Chapter 03

Anna's POV

Sunlight poured through the panoramic windows of the presidential suite, tugging me awake. I blinked slow, eyes adjusting. The spot beside me was empty, but the sheets still held a faint warmth.

"Morning." A deep voice rolled from the far side of the room. I looked up—there he was, by the window, fully dressed, cradling a coffee. The dawn light carved him sharp, his charcoal suit sleek and sexy against the glow.

"Up and suited already?" I propped myself up, letting the sheet slip off one shoulder on purpose.

He turned, blue eyes catching a spark of amusement. "Want me to take it off again?"

"Maybe." I flashed a playful grin. "But first, any chance I can steal some of that coffee?"

He crossed to the bed, handing me a steaming mug. "Americano, black. Hope it's your speed."

I took a sip—hot, strong, just right. "Perfect. How'd you guess I like it black?"

"Instinct." He sat on the edge, fingers brushing my cheek, light as a feather. "Same way I know what's on your mind."

"Oh?" I raised a brow. "What's that?"

He leaned in, breath warm against my ear. "You're wondering if you should kiss me."

I turned, meeting his gaze head-on. "And what do you think I'll pick?"

His answer was a long, slow kiss, coffee tang mingling between us. It was gentle but firm, like him—full of contradictions, impossible to pin down.

"I ordered breakfast," he murmured, forehead resting against mine.

A knock hit the door right then. He stood, rolling in a cart loaded with extravagance: fresh croissants, fruit, eggs, bacon, and a stack of rainbow macarons.

"This spread…" I said, eyeing it. "Pretty lavish."

"Fits a morning this good." He pulled out a chair for me.

We ate in quiet, trading glances and small smiles. Every move he made was smooth, polished, but there was a mystery underneath, begging me to dig.

"I've got a meeting soon," he said at last, checking his watch.

I set my mug down, breathing deep. Last night's rush was electric, too good, and that scared me. I couldn't let it turn into another Zack-shaped mess. "Adrian…"

"Yeah?"

"When we leave this room, let's act like we never met." I looked straight at him, voice calm but solid.

He paused, something flickering in his eyes—reluctance, maybe a test. His smile froze for a split second, then eased back to cool. "If that's what you want."

He stepped close, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "Good meeting you, Anna." His voice dipped low, a trace of something lingering, hard to catch.

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound bouncing off the suite's walls. I sat there, fingers tracing the mug's rim, a weird tightness squeezing my chest. This was the right call, wasn't it? I'd ditched Zack for freedom, so why did it feel like I'd dropped something I couldn't name?

I needed to talk. Faith had been blowing up my phone all morning—I knew where she'd be. Twenty minutes later, I was knocking on her door.

"How's your grandpa?" I asked the second I stepped in, tossing my bag aside.

"Stable, thank God." Faith yanked me into her apartment, flipping straight to gossip mode. "Okay, spill! How was last night? Is he drop-dead gorgeous?"

"Stop being so nosy!" I rolled my eyes, but a grin slipped out. "Yeah, it was good. He's… decent."

"Details, girl! I need details!" Faith bounced on the couch like a kid. "Did you see his penthouse? His garage? Oh my God, does he have a private chopper?"

"Jesus, Faith! It's not that wild." I chucked a pillow at her. "We had drinks, ended up at the Fairmont. That's it."

"The Fairmont? Presidential suite?" Her eyes went wide. "Holy hell, he's loaded! Wait—" She snatched her phone, fingers flying. "What's his full name?"

"Just Adrian." I shrugged, biting into a macaron.

"Just Adrian? You don't even know his last name?" Faith gaped at me like I'd lost it. "You spent the night with a mystery rich guy and didn't snag his card?"

"I wasn't there to network," I said, rolling my eyes again. "It was one night, that's all."

"Oh my God!" Faith started tapping her phone like a maniac. "I'll figure it out… Adrian… CEO… There's gotta be something. Wait, this guy?" She shoved a photo of Adrian Carter in my face.

"Nope."

"What about this? Adrian Thompson from Sterling Corp?"

"Not him either."

"You're killing me!" Faith flopped back on the couch, dramatic as hell. "How are you so chill? He could be anyone! Billionaire, prince, or…" She bolted upright. "Married."

"He's not married," I said firm, picturing him. That confidence, that ease—he didn't carry guilt or secrets like a tied-down man would.

"How do you know? You don't even have his last name!" Faith jabbed a finger at me. "Gotta admit, though, the mystery's kinda hot."

An hour with Faith, dissecting every second of last night, and I finally headed home. The sunset painted the sky orange and pink, my apartment greeting me with its familiar hush.

I kicked off my heels, poured a glass of red wine—my ritual, not to settle nerves, but to toast moments worth keeping.

My phone buzzed. Faith's text: "Still thinking about him?"

I grinned, typing back, "Thinking about work."

"Liar," she fired back instantly.

I set the phone down, trying to shake those blue eyes out of my head. But last night clung to me like a shadow—"Next time, I won't let you off so easy," he'd said. I wanted freedom, so why did life keep tugging me back? As I mulled it over, an email popped up. I glanced at the subject, and my heart skipped: "Meeting Request - 9 AM Tomorrow - Urgent Change."

From my boss, James. No agenda. No details. Just those three words every worker dreads: "We need to talk."

I stared at the screen, wine glass heavy in my hand. Last night's heat still lingered on my fingertips, but this email doused me cold. Urgent change? My projects were on time—what did he want? I rubbed my temple, head a mess, his low whisper looping in my ears.