The storm rolling over the Kane estate that night felt like a warning. The kind of heavy, silent warning that presses against the windows and creeps under the cracks of doors, reminding everyone inside that nothing was truly calm—not the weather, and certainly not the people living under this roof.
Elena had barely stepped into the hallway outside Adrian's study when she felt it—his presence behind her, his gaze burning through her like the heat of a flame pressed too close to skin. She didn't turn immediately. She was still replaying the argument from earlier, still holding onto the remnants of the anger she had forced herself to swallow.
But when she finally turned, the sight of him unsettled her.
Adrian wasn't composed.
He wasn't cold.
He wasn't the unreadable billionaire who carried storms inside his chest.
Tonight, he looked like a man standing between restraint and rage—jaw locked, eyes dark with something he didn't want to admit.
