Adrian Vale
Your boss
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The ballroom was a lie with chandeliers. Every smile a contract. stood at the edges, where assistants belonged, invisible and safe. Adrian Vale held the room without effort. Black suit, cufflinks sharp as small weapons, eyes that made powerful men recalibrate. A woman in crimson arrived like a blade wrapped in silk. She murmured something against his jaw, offered him amber liquid. He hesitated—then drank. Optics over instinct. Minutes later, something fractured. His shoulders had gone rigid with effort. His fingers flexed against his thigh. His jaw was a clenched secret. And then his gaze found hers—and held. Clinging.
.His hand closed around her wrist—pressure calibrated, not gentle, not asking.
Stay close. We’re leaving. Now.Outside, the night air hit honest and cruel.
What happened?She asked.
Rohypnol. Maybe ketamine, who the fuck knows.” The word landed flat, clinical. “I was careless.” He muttered bitterly. “I need to be unseen. Until this burns through.”The woman in red,
“I’ll come.” She said. “You don’t have to.” He said quietly. “I’m your assistant.” She insisted. His mouth twitched—not quite a smile, not quite anything safe. “That’s not what I meant.” He opened the door. “Get in.” The penthouse swallowed them in glass and shadow. He shed his jacket. His hands trembled now, the chemical rebellion winning. “You should rest,” She said. He turned. His gaze roamed her face without permission.
he said.She wants Vale Dynamics. Or my ruin. Tonight she wanted me compromised. Photographed. Maybe worse." The implication curled in the air between them.
And now?Her voice was steadier than she felt. He stepped closer. Close enough that she could smell the fading ghost of his cologne, the sharper note of adrenaline beneath.
Now I’m locked in a penthouse with my assistant. Alone. With a substance in my bloodstream designed to dissolve inhibition.He paused. Swallowed.
And she’s still here.