Elena(POV)
The drive to the airport was quiet,too quiet. I could hear the soft tapping of Adrian's fingers against his tablet, the hum of the city outside, and the thunder of my own heart.
He hadn't said a word since the car pulled away from my apartment. He looked like he was carved from calm: composed, unreadable, untouchable. I told myself that's what I wanted too: distance. But sitting beside him in that sleek black car, every breath felt like a betrayal.
When we arrived at the private terminal, everything screamed power:the gleaming jet waiting under the morning sun, the security detail, the efficient staff who spoke in hushed tones as they rushed to greet him.
"This way, Mr. Blackwood," one of them said, leading us to the plane.
He nodded and glanced at me. "You'll sit across from me," he said simply, gesturing to the leather seats facing each other.
"Yes, sir," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.
Inside, the jet was all muted luxury:cream leather, polished wood, the faint scent of cedar and expensive cologne. I tried not to think about how intimate it felt, like a world removed from reality.
Once we were airborne, he closed his laptop and finally looked at me. "You've been quiet."
I forced a small smile. "Trying to stay professional."
His lips curved slightly. "Professional. Right."
The way he said it made my stomach tighten.
"I meant," I said quickly, "I don't want to cross any lines."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You think I'm testing you?"
"Are you?"
He studied me for a long moment, eyes dark and searching. "Maybe I'm testing myself."
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. I looked away, pretending to check the meeting notes on my tablet, but my hands wouldn't stop trembling.
Finally, he broke the silence. "You know," he said softly, "I've replayed that night more times than I should have."
I froze. "Adrian-"
"No," he said quietly, his voice a mix of regret and hunger. "Don't pretend it didn't happen. Don't pretend you didn't feel it too."
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "That night was a mistake."
His jaw tightened. "Maybe. But it didn't feel like one."
I looked at him, and for a moment, all the walls between us disappeared. The billionaire and the assistant vanished. There were only two people caught between desire and ruin.
But I couldn't let him see that. Not again.
"Mr. Blackwood," I said, forcing the words out. "You hired me to work for you, not to relive the past."
He leaned back, studying me with unreadable eyes. "You're right. I did."
Then, quietly: "But that doesn't mean the past has forgotten us."
The rest of the flight was unbearable. Every stolen glance, every accidental brush of his hand when he passed me a document,it all set my pulse racing.
When we landed in Boston, the city was wrapped in soft gray clouds. The car waiting for us took us straight to the Regency Hotel, a glass tower that seemed to scrape the sky.
At the reception, the clerk smiled politely. "Welcome back, Mr. Blackwood. As requested, your suite is ready."
"Thank you," he said. "And Miss Monroe will be in the adjoining suite."
My heart skipped. Adjoining.
The word felt dangerous.
By the time I unpacked my things, my nerves were a mess. The meeting was scheduled for the next morning, but tonight, it was just us, two rooms separated by a single door.
I showered, trying to wash off the tension, then wrapped myself in a robe and stared out the window. The city lights stretched endlessly below. Somewhere out there, people were laughing, living, free from all the impossible feelings that were threatening to undo me.
I was about to turn in when a knock echoed on my door.
I froze.
"Who is it?"
"Adrian."
I hesitated, then opened it. He stood there in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled. He looked tired and yet his eyes burned with the same intensity I'd been running from.
"Can I come in?" he asked.
I nodded slowly, stepping aside.
He walked in, looking around my room before turning to me. "I just wanted to go over tomorrow's schedule."
"Of course," I said quickly, pretending to focus on my laptop.
But he didn't sit. Instead, he stayed by the window, watching the city below. "You know," he said quietly, "I've been doing this for years:meetings, contracts, the same boardroom lies. But lately..."
He trailed off, shaking his head.
"Lately what?" I asked.
"Lately I feel like I'm losing control."
I hesitated. "You don't seem like someone who loses control."
He turned to face me, eyes dark. "You'd be surprised."
And then he took a step closer.
My breath hitched.
"Adrian-"
"Tell me to stop," he said softly. "And I will."
I couldn't. My words died in my throat.
He reached out, his hand brushing my cheek:gentle, hesitant, like he was afraid I might vanish. His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, and the world seemed to fall away.
Every logical thought told me to move, to end this, to protect myself. But my heart,my heart betrayed me again.
Because at that moment, all I wanted was him.
He leaned closer, his breath warm against my skin. "You have no idea what you do to me," he whispered.
And then -
A sharp knock shattered the silence.
We both froze.
"Mr. Blackwood," came a voice from the hallway. "Sorry to interrupt, but there's a problem with the contract files."
He exhaled, stepping back quickly. His expression shifted from raw to composed in seconds. The mask returned.
"I'll be there in a minute," he called out.
When the footsteps faded, he looked at me again,this time with something like frustration and longing tangled together.
"This isn't over," he said quietly.
Then he turned and left, closing the door behind him.
I stood there for a long time, staring at the closed door, my pulse still racing.
He was right.
It wasn't over.
And deep down, I knew, this trip would change everything.
