Elena's POV
The sunroom was bathed in soft golden lamplight, night settling around the house and casting shadows that danced gently along the walls. Outside, the dark sky pressed against the glass, flecked with distant city lights that shimmered like scattered stars. I sat beside Victoria, my fingers nervously twisting the hem of my sleeve. The old leather-bound photo album still rested on the table between us, a silent reminder of the revelation from earlier. Yet my mind was elsewhere, trapped in a storm of curiosity, confusion, and a strange, hollow ache.
"I wanted to ask you something, Mrs. Knight," I began softly, my voice almost swallowed by the quiet hum of the night. "That picture… the one with my mother and Adrian. I just… I didn't know she knew your family."
Victoria's kind smile faltered for the briefest moment. "Your mother?" she repeated carefully, her tone measured, like she was trying to gauge how much I already knew.
"Yes. Her name is Clara Brooks."
Silence wrapped around us, thick and heavy, pressing against my chest like a weight I couldn't lift. Victoria's expression stilled, the warmth in her eyes replaced by something more complex — recognition, perhaps even a touch of sorrow. When I glanced toward Mr. Knight, who had just entered the room with Adrian, the same flicker of acknowledgment passed over his face. A brief, almost imperceptible tightening at his jaw.
Richard and Victoria exchanged a glance, subtle and loaded with meaning, as if decades of unspoken memories flickered between them in a single heartbeat.
I felt my chest constrict. "Is… everything alright?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Victoria drew a slow breath and forced a gentle smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course, dear. It's just… such a familiar name. Clara Brooks…" Her voice faltered on the last syllable, trailing into a silence I couldn't break.
I swallowed hard, feeling a lump rise in my throat. Adrian sat down beside me on the couch without a word, his presence immediate and grounding. His hand found mine, thumb brushing slow, reassuring circles against my skin. It was a small gesture, but it made the world feel steadier, somehow safer — even as questions and unease swirled around me.
"Mom doesn't talk much about the past," I whispered, finally finding my voice. "I don't know who my father is. She only told me… that they were college mates, that they loved each other very much. But something happened. She never moved on. I think… she still loves him." My voice trembled as the words left me.
Victoria's eyes softened, and she placed her hand gently over mine and Adrian's, her touch warm, tender, and full of understanding. "Your mother sounds like a remarkable woman, Elena," she said softly. "And I think you might be right — love like that doesn't just vanish. It lingers, shapes everything. Even if it's hidden from sight."
Adrian's grip on my hand tightened ever so slightly, and I felt his gaze on me — that quiet, intense look of his, the one that seemed to see every thought behind my eyes. It was as if he were memorizing the contours of me, the faint tremble in my fingers, the almost imperceptible quiver of my lips, sealing it into his memory.
Then, like a spark in the quiet, Mr. Knight broke the tension, his voice playful and teasing. "Well, son, are you going to tell us why you've been holding that poor girl's hand like it's the last glass of water in the desert?"
Heat rushed to my face, painting my cheeks bright pink. Adrian, however, didn't flinch. He turned his gaze toward his father, calm but unwavering. "Because I don't want to let her go."
My breath caught.
Before I could respond, he leaned toward me, brushing a soft, deliberate kiss against my cheek. It was tender, intimate, not rushed — but the warmth of it spread through me like sunlight breaking after a storm. I felt my knees weaken, my chest flutter, every nerve alive with electricity.
Victoria let out a delighted laugh, the sound light and lilting, while Richard joined in, chuckling warmly. "Well, I think that answers the question," she said, her voice playful. "Adrian Knight, smitten? I never thought I'd live to see the day."
Adrian only smiled, that rare, genuine smile that reached his eyes and softened his normally unreadable expression. He looked down at me, and I felt it — that quiet, unmistakable declaration. "You're the exception, Elena."
My heart melted completely, a blushing, trembling mess I couldn't hide. I wanted to tell him, to reach for him, to close the gap between us and stay there forever, but words failed me.
*****
As the evening deepened, Victoria clasped her hands together, eyes twinkling despite the lingering tension. "You both should stay here for the weekend," she said cheerfully. "It's been far too long since this house had this much life."
I started to protest, but Adrian was faster. "We'd love to," he said smoothly, almost before I could think. There was no hesitation, no doubt — just that quiet certainty that made my pulse spike.
"Wonderful!" Victoria smiled, then turned to me. "I'll have the guest room prepared for you, dear."
Adrian's voice cut through the air, low and certain, like velvet steel. "She'll stay with me."
The room went quiet for a heartbeat. Victoria arched a teasing brow, amusement sparkling in her eyes, while Richard tried — and failed — to hide a grin behind his glass.
"Well," Victoria chuckled, "it seems my son has made up his mind. I'll leave you two to… settle in."
Her laughter lingered like a soft, knowing whisper as she walked away, leaving us in a charged silence that made my skin tingle.
*****
Adrian led me upstairs, his hand resting lightly at the small of my back. The pressure was gentle, guiding, protective, and it sent an unexpected thrill through me. His room was minimalist and airy, all clean lines and soft lighting, with the faint scent of him — cologne, soap, and something uniquely his own — lingering in the air.
He opened a drawer and handed me a black T-shirt and a pair of shorts. "You can wear these," he said, his voice low, almost rough, the kind of tone that made my pulse stutter. "I'll get you something proper tomorrow."
I stepped into the bathroom, the cool tiles a contrast to the warmth that still lingered between us. When I returned, the bedside lamp cast the room in a golden glow, and there he was.
Adrian sat on the edge of the bed, wearing only boxers. The light traced the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his chest, and the steady rhythm of his breathing. My pulse spiked before I even realized it.
His eyes lifted to mine, dark and intense, and the air between us seemed to thrum with anticipation. "Come here," he said quietly, voice low and rough, sending a shiver down my spine.
I stepped closer, each movement measured, heart hammering. His hand slid around my waist, pulling me in until our bodies pressed together. The heat of him, the intoxicating scent, the subtle weight of his chest against mine — it was overwhelming.
"Adrian—" I breathed, but his lips were already on mine.
The kiss was fierce and consuming, desperate in its urgency. His fingers dug gently into my hips, anchoring me as his lips moved against mine with a hunger I hadn't anticipated. My hands traced the contours of his shoulders, then moved to the back of his neck, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, breaths mingling, hearts racing in tandem.
"I don't know what you've done to me," he whispered, voice thick, low, and intimate. "But I can't go a day without you anymore."
My throat tightened, voice barely audible. "Then don't."
A faint, almost mischievous smile brushed his lips as he traced his thumb along my jawline. "Go out with me," he murmured. "Tomorrow. A real date."
I laughed softly, breathless, tension melting. "Yes," I whispered. "I'd love to."
His lips found mine again, slower this time, a gentle promise sealed in warmth. Minutes stretched, suspended in that quiet intimacy, until he pulled back with a lingering touch and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
"Sleep," he whispered against my hair. "We'll talk about our first date tomorrow."
Wrapped in his arms, his warmth, the steady rhythm of his chest, the scent that was so undeniably him — it was all I needed. My eyes fluttered closed, and for the first time in a long while, I didn't just fall asleep. I fell — fully, recklessly, without fear.
*****
Third-Person View — Later That Night
Downstairs, the study was bathed in soft lamplight. Victoria stood near the window, her fingers curling around the sill as she watched the night deepen. Richard poured two glasses of wine, the liquid catching the light as he set them down.
"Richard," she said softly, her voice laced with worry, "we have to tell Jonathan about Elena. I think… she might be his daughter."
Richard sighed, fingers tapping lightly against the table. "I was thinking the same thing. The resemblance, the timing — it all fits."
He paused, gaze distant, considering. "I'll call him tomorrow. Invite him to dinner. We'll know for sure then."
Victoria nodded slowly, a shadow of worry crossing her gentle features.
*****