Adrian's POV
The first thing I noticed when she walked in was her voice.
Soft. Almost gentle in a way that didn't match what I remembered.
"I'm Elena Becket… your new secretary."
I looked up, expecting just another face.
Then I saw her.
For a brief second, I said nothing. I only watched her, making sure I wasn't mistaken. But I wasn't. I would recognize her anywhere.
The girl from the club.
The one who slapped me.
She stood there calmly, hands clasped in front of her, not a single trace of recognition on her face. If she remembered me, she hid it well. Or maybe she truly didn't remember.
That thought didn't sit right with me.
I leaned back slightly in my chair, studying her.
The same eyes.
Interesting.
I remembered the day I saw her again—floor thirteen. I had stepped out briefly while interviews were going on, and there she was, sitting among the candidates. Quiet and composed.
I made sure HR did not overlook her. She got the job not because she did well in the interview, but because I wanted her close.
Now she stood in front of me, working under me without even realizing it.
A small, cold satisfaction settled in my chest.
No one touches me and walks away without consequences. No one.
She had been bold enough to raise her hand against me. Now she would learn what that cost.
This job was not an opportunity for her. It was the beginning of her suffering.
I glanced at the files she had worked on earlier. Neatly arranged. Well organized. Clean enough to pass any proper review.
She was good. I could admit that much.
But that was not the point.
I had sent her back once. Then again. And again.
Each time, she returned with the same controlled expression, like she was forcing herself to stay calm. There was a quiet resistance in her eyes. Not open defiance, but not submission either.
When she dropped the file the last time, I didn't even bother looking at it. I simply told her to leave.
Only after she stepped out did I open it again.
Perfect.
Exactly what I had asked for.
I closed it slowly, my expression unchanged.
By the time I checked the clock again, it was already evening.
She had been at it all day. There was a high chance she hadn't eaten.
The thought came uninvited, and I dismissed it just as quickly. It wasn't my concern.
I stood up, stretching slightly before taking my suit jacket from the hanger. As I walked toward the door, my eyes fell on her through the glass.
She rushed out of her office.
Something was wrong. It was written all over her face.
I stepped out immediately, calling her name, but she was already inside the elevator. I reached it just in time and stepped in before the doors closed.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
She didn't answer.
Her breathing was uneven, and her hands trembled slightly at her sides. When she finally tried to speak, her voice failed her.
I saw the tears before she could even turn away.
Instinctively, I moved closer, thinking she might collapse, but she stepped aside quickly and pressed the button for the ground floor. I didn't ask again. Whatever it was, she clearly wasn't ready to say it.
The moment the elevator opened, she rushed out without a word, leaving me standing there.
Outside, she looked around for a taxi, her movements restless and hurried. Before she could move further, my car stopped beside her.
I lowered the window slightly. "Get in."
She hesitated, clearly unsure.
"I'll take you wherever you're going," I added. "Get in."
This time, she didn't argue. She got into the back seat beside me and gave the driver her address in a low voice.
"Brooklyn please," she said quietly. "Flatbush Avenue. I'll direct you."
The driver nodded and pulled off.
I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. Her hands were clenched tightly, her fingers shaking slightly, and the tears she had been holding back were still there, waiting.
Without saying anything, I pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.
She looked at it for a second before taking it. "Thank you, sir."
When we arrived, she got down immediately and rushed into the building. I followed without thinking.
She was already inside, calling out anxiously.
"Drake! Drake!"
There was no response at first, and I watched as panic took over her completely.
Then a boy appeared from one of the rooms, his hand dipping into a small bag of pretzels, mouth full as he chewed, completely calm.
"Elly?"
The change in her was instant. She ran to him, grabbing his shoulders, her eyes scanning him. "Are you okay? What happened? Your heart, are you fine?"
He looked confused. "Why are you crying?"
"How is your heart?" she asked again, her voice breaking.
"Oh… that?" he said casually. "I couldn't find my drugs, and I felt some pain after exercise. That's why I called. I'm fine now."
That was all it took.
She pulled him into a tight hug, breaking down completely. "I thought something was wrong with you. You scared me."
He hugged her back, laughing softly. "You're such a crybaby. I'm okay."
She pulled away and started hitting him lightly. "Why would you exercise when you know your condition?"
"Ouch, Elly. It hurts," he said quickly.
That was when they both noticed me. She straightened almost immediately, wiping her face.
Before she could say anything else, the boy spoke again, his eyes on me. "Who is this? Your boyfriend?"
He gasped dramatically. "Oh my gosh, you have a boyfriend? I thought you would die as a nun. I can not believe—"
She hit him again, harder this time. Even I felt that one.
"You fool," she muttered. "He's my boss."
The boy composed himself at once. "Uhh? Your boss?"
"I'm sorry, sir," he said, bowing slightly. "I'm Drake. Her younger brother."
I gave a small nod in response.
She apologized again, but before I could respond, the boy invited me to dinner. She quickly declined on my behalf and insisted on walking me out.
Outside, she stopped beside the car.
"Your brother is okay?" I asked.
She nodded. "He's fine. Just a small issue."
I followed her gaze briefly and noticed the boy peeking through the window. She looked embarrassed and apologized again for his behavior.
"It's fine," I said.
Then I noticed something small in her hair.
"There's something on your head."
She reached up, trying to brush it away, but couldn't. I stepped closer and carefully removed the crumb.
Our eyes met, just for a moment. I felt my gaze wander—to her lips.
The same ones I remembered.
I pulled my hand back almost immediately, clearing my throat. "I should go."
The air felt different, and I didn't stay long enough to understand why.
As the car moved, I glanced at the side mirror. She stood there for a moment before heading back inside.
My fingers brushed against my lips unconsciously. That night came back to me. I let out a quiet breath.
"I don't think she remembers."
The moment I stepped into the house, a small voice broke my thoughts.
"Daddy!"
Sophie ran toward me, and I met her halfway, lifting her into my arms.
"Easy there little princess."
"I missed you," she said, hugging me tightly.
"I missed you too," I replied, kissing her cheek.
She pulled back slightly, excitement lighting up her face. "Grandpa and Grandma are here. Grandma bought me something."
I paused. "They're here?"
She nodded.
We walked into the living room together.
"Don't you know you have a child?" My father's voice came immediately. "Why are you coming home late?"
"Dad."
My mother walked out of the kitchen with a plate of fruit, smiling warmly. "My darling is back." She hugged me and placed a piece of fruit in my mouth before I could protest.
I glanced between them. "To what do I owe this visit?"
"Go and freshen up," my father said. "Dinner is ready."
Later, we sat at the dining table, eating in a quiet that felt too deliberate.
Then my father spoke.
"You're getting engaged."
I looked up.
"To Ava Smith. Start preparing."
For a second, I thought I heard him wrong. Then the words settled. I dropped my fork.
"What?"
"And it's in three weeks."