Scarlett's POV
I stand outside Adrian's building at 7:55 PM, staring up at the glass tower that stretches into the night sky.
The last time I was here, I was Lettie Morgan. Twenty-five years old, wearing a borrowed dress, clutching a bottle of wine I couldn't afford, so nervous and excited I could barely breathe.
Tonight, I'm Scarlett Monroe. Designer dress that cost more than Lettie's entire wardrobe. Driving a car I own outright. Successful, powerful, untouchable.
So why do I feel like that scared girl again?
My phone buzzes. Emma checking in: You don't have to do this. You can still leave.
I type back: I know. But I'm going in.
Then be smart. Be strong. Don't let him see you vulnerable.
I won't.
Another buzz. Devon this time: Recording device in your purse is on. I'm listening. One word and I call the cavalry.
I almost smile. My overprotective team. What would I do without them?
At exactly 8:00 PM, I walk through the lobby. The doorman recognizes me from three years ago I can see it in his eyes but he's too professional to say anything. Just nods and points me to the private elevator.
Mr. Blackwell is expecting you.
The elevator ride to the penthouse feels like ascending to my own execution. Each floor that passes is a memory. Seventh floor: where Adrian first kissed me, pressed me against the wall, made me forget my own name. Fifteenth: where he told me he was falling for me. Twenty-third: where everything ended.
The doors open directly into the penthouse.
Adrian is waiting.
He's changed since this morning. No suit now just dark jeans and a gray sweater that makes his eyes look like storms. His hair is slightly messy, like he's been running his hands through it. He looks younger like this. More like the Adrian I remember.
Ms. Monroe. He smiles, but it's uncertain. Nervous. Thank you for coming. I know meeting at my home is unconventional.
I appreciate the privacy. I step out, my heels clicking on marble floors I used to walk barefoot on. Where should we set up?
My office. I have all the files there. But first He gestures toward the open kitchen. I made dinner. Nothing fancy. Just pasta. I thought we could eat while we talk? Unless you'd prefer to keep this strictly professional.
Dinner. He made dinner.
Lettie would have been charmed. Scarlett needs to be careful.
That's thoughtful, I say. But I ate before I came.
It's a lie. I haven't eaten all day. My stomach is too twisted with nerves.
Something flickers across Adrian's face. Disappointment? Of course. Then just coffee? Wine?
Coffee would be good.
He leads me through the penthouse. It looks different than I remember. Colder. There's no warmth here anymore. No personal photos. No books scattered on tables. No traces of life.
It's beautiful but empty. Like a museum.
You've redecorated, I say without thinking.
Adrian stops. Turns. How did you know that?
My heart stops. Stupid. So stupid.
I mean I scramble. From photos. Articles about you in business magazines. The penthouse looked different in those.
He studies me for a long moment. Too long. Then nods slowly. Right. Yes. I changed everything about two and a half years ago. Needed a fresh start.
Six months after he left me. He erased every trace of us.
We reach his office. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. Massive desk. Leather chairs. It's all very impressive and intimidating.
Adrian pours coffee from a French press. Hands me a cup. Our fingers brush. That electricity again. His eyes meet mine and I see it he feels it too.
Shall we? He gestures to the desk where files are spread out.
For the next hour, we work. Adrian shows me everything. Victoria's schedule. Gregory Ashford's business connections. The terms of the engagement agreement their fathers signed. It's all very businesslike and professional.
Except it's not.
Because every few minutes, Adrian looks at me with this expression I can't quite read. Curiosity mixed with something else. Something that makes my skin warm.
You have a tell, he says suddenly.
What?
When you're concentrating. You bite your bottom lip. Just slightly. He demonstrates, and I have to look away because it's too intimate. It's… distracting.
I'll try to stop.
Don't. The word comes out rougher than he probably intended. I mean it's fine. It's just… familiar. Someone I knew used to do that.
Lettie. He's talking about Lettie.
The woman from three years ago? I ask, even though I shouldn't.
Yes. Adrian sets down his coffee. Leans back in his chair. I'm sorry. I know this is unprofessional. Talking about my personal life when you're here to do a job.
It's relevant to the case. Understanding why you want to end your engagement helps me create a better strategy.
The strategy. Adrian laughs, but it's bitter. Right. The logical, rational plan to escape a loveless engagement. That's why you're here.
Isn't it?
He looks at me for a long moment. Can I ask you something personal, Ms. Monroe?
That depends on the question.
Have you ever been in love?
The question hits me like a physical blow. I can't breathe for a second.
Why do you ask?
Because I'm trying to figure out if you can understand what I'm feeling. If you've ever loved someone so much that losing them changed who you are fundamentally. He stands, walks to the window. Or if you're just a professional who sees this as another transaction.
I should keep my distance. Should stay Scarlett Monroe, breakup strategist, nothing more.
Instead, I hear myself say, I was in love once. Three years ago.
Adrian turns. His full attention on me now.
What happened? he asks quietly.
He left. No explanation. No goodbye. Just gone one day like I didn't matter. The truth pours out before I can stop it. I thought we had something real. But I was wrong. He was just
Playing a game? Adrian's voice is tight.
I don't know what he was doing. That's the worst part. Not knowing if any of it was real. I stand, needing to move. So yes, Mr. Blackwell. I understand what you're feeling. I understand loving someone who destroys you.
I'm sorry that happened to you.
Don't be. It made me who I am now. I turn to face him. Stronger. Smarter. Someone who doesn't believe in fairy tales anymore.
Adrian takes a step closer. Then another. Until we're standing too close. Close enough that I can smell his cologne the same one from three years ago.
What if they weren't fairy tales? he asks. What if that man loved you but made a terrible choice trying to protect you? What if he's spent every day since regretting it?
My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it. Then he should have trusted me enough to make my own choices.
You're right. Adrian's voice drops to almost a whisper. He should have. And if he could go back, he'd do everything differently.
We're staring at each other. The air between us is electric. Dangerous.
We should get back to work, I say, but I don't move.
We should, Adrian agrees. He doesn't move either.
His hand comes up slowly, carefully. Brushes a strand of hair from my face. His fingers linger on my cheek.
There's something about you, he murmurs. Something I can't place. It's like I know you. Like I've always known you.
Because you have. Because I'm her. I'm the woman you can't stop thinking about and I'm standing right here.
I should step back. Should maintain professional distance.
Instead, I lean into his touch. Just slightly. Just enough.
Adrian's eyes darken. His thumb traces my cheekbone. This is a terrible idea.
Probably.
You're my employee. My consultant. This crosses every line.
I know.
I should stop.
You should.
But neither of us moves. We just stand there, his hand on my face, my heart in my throat, the weight of three years between us.
Then my phone rings.
The spell breaks. Adrian steps back quickly. I pull out my phone with shaking hands.
Devon's name on the screen. Calling because he's listening and he knows I'm in trouble.
I need to take this, I say. My voice sounds rough.
Of course.
I walk to the far side of the office. Answer quietly. This isn't a good time.
Get out of there. Devon's voice is urgent. Scarlett, I can hear everything. You're getting too close. Too involved. You need to leave before
I'll call you back. I hang up.
When I turn around, Adrian is watching me with an expression I can't read.
Everything okay? he asks.
Fine. Just my assistant. Wondering when I'll be back.
It's getting late. Adrian checks his watch. Almost ten. I've kept you here too long.
We didn't finish going through the files.
We can do that another time. This was productive. He walks me to the elevator. Same time next week?
I'll check my schedule.
We're being formal again. Professional. Like the last few minutes didn't happen.
The elevator arrives. I step inside.
Ms. Monroe? Adrian holds the door. Thank you. For listening. For understanding. For He pauses. For being here.
It's my job.
Is it? His eyes search mine. Because it feels like more than that.
The doors start to close. I don't stop them.
On the ride down, I lean against the wall and try to catch my breath. My phone buzzes immediately.
Devon: What the hell was that?
Emma: Please tell me you didn't kiss him.
I didn't kiss him. But God, I wanted to. And he wanted to. I could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way he touched my face.
This is so much worse than I planned.
In my car, I sit for a long moment before starting the engine. The penthouse glows above me like a beacon. Or a warning.
My phone rings. Not Devon or Emma this time. Adrian.
I answer. Did I forget something?
No. I just He sounds breathless. Like he's been pacing. I need to tell you something. About the woman I mentioned. The one from three years ago.
My grip tightens on the phone. What about her?
I think I made a mistake letting her go. I think I should have fought for her. Told her the truth. Given her a choice instead of deciding for both of us.
That's very self-aware of you.
And I think God, this is going to sound insane but when I'm with you, I feel the same way I felt with her. Like I can breathe for the first time in years. Like maybe I'm not broken after all.
I can't speak. Can't breathe.
I know you're my consultant, Adrian continues. I know this is inappropriate. But I need you to know that if things were different if we'd met some other way I'd ask you to dinner. A real dinner. Not business. Just us.
Adrian
You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know. A pause. Goodnight, Ms. Monroe.
He hangs up.
I sit in my car, phone pressed to my chest, and try to figure out what just happened.
Adrian Blackwell just told me he's falling for me. For Scarlett. While still in love with Lettie.
He's falling for the same woman twice and doesn't even know it.
This was supposed to be revenge. A way to hurt him like he hurt me. Or maybe give us a second chance. I still don't know which.
But now it's something else entirely.
It's a disaster waiting to happen. And I'm driving straight into it.
My phone buzzes again. A text from an unknown number.
I know who you are, Ms. Monroe. Or should I say, Ms. Morgan? We need to talk. - Victoria Ashford
My blood runs cold.
Victoria knows.