3. Adrian
Adrian
The penthouse was dark when I stepped inside.
I didn't turn on the lights. For a moment, I simply stood there with my hand still resting on the door, staring into the silence I'd spent nearly five years avoiding.
Coming back here was a mistake.
A terrible one.
I should’ve stayed at the hotel. I should’ve kept my distance, attended Theo's wedding, shaken a few hands, and returned to New York before anything had the chance to follow me home.
Instead, I'd walked straight back into the one place I'd sworn never to enter again.
And I'd broken my own promise that I made to myself.
For what? To torment myself even more?
I loosened my tie and headed for the private wine cellar. I pulled out a vintage bottle, twisted the cork free, and didn't bother looking for a glass. I took a long swallow before walking toward my bedroom.
I'd flown in from New York that morning and gone directly to Theo's wedding. Aron Ashcroft's younger brother was getting married, and I'd promised my childhood friend I'd be there.
I hadn't even bothered looking at the bride's name.
Not until she caught my eye.
Eliana...
Eliana Hart.
The name tasted bitter now.
"Camilla Carter's cousin," I murmured.
How could I have missed that?
The moment her face returned to my mind, something vicious twisted through my chest. I wanted to destroy everything within my reach simply to make the feeling disappear.
I didn't. I'd learned better than to let anger choose for me. I stopped outside my bedroom. I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to see her. But the painting was there anyway.
It occupied almost the entire wall opposite my bed, enormous and impossible to ignore even in the darkness. Warm brown eyes. Dark hair. A face I'd memorized long before I'd understood that loving someone could become its own form of punishment.
Ana. My Ana…
I stopped in front of her. For a long moment, I said nothing, only stared.
She was painted beneath a wash of warm light, her long dark hair fallen over one shoulder, those brown eyes looking somewhere beyond me. But tonight, they felt fixed directly on me. I lifted the bottle.
"You know it's been five years." My voice sounded rough in the empty room. "Five years, and somehow I still wake up with you dying in my arms."
I took another drink.
"Every damn time, it's the same. Your blood on my hands. Your eyes… looking at me like you're already leaving. And then I wake up alone."
The silence offered no mercy.
"You remember what I told you, don't you?" My laugh came out bitter. "I told you not to make me fall in love with you. I warned you."
I stared into those lifeless painted eyes.
"Because I knew myself. I knew that if I ever gave you my everything, there would be nothing left of me when you were gone."
I gritted my teeth, fighting the rage inside me. "And you still did it."
I stepped closer to the painting. "You let me love you, and then you left me with nothing but questions."
My fingers tightened around the bottle. "Suspicion. Denial. Fear. That was all you had left for me."
I swallowed hard and dragged a hand through my hair. "Even now, you look at me like you're waiting for me to hurt you."
My voice dropped into something darker. "Did you really think I wanted to destroy you?"
I looked away for a second, unable to withstand the accusation in those eyes. “You knew… I would’ve burned the entire world down before I let him touch you.”
The words left me quietly. Almost tenderly. And that was the worst part. Because even after five years, I still meant every word.
I dragged myself toward the bed and sat heavily against the mattress, taking another drink as I stared at her. I had spent years running from this room. From her painting. From her memories.
How long was I supposed to keep running? Maybe coming back was my only salvation. Maybe it was time to face what I'd spent years refusing to accept.
My phone began ringing. It was Aron.
I answered without saying anything.
"Hope you reached your penthouse safely," Aron spoke. "You're all over the media, by the way. I didn't know you were dating a new girl. When were you planning to tell me?"
A dry, sarcastic laugh escaped me.
I reached into my pocket. The silver pendant caught the faint light from the city outside. I held it between my fingers and let it swing back and forth slowly.
"Hey, don't laugh. Come on, man." Aron sounded amused. "I'm happy for you. You've finally decided to move on from her."
My fingers stopped moving.
"It's been five years since her death, Adrian. It's time for you to live your life. We're all worried about you."
I stayed silent. Only breathed.
Aron sighed on the other end. "Fine. Don't say anything. Just rest tonight. You're in Virginia anyway, so we can talk about the new project tomorrow."
He went quiet for a moment, as if debating whether to push me for answers.
"Goodnight, Adrian. Sleep well."
The call ended. I stared at the pendant resting in my palm and smiled.
"Now that fate has brought you to me..." My thumb brushed over the silver. "How could I let you escape again?" I closed my fingers around it. "Could I, Eliana Hart?"
I shut my eyes and the past came rushing back.
* * *
Six Years Ago
The penthouse had been alive that night. Music filled the rooms, warm lights spilled across the floors, and Ana's laughter followed me through every corner.
She had drawn a ridiculous fake moustache across my face and was now running for her life.
"You should see yourself!" She glanced over her shoulder, laughing.
"Keep running," I warned, laughing.
"I think it suits you."
"You have no idea what you've started."
She barely made it three more steps before her foot caught the edge of the rug and she stumbled onto the bed with a startled gasp.
I caught up to her immediately.
Ana squealed as I pinned her wrists and held them above her head.
"Adrian!"
I cocked a brow and teased, “You thought you could do that and get away with it?”
She squirmed beneath me, still laughing. "I regret nothing."
"You should." I leaned closer.
Her laughter faded into a breath.
"Now it's time for your punishment."
Her eyes drifted to my mouth. "What kind of punishment?"
I lowered my face until my lips barely brushed hers. "This."
I kissed her. She melted into me almost instantly, her hands slipping against my shoulders as the playful struggle disappeared. The kiss deepened, slow at first, then hungry enough to erase every trace of laughter from the room.
When I finally pulled back, her cheeks were flushed.
She smiled. "You really are arrogant."
"And you love it."
She rolled her eyes, but her fingers curled into my shirt and pulled me back down.
The memory fractured. I opened my eyes. The bedroom was dark again.
The music was gone.
Ana was gone.
Only the painting remained.
A tear slipped silently down my left cheek. I didn't wipe it away.
* * *
Eliana
The doorbell rang again, dragging me out of a dream I had no intention of remembering. I buried my face deeper into the pillow and tried to ignore it, but whoever stood outside clearly had no intention of leaving.
Thank God, I put Cookie in the other room, or he would've started screaming by now.
By the fourth ring, I finally dragged myself out of bed. Grabbed my glasses, shoved my hair away from my face, and stumbled toward the door.
When I opened it, Rebecca Collins stood on my doorstep wearing her oversized sunglasses, holding two coffees, and looking far too awake for that hour.
"Rise and shine, sweetheart." She greeted me with a wide smile.
I stared at her in shock. "It's nine in the morning, Rebecca."
"Exactly. That's when normal people start their day."
"I'm a writer. We're not normal people."
She laughed and walked inside before I could object.
Rebecca had been my editor long enough to know she didn't need permission for most things, especially when she was carrying coffee.
She set one cup on the kitchen counter and turned toward me with the brightest smile I'd seen that early in the day.
"I saw the news."
I closed the door and sighed. "Of course you did."
"Everyone saw the news." She pulled out her phone, already scrolling through the articles. "Apparently, my favorite struggling romance writer spent last night escaping paparazzi in America’s hottest billionaire Adrian Ashford's SUV."
"I accidentally got into his car."
Rebecca looked up. "Sure."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." She slipped her phone into her bag and took a sip of her coffee. "Honestly, Eliana, I'm proud of you."
I frowned. "For what?"
"For finally taking your research seriously. You're writing a billionaire romance, and somehow you managed to get yourself into the car of one of the most famous billionaires in America. That's dedication."
"Rebecca, I'm telling you… it was an accident."
"You don't have to hide it from me, sweetie."
"I'm not hiding anything."
She gave me a knowing look that made it very clear she believed absolutely none of what I'd said.
"I've been your editor for three years. I know when you're lying."
"You're actually pretty bad at it. And I AM NOT LYING!”
"Fine." She lifted both hands in surrender, though the amusement in her eyes remained. "I'll pretend I believe you."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the doorbell rang again.
Rebecca's eyebrows rose. "Well, that was quick."
I gave her a confused look before walking toward the door. When I opened it, the words caught somewhere behind my teeth.
Adrian Ashford stood on my doorstep, looking nothing like the man who had driven me away from a crowd of screaming paparazzi the night before.