The CEO's Reluctant Bride

The sleek black car hummed softly as it cut through the city streets. Streetlights flickered past the windows, casting fleeting glows across Ava's face. She sat beside Adrian, arms folded, her gaze fixed out the window. The air between them was thick—words unsaid weighing heavier than the silence itself.

Adrian glanced her way.

"You've been quiet."

She didn't respond immediately. Her mind spun with the events of the day—the call, the looming threat, and Adrian's cryptic reactions. Her frustration simmered beneath the surface.

"I'm just processing," she finally muttered.

Processing—or trying to make sense of how she ended up in the crosshairs of someone else's battles.

"You shouldn't have been involved," Adrian said, voice low. Regret laced his tone, but there was still that edge of control, like he was trying to shield her from truths she deserved to know.

"Yeah, well, it's a little late for that." Her words were sharper than she intended.

His jaw clenched. "I'm handling it."

"I deserve to know what I'm up against," she shot back. "You think keeping me in the dark is helping? I was the one who got that call, Adrian."

His gaze met hers—intense, unwavering. For a moment, she thought he'd lash back. Instead, he exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Some things are better left unsaid."

Ava's lips pressed into a thin line. That wasn't good enough. Not when someone had gone out of their way to threaten her. But pushing him now felt like talking to a brick wall—frustrating and fruitless.

They pulled up to his penthouse. Adrian exited first, offering his hand to help her out. She hesitated, then accepted. The warmth of his palm sent an unexpected jolt through her. She pulled away quickly, blaming the chill of the night.

Inside, the apartment was its usual sleek and minimalist haven—too perfect, too controlled. Like him.

"Stay here tonight," Adrian said, heading toward the liquor cabinet. "It's safer."

Ava blinked. "I have my own place."

"And whoever called you knows that." He poured whiskey into a glass, swirling the amber liquid. "Do you really want to take that risk?"

Her chest tightened. Damn him and his logic. She sank onto the couch, rubbing her temples. "This is insane."

"Welcome to my world," he muttered, taking a sip.

Silence stretched again, thicker now with exhaustion and tension. Adrian stood by the window, city lights reflecting off the glass. His profile was sharp—strong jaw, furrowed brows, eyes distant. For all his arrogance and control, he looked… tired. Worn. Like a man carrying the weight of too many ghosts.

"Why you?" Ava found herself asking. "Why is someone targeting you like this?"

He didn't look at her. "Power makes enemies."

"That's a cop-out answer."

A faint smile ghosted his lips—barely there, gone too fast. "Maybe."

But he wasn't going to say more. Not tonight.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, shattering the quiet. Heart leaping, she snatched it up—unknown number. Her stomach twisted.

Don't pick up. Adrian's warning echoed in her mind. She let it go to voicemail, tension coiling in her gut.

"I'll have my team handle it," Adrian said, already pulling out his phone.

But Ava's gaze drifted to the window—eyes narrowing. For a split second, she thought she saw movement across the street. A figure? Watching?

"Did you see—" she started, but when she looked again, there was nothing. Just darkness and reflections. Her pulse quickened.

"See what?" Adrian's voice sharpened.

"Nothing," she said, though her heart thudded. "I thought—never mind."

But unease crawled beneath her skin. Someone was out there. Watching. Waiting.

Later, after Adrian disappeared into his study for a call, Ava stood alone in the dim living room. Her reflection stared back from the window—tired eyes, tousled hair, confusion swirling.

Her phone lit up again—a text this time. No name. No number.

"Careful, Ava. Not everyone's telling the truth."

Her breath hitched. Fingers trembling, she looked toward Adrian's closed door. Doubt flickered.

Who was protecting her? And who was pulling the strings?

Outside, across the street, a shadow melted into the darkness—eyes unseen, watching. Always watching.