat quickening. This wasn’t the calm CEO voice she’d heard in meetings. This was restrained anger tight, dangerous.
“Yes, she’ll be there,” Adrian continued. “And no, she’s not a liability.”
She?
Her chest tightened.
“Because she’s my wife,” he said firmly. “And that’s final.”
The call ended.
Silence followed but it wasn’t empty anymore.
Elara swallowed. She should go. Pretend she hadn’t heard anything.
Pretend his words hadn’t curled around her ribs and stayed there.
But when she turned, she almost collided with him.
Adrian stood a few steps away, phone still in hand. His expression shifted surprise, then something unreadable.
“How long were you standing there?” he asked.
“Long enough,” she replied honestly.
Another silence.
“This is getting complicated,” she said quietly.
“Yes,” he agreed. “It is.”
They stood there in the dim corridor, the distance between them smaller than it should have been.
The rain had softened to a whisper now, like it didn’t want to interrupt.
“You shouldn’t have defended me like that,” she said.
His brow furrowed. “Why not?”
“Because it makes things harder,” she replied.
“For both of us.”
He studied her face, like he was memorizing something he might lose. “I didn’t do it for strategy.”
Her breath hitched. “Then why did you do it?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation said everything.
“I don’t like the idea of anyone treating you like an inconvenience,” he said finally. “Even hypothetically.”
Elara laughed softly not amused, not happy. Just overwhelmed.
“You say things like that and then expect me to remember this is fake.”
Adrian stepped closer, voice low. “Maybe that’s because it stopped feeling fake before either of us noticed.”
The air shifted.
Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
“Adrian,” she whispered, “if we cross this line”
“I know,” he said. “There’s no clean way back.”
His hand lifted again, slower this time. This time, it reached her wrist barely a touch, more a question than a claim.
She didn’t pull away.
For one fragile second, the world narrowed to that contact.
Warm.
Steady.
Real.
Then she stepped back.
“We should stop,” she said, even though every part of her protested.
He dropped his hand instantly.
“You’re right.”
That hurt more than she expected.
“Good night,” she said again this time steadier.
“Good night,” he replied.
They walked away in opposite directions, both carrying the weight of a moment neither of them would forget.
Later, alone in her room, Elara sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her phone.
A new notification blinked.
A photo of her and Adrian at the gala close, smiling, perfect.
Caption trending everywhere:
#GoldenHeirInLove
She locked the screen, pressing it face-down.
Across the penthouse, Adrian stood by his window once more, city lights flickering below.
His phone buzzed again messages, expectations, pressure.
But his mind was elsewhere.
On a girl who had walked into his life on a contract…
and stayed like a question he no longer wanted to answer rationally.
The rain finally stopped.
But neither of them slept.
Because some nights don’t end with confessions
they end with restraint.
And restraint, sometimes, is the most dangerous thing of all.
