Elara
There’s an art to staying invisible in a place like The Azure. Move quickly, smile politely, and never let your eyes linger too long on anything—or anyone—you can’t have.
I was getting good at it. Or so I thought.
Until I saw him again.
Adrian.
He was sitting in the sun-drenched corner of the poolside bar, one arm resting on the table, sleeves rolled to his elbows like he’d invented the look. A glass of something amber glowed in front of him, catching the sunlight. He wasn’t trying to stand out, but somehow, the entire terrace tilted toward him anyway. Casual, confident, untouchable—like the world bent to make space for him.
And God, he looked good in black. Just a plain T-shirt, nothing flashy, nothing screaming designer—but everything about him whispered expensive. Lethally so.
Those eyes—gray, stormy, with that faint ring of steel I’d noticed before—lifted the second I walked into view. Locked on me like he’d been waiting.
Don’t be ridiculous, Elara. Men like him don’t wait for women like you.
I dropped my gaze to the drinks order in my hand and headed toward the service station. Keep moving. Keep your head down.
Don’t—
“Hey.”
One word. Smooth, low, wrapped in something warm and sharp all at once. It curled down my spine before I could stop it.
I turned, tray balanced on one hand, professional smile ready. “Hi… sir.”
His mouth curved, slow and deliberate, like he’d tasted the word and found it amusing. “Sir? That makes me sound ancient.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “Sorry. Guest protocol.”
“Ah. Rules.” He leaned back slightly, like the word entertained him. His eyes dipped to the tray, then back to me with a glint I didn’t like—because it felt like he saw too much. “You like following them?”
What kind of question was that?
“Doesn’t matter if I like it,” I said evenly. “It’s my job.”
His smile deepened—lazy, dangerous, the kind that said trouble wasn’t a possibility, it was a promise. “Then maybe I shouldn’t ask what I’m about to.”
My pulse jumped. “Which is?”
He leaned in—not much, just enough that the air between us shifted, charged with something that made my breath falter. His voice dropped, velvet-smooth and warm.
“Have dinner with me tonight.”
The tray wobbled in my hand, and I gripped it harder, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in my fingers. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“That’s—” My eyes darted around the terrace. No one was close enough to hear, but panic still punched through my chest. “That’s against the rules. I’d lose my job.”
His gaze held mine, quiet, intense. “I’m not asking to get you in trouble. Just… dinner. No strings.”
No strings. Right. And I was the Queen of England.
“I can’t,” I said firmly, forcing air into lungs that felt too tight. “Enjoy your drink, sir.”
I turned, ready to flee before my resolve cracked—but then his voice followed, low and steady, slicing through my escape.
“Then let me help you instead.”
I froze. Slowly, I faced him. “What?”
His jaw flexed, eyes darkening like storm clouds gathering. “You looked… upset yesterday. With that guy. The one who grabbed you.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “If anyone gives you trouble again, you tell me.”
For a second, the noise of the terrace faded, replaced by the hollow thud of my heartbeat. My chest went tight, stupidly warm. No one had said that to me in a long time—not since Dad died. Not since everything fell apart and I learned that survival meant handling everything alone.
“I can handle myself,” I managed, even though part of me wanted to lean into that promise so badly it hurt.
“I know you can.” His voice softened, threading under my skin like silk. “But you don’t have to.”
Something cracked then. A tiny fissure in the walls I’d built around myself, and through it slipped heat, fear, and something far more dangerous.
“Thank you,” I whispered, hating how much I meant it.
His smile returned, slow and devastating, like he knew exactly what that thank you cost me. “Anytime, Elara.”
He said my name like it mattered. Like I mattered.
And that terrified me more than any broken rule ever could.
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