Chapter 4 CHAPTER FOUR
Amelia’s POV
The next morning, Damian’s voice was the first sound I heard, sharp, clipped, businesslike. Not to me, of course. Into his phone. He was already dressed in another dark suit, his tie knotted with precision, his watch gleaming against his wrist.
“Yes, push it back an hour. Tell him I’ll make the merger call after the board meeting,” he said as he walked past the bed where I sat half-awake, robe clutched around me. He didn’t so much as glance my way.
Then the doorbell chimed.
Damian opened it, and there he was. Adrian.
The air shifted the moment he stepped into the penthouse. His presence was lighter, effortless. He wore no tie, just a white button-down rolled at the sleeves and dark slacks. His hair was slightly tousled, his grin easy as he clapped his brother’s shoulder.
“Morning, Damian. Still married? Or have you buried her already?” Adrian teased, his golden-brown eyes flicking briefly to me.
I froze, my breath catching at the boldness of it. Damian’s scowl was instant. “Grow up, Adrian. I’m leaving for a meeting. Wait here. I’ll be back by evening.”
And just like that, Damian was gone, swallowed by the elevator, his cologne fading into the sterile air.
Silence stretched for a moment. Then Adrian turned, his gaze landing on me fully now. His smile softened, losing its sharpness.
“Amelia,” he said warmly, as though tasting my name, letting it linger. “Finally, we meet without cameras flashing.”
I nodded, unsure how to respond. My hands twisted in my robe, tugging at the sash. “You didn’t have to come up.”
“I didn’t,” he admitted with a chuckle. “But I figured if Damian’s wife is up here starving, it’d be a crime not to invite her to breakfast.”
Before I could protest, he strolled to the dining table, pulling out a chair. “Come. Sit with me.”
I hesitated. My instinct was to retreat to hide in my room, behind my silence. “I… I’m not really hungry.”
“Then eat for the company,” he said smoothly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I promise, I’m a better conversationalist than my brother.”
That earned a tiny laugh from me, quick, reluctant, but real. Against my better judgment, I crossed the room and sat.
The chef appeared like magic, as though Adrian’s charm summoned him. Platters of eggs, fresh bread, fruit, and coffee were laid before us, warm and inviting. Adrian poured me a cup without asking, sliding it gently across the table.
“Try the croissant,” he said, tearing one open and handing me half. “Flaky as sin. You’ll thank me.”
I shook my head, but his gaze was so insistent, so playful, that I found myself nibbling a piece just to humor him. The butter melted on my tongue, rich and warm.
His smile widened. “See? That’s a victory. Don’t tell Damian, but I make it my mission to ruin his diet every time I’m here.”
I almost smiled again, but caught myself, retreating behind a wall I wasn’t even sure how I had built. “I should… get some air,” I murmured, pushing my chair back.
Adrian didn’t stop me. He only nodded, leaning back with that effortless grace of his. “Then go. The garden’s best in the morning. Trust me.”
The elevator took me down to the courtyard, where the Blackwood estate stretched like a palace. The gardens were alive with color, roses and lilies blooming in neat rows, fountains whispering as water arched into marble basins. The scent of jasmine carried on the breeze, wrapping around me like a memory of something softer, freer.
I wandered along the stone paths, trailing my fingers against the hedges, admiring the beauty that seemed untouched by the coldness inside the walls above.
And then I heard footsteps behind me.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Adrian’s voice, softer now, as though he understood the sacred quiet of the moment.
I turned, startled, but he wasn’t intruding. He stood a few paces back, hands in his pockets, gaze on the roses. His presence didn’t weigh down the air like Damian’s. It lightened it.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “It is.”
He glanced at me then, his smile not playful this time but thoughtful, almost… gentle. “You looked like you needed air. I didn’t want you wandering down here alone, lost in thought.”
I swallowed, unsure why the words made something twist inside me. “I like being alone sometimes.”
“Of course,” he said. But there was no pity in his tone, only understanding. “Still. It’s nice to know someone’s nearby, isn’t it?”
Our eyes met, and for a moment, the silence between us wasn’t heavy; it was… safe.
The breeze lifted my hair, carrying the faint scent of roses between us. And for the first time since the wedding, I felt something stir in me that wasn’t dread.
It wasn’t love. Not yet. But it was the spark of something alive.
I tore my gaze away, pretending to study the fountain. But even as I turned, I could still feel Adrian’s eyes on me, steady, warm, patient. A
dangerous comfort.
