Chapter 6
Sophia
"I hope you'll find everything you need here," Adrian's voice echoes through the vast space. "If anything's missing, just let me know."
I step into the studio, my breath catching in my throat. Sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across pristine hardwood floors. From this height, the city unfolds beneath me, its towering buildings rising through the rosy dusk, reaching toward the fading light.
"This is..." I admire a sleek drafting table. The surface gleams, untouched.
Easels of varying sizes line one wall, while another displays an organized array of brushes, paints, and tools I've only dreamed of using. Some I don't even recognize. A digital workspace occupies one corner, complete with a tablet larger than my kitchen table.
"The lighting system adapts to time of day." Adrian demonstrates, tapping a panel on the wall. The room's ambiance shifts subtly, maintaining perfect illumination as shadows deepen outside. "You can customize the settings for different projects."
I drift toward the supply cabinet, running my hand over jars of pigments arranged by color. The labels read like a wish list: genuine lapis lazuli, rare earth pigments, materials I've only read about in art history books.
"Adrian, this is..." I turn in a slow circle, overwhelmed. "I've never seen anything like this."
He watches me from the doorway, hands in his pockets, a slight smile playing at his lips. "Consider it your workspace for as long as you need. Day or night, you'll have complete access."
The golden hour light bathes everything in amber, and I forget about the uncomfortable feelings I had over dinner, the vague warnings in my gut. I forget about everything except this sanctuary of creativity Adrian has crafted.
My mind drifts back to earlier today, to Adrian's unexpected call. His voice carried that mix of authority and charm that makes refusing him nearly impossible.
"I have something to show you. For the commission."
I hesitated, watching the sun sink toward the horizon through my apartment window. The memory of that dream flashed hot in my mind, his hand between my legs, his teeth on my earlobe.
"It's getting late," I said, fingers twisting the hem of my shirt.
"I'll send a car for you. This will be worth your time."
I wanted to say something about the way he ignored my concern and didn't seem to be giving me an option, but he was already speaking again, telling me when to be ready. I found myself agreeing.
Now, standing in this incredible space, I'm glad he wouldn't accept no for an answer. The studio is beyond anything I could have imagined, and I haven't even formally accepted the commission yet. Adrian just assumed—or knew—I would say yes.
I guess I have.
I glance at him. He's still watching me from the doorway. His eyes track my movements, both thrilling and unnerving. The setting sun casts half his face in shadow, making him look almost predatory.
"How did you know?" I ask, gesturing at the supplies. "About the specific materials I use?"
His smile widens slightly. "I pay attention to details, Sophia. Especially when they matter."
I set my worn bag on the pristine drafting table, feeling self-conscious as I pull out my battered sketchbook and well-used supplies. The contrast between my weathered tools and this gleaming sanctuary couldn't be starker.
But a different realization hits me—we're completely alone in here. My cheeks flush as fragments of that dream flood back. Adrian's hands on mine, his voice in my ear, the way he...
I fumble with my sketchbook, nearly dropping it.
"Something on your mind?" Adrian's voice carries a knowing edge.
"Just... thinking about the project." I keep my eyes fixed on arranging my pencils, though they're already perfectly aligned.
"Really?" He steps closer, and the room suddenly feels warmer. "Your blush suggests otherwise."
I turn to face him, determined to maintain composure. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"No?" His smile is wolfish as he reaches past me to pick up a brush, his arm ghosting along mine. "Artists are supposed to be honest, Sophia. Your body language tells quite a story."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "Maybe you're reading too much into things."
"Am I?" He sets the brush down deliberately and traps me between him and the drafting table, his arms on either side of me. "Tell me to step back, and I will."
The challenge in his voice makes my knees weak. I should tell him to move. I should maintain professional boundaries. Instead, I whisper, "And if I don't want you to?"
"Then you're more interesting than I thought." His cologne fills my senses as he leans closer. "What are you afraid of, Sophia? That I'll see right through you?"
"I'm not afraid," I say, voice breathier than I thought it would be.
"No?" His hands slide together on the table behind me, closing me in tighter. "Then why are you trembling?"
I'm achingly aware of every inch between us. My breath catches as one hand moves toward my face, hovering near my cheek—
A firm knock breaks the spell.
Mara stands in the doorway, tablet in hand, her eyebrow raised a fraction. "Mr. Vale, your 7 o'clock."
Adrian's hand drops smoothly to his side as if nothing happened, but there's a flash of something—frustration? —across his features.
"Ms. Larkin," Mara nods at me, her dark eyes taking in everything—my flushed cheeks, the scattered sketches, the minimal space between Adrian and me. My shabby work clothes and disheveled appearance stand out against her immaculate professionalism.
She doesn't smile, exactly, but there's something knowing in her expression that makes me want to sink into the floor. The way she carries herself, like she's an extension of Adrian's authority, tells me everything I need to know about her role in his life.
She's here to stay.
I fumble with my sketches, trying to gather them while avoiding everyone's eyes. "I should probably go—"
"Stay," Adrian responds immediately, his tone brooking no argument. "Get familiar with the place. I'll come find you when I'm free."
I nod quickly. "Of course, thank you."
My cheeks still burn as Adrian strides out, his confident footsteps echoing through the studio. Mara lingers for a moment, and I busy myself with reorganizing my sketches, desperate to avoid eye contact. When I dare to glance up, she gives me a small, inscrutable smile before following Adrian.
It's like she was waiting for me to look up.
The door clicks shut, leaving me alone with my thundering heart and scattered thoughts.
What just happened?
I sink into the chair by the drafting table, my legs suddenly weak. The memory of Adrian's proximity makes my skin tingle. His hand had been so close to my face, those storm-gray eyes focused entirely on me.
Maybe it's good Mara showed up when she did. The thought of what might have happened sends a shiver down my spine. Would he have touched my face? Pulled me closer?
I press my cool palms against my heated cheeks, trying to calm down. The worst part is, I'm not sure what I wanted to happen. My nerves still crackle from our almost-touch, caught between exhilaration and fear at whatever had sparked between us.
My fingers trace the edge of a sketch, following the lines where organic shapes morph into digital patterns. Just like Adrian's world bleeding into mine, precise and calculated yet somehow magnetic.
I can still smell his cologne, still feel the heat of his body as he pressed in close. He was pushing my buttons, seeing how I would react.
With a deep sigh, I push away from the drafting table and stand. My racing thoughts about Adrian won't help me right now. Better to explore this incredible space he's provided.
There are shelves stocked with every medium imaginable. Oils, acrylics, watercolors—all professional grade, arranged in perfect color gradients. In one corner, a state-of-the-art computer setup beckons. The tablet screen is larger than any I've worked with before. When I tap it experimentally, it comes to life with a soft glow, revealing software I've only read about in art magazines.
"Jesus," I whisper, opening a drawer filled with specialized tools. Some I recognize from my wishlist, others I'm not even sure how to use. The organization is meticulous, everything labeled and arranged intelligently.
I cross to the windows. The view of the city below is dizzying, perfect for finding inspiration. The lighting system Adrian demonstrated earlier responds automatically as clouds pass overhead, maintaining ideal conditions.
I spot a small storage room and peek inside. Canvas stretchers in every size imaginable line the walls, along with rolls of premium paper. There's even a proper ventilation system for working with solvents.
My throat tightens as the reality sinks in. This isn't just a workspace—it's a declaration of faith in my abilities. Adrian has invested more in this studio than I've earned in my entire career. The thought is both thrilling and terrifying.
I lean against the window, watching as the smart glass adapts to the changing light. What does he see in me that warrants all this?
I'm still standing by the window when Adrian returns, his footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor. I turn to find him smiling warmly.
"I see you've discovered the view," he says, moving to stand beside me. "But if you like this, there's something you might enjoy even more." His hand attaches to the small of my back, guiding me firmly. "Care for a break?"
Like I have a choice. But I nod, suddenly aware of how long I've been standing here lost in thought. Adrian guides me through a door I hadn't noticed before, leading to a set of stairs. When we get to the top and open a second door, we step into an open-air seating area. The space feels intimate, with plush chairs arranged around a low table. String lights twinkle overhead, and potted plants create natural privacy screens.
But it's the view that takes my breath away. We're even higher here, the city spread out before us like a glittering tapestry. The evening air is cool on my skin, carrying the faint scent of the flowers surrounding us.
"This is beautiful," I breathe, settling into one of the chairs. The fabric is butter-soft against my arms.
Adrian takes the seat across from me, his posture relaxed yet somehow still commanding. I glance around, noticing Mara's absence. The tension in my shoulders eases slightly. Something about her makes me feel like I'm being evaluated.
"I come here to think sometimes," Adrian says, his eyes on the cityscape. "There's something clarifying about being above it all, don't you agree?"
I watch Adrian's profile against the darkening sky, struck by how the city lights soften his usually sharp features.
"It's strange being up here," I admit. "Everything looks so small, so manageable from this height."
"That's partly why I bought this building." Adrian's fingers trace patterns on the arm of his chair. "Down there, life is chaos. Up here, I can see the patterns, make sense of things."
"Is that what drives you? Making sense of chaos?"
He turns those storm-gray eyes on me, and something in his expression makes my heart skip.
"Among other things. What drives you, Sophia? What makes you pour yourself out night after night?"
The question catches me off guard. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the evening's warmth.
"I guess... it's the only way I know how to make sense of things, too. When I paint, everything else falls away. The doubts, the fears..." I pause, surprised by my own honesty.
"The financial struggles?" His voice is gentle but knowing.
I nod, throat tight. "Daniel—my ex—he used to say I was fooling myself. That I'd never make it as an artist." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "He'd critique everything I did, always finding flaws, always pushing me to be more 'commercial.'"
Adrian's jaw tightens. "Some people mistake control for support. They think by breaking someone down, they're helping them rebuild stronger."
There's something in his tone that makes me look up. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."
He's quiet for a long moment, his eyes distant. "I had a partner once. Elliot. We built my first company together." His fingers clench on the chair arm. "He was my brother. Until he wasn't."
"What happened?"
"He tried to take everything. Not just the company. My reputation, my trust..." Adrian's voice hardens. "He almost succeeded. That's when I learned that control isn't just about power. Sometimes it's about survival."
I lean forward, drawn by the vulnerability in his confession. "Is that why you..." I gesture at the building, the studio, everything he's created.
"Why I need everything perfect?" A bitter smile crosses his face. "Partly. But it's more than that. When you've been betrayed thoroughly enough, you learn to see the patterns. To prevent chaos before it can touch you."
His words resonate with something deep inside me. "I understand that. After Daniel... I stopped showing my work for months. It felt safer to keep everything locked away."
"But you started again."
"I had to. Art isn't just what I do. It's who I am." I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustrated. "Even when I'm broke, even when I doubt everything about myself, I can't stop creating. It's like breathing."
Adrian's expression softens. "That's what drew me to your work initially. That honesty. You don't hide behind technique or trends. Every piece feels like a confession."
Heat rises to my cheeks. "Sometimes I think I reveal too much in my art."
"The world has enough facades. What you create, it's real. Vulnerable. Brave."
His words wrap around me like a warm embrace, and I find myself fighting tears. After years of Daniel's criticism, of gallery rejections, of doubting every brushstroke... hearing someone—especially someone like Adrian—validate my artistic voice feels overwhelming.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, wiping my eyes. "I don't usually get emotional like this."
"Don't apologize." Adrian's voice is soft but firm. "Vulnerability isn't weakness. It's the source of true strength. And true art."
The city lights blur as Adrian shifts closer. My heart pounds against my ribs as the space between us shrinks.
"There's something about you, Sophia," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "You see the world differently. Create beauty from chaos."
I can't look away from his eyes. I catch the scent of his cologne, and it makes my head spin.
"I think you understand more than you let on," I whisper, surprised by my boldness.
Adrian's expression softens as he leans in. His fingers reach up, ghosting along my cheek as he tucks a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. The gentle touch sends shivers down my spine.
His phone cuts through the moment with a harsh buzz. Adrian's jaw tightens as he checks the screen and accepts a call.
"Mr. Vale," Mara's crisp voice carries through the speaker. "The Beijing team needs you immediately. There's been a situation with the neural network deployment."
Adrian's expression hardens, that familiar mask of control sliding back into place. "I'll be right there."
I watch Adrian's expression harden as he stands, already shifting back into the powerful CEO persona. My skin still tingles where his fingers brushed my cheek moments ago.
"I apologize," he says, his voice clipped and professional now. "This requires my immediate attention."
"Of course." I try to keep my voice steady, but disappointment and relief war in my chest. "I should probably head home anyway."
Adrian pauses, conflict flashing across his features. For a moment, I think he might stay, might finish whatever was building between us. But his phone buzzes again, and the moment shatters.
"Mara will arrange a car for you." He takes a step toward me, then seems to think better of it. "Thank you for today, Sophia. We'll continue our discussion soon."
I nod, not trusting my voice. As his footsteps fade down the stairs, I press my cool hands to my flushed cheeks. The night air that felt so intimate moments ago now chills me, and I wrap my arms around myself.
What am I doing? One moment he's all controlled power, the next he's sharing vulnerabilities about his past. It's intoxicating and dangerous.
The memory of his gentle touch lingers as I gather my things from the studio. Everything about this space screams careful planning—the perfect lighting, the exact supplies I prefer. How long has he really been watching me? The thought should disturb me more than it does.
In the elevator on the way down, I feel like a woman caught between desire and uncertainty, between opportunity and risk.
The car Mara arranged idles at the curb. As I slide into the leather seat, my phone buzzes with an email confirmation for tomorrow's supply delivery to the studio. Everything perfectly arranged, perfectly controlled.
Just like Adrian.
My apartment will feel small and shabby after his pristine penthouse, but right now I need its familiar chaos. I need space to think, to breathe, to understand what I'm getting myself into. Because despite all the warning signs—his need for control, the secrets—I can't deny how alive I feel when I'm around him.
The city blurs past the tinted windows as I lean my head against the glass, my thoughts as tangled as the traffic beyond.