Adrian's hand rested at the small of my back.
It was light. Correct. Perfectly placed for cameras and curious eyes.
Anyone watching would have thought we'd done this a thousand times before.
"Relax," he murmured, lips barely moving. "You're stiff."
I forced myself to breathe.
We stood at the center of a private charity gala, surrounded by tailored suits, champagne flutes, and conversations that meant nothing. Crystal lights reflected off glass walls. The Cross name carried weight here—people watched us not out of interest, but expectation.
I smiled when a woman approached us.
Adrian smiled back.
It was devastating how easy it was for him.
"You must be Ethan," she said warmly. "I've heard so much about you."
I hadn't heard anything about myself.
"Yes," I replied, keeping my voice steady. "It's a pleasure."
Adrian's fingers pressed just slightly into my back—a silent cue.
"Ethan prefers quieter rooms," he said smoothly. "But I convinced him to come."
The way he said my name made it sound familiar. Personal.
I laughed at the right moment. Leaned in just enough. Let him brush his thumb against my wrist as if it was unconscious.
We were convincing.
Too convincing.
Every touch was calculated. Every glance measured. And yet—my pulse refused to cooperate. My body reacted to him as if none of this was staged.
As if this was real.
When the last conversation ended, Adrian excused us with practiced grace. The moment the elevator doors slid shut, the air shifted.
He stepped away from me.
Not dramatically. Not coldly.
Just… precisely.
The absence of his touch was louder than the music upstairs.
"You did well," he said, facing forward. "You followed the cues."
"That was part of the job," I answered.
"Yes."
The elevator descended in silence.
I studied his reflection in the mirrored wall—the perfect posture, the composed expression. This was the man everyone saw. Untouchable. Controlled.
When the doors opened to the underground garage, Adrian walked ahead without waiting to see if I followed.
Inside the car, the city lights blurred past us. The silence stretched until it became uncomfortable.
"Do we always stop pretending this quickly?" I asked.
His jaw tightened. Just a fraction.
"There's no reason to continue when no one is watching."
"Right," I said softly. "Of course."
The car stopped in front of my building.
Adrian didn't turn the engine off.
"This arrangement works because we keep the lines clear," he said. "Public performance. Private distance."
I nodded.
Then he looked at me.
Really looked at me.
"You shouldn't confuse comfort with permission," he added.
The words were calm. Reasonable.
But his gaze lingered a second too long.
"I won't," I replied.
I opened the door, then paused.
"Adrian?"
"Yes."
"For what it's worth… you play your role very well."
Something unreadable crossed his face.
"So do you," he said.
I stepped out of the car.
The door closed. The engine pulled away.
And standing alone under the streetlight, I realized something that made my chest tighten:
Publicly, we were perfect.
Privately, we were standing far too close to something neither of us was prepared to name.