He'd always liked her—no, he'd always wanted her, even when he was too young to understand what that meant.
From the balcony of his parents' mansion, he used to watch her laugh with the neighborhood kids, her hair catching the sunlight, her voice carrying through the quiet streets.
He'd wanted to go down there, to join them, to talk to her. But he couldn't. His parents didn't raise a boy who played in the dirt or chased laughter; they raised an heir—someone who would carry their name, guard their empire, and never lose focus. There was no room for crushes or scraped knees, no room for softness.
So he watched instead. Watched and burned.
Every time another boy made her smile, something inside him twisted with jealousy he didn't understand. That feeling never really left—it just matured into something darker, heavier.
And now, as he stood in the glass-walled conference room years later, watching Elena across the polished table, that same feeling coiled inside him again. Only now he understood what it was.
Desire.
Possession.
Fear.
The three things that always came with her name.
Elena's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"Their offer isn't bad," she said, tapping a few notes into her tablet. "But if we adjust the profit margin slightly, we could still win them over without losing too much leverage."
She was focused, calm, completely in her element. Her soft blouse contrasted with the sharp edge of her tone, and Adrian couldn't stop watching the way she handled herself—confident but gentle, fierce without realizing it.
Daniel sat beside her, nodding thoughtfully, his arm brushing hers as he leaned forward to speak. "She's right. We should go with her projection."
That simple touch sent heat crawling up Adrian's spine. He turned his attention to the screen, pretending not to notice.
"Let's finalize the figures," he said, his voice smooth, cold even. "We'll need the presentation ready by tomorrow."
Elena looked up, her eyes meeting his briefly. There was a flicker there—something unspoken. A memory maybe. Or guilt. He couldn't tell.
Hours later, the meeting ended. Most of the team left for lunch, but Adrian stayed behind, pretending to review reports while his mind played back every moment she'd been near him. Every time she'd avoided his gaze. Every time she'd smiled at Daniel.
He wasn't supposed to care. He'd trained himself not to.
But she had a way of undoing everything he'd built.
The door opened softly.
Elena stepped back in, a folder in her hand. She looked surprised to find him still there.
"Oh—sorry," she murmured. "I thought everyone was gone."
Adrian leaned back in his chair. "Everyone was."
She hesitated, glancing down at the papers. "I just needed to double-check something before tomorrow."
He nodded, watching her move to the other end of the table. The silence stretched, heavy and charged.
Finally, he said quietly, "You've changed."
She looked up. "Have I?"
"More than you think."
Her lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping. "People grow, Adrian. That's what time does."
He rose from his chair and walked around the table until he stood near her, close enough for her to feel the weight of his presence.
"I've watched you grow," he said, his voice low. "From someone who used to run from the things that scared her… to someone who stands in rooms like this, unshaken."
Elena looked at him, conflicted. "Don't make it sound like you know me better than I know myself."
He smiled faintly. "Maybe I don't. But I've known you longer than you think."
Her brows furrowed, but she didn't ask. Not yet. He could see it in her eyes—curiosity fighting with restraint.
The air between them thickened. The unspoken past hung there, fragile and waiting.
"Adrian…" she began, but her voice faltered.
He stepped back, just enough to give her space, forcing control into his tone. "We should stay focused. This deal matters."
"Right," she said softly, gathering her folder. But her hand trembled slightly, and that was all it took for Adrian to know he wasn't the only one fighting something unseen.
As she turned to leave, he said quietly, almost to himself, "Some things don't fade, no matter how much time passes."
She paused at the door, her back still to him. "That depends," she said. "Some things shouldn't."
And then she was gone, leaving him in a silence that felt heavier than any deal he'd ever fought for.