Page 24 of His Dark Desires

"The world has enough facades. What you create, it's real. Vulnerable. Brave."

His words wrap around me like a warm embrace, and I find myself fighting tears. After years of Daniel's criticism, of gallery rejections, of doubting every brushstroke... hearing someone—especially someone like Adrian—validate my artistic voice feels overwhelming.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, wiping my eyes. "I don't usually get emotional like this."

"Don't apologize." Adrian's voice is soft but firm. "Vulnerability isn't weakness. It's the source of true strength. And true art."

The city lights blur as Adrian shifts closer. My heart pounds against my ribs as the space between us shrinks.

"There's something about you, Sophia," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "You see the world differently. Create beauty from chaos."

I can't look away from his eyes. I catch the scent of his cologne, and it makes my head spin.

"I think you understand more than you let on," I whisper, surprised by my boldness.

Adrian's expression softens as he leans in. His fingers reach up, ghosting along my cheek as he tucks a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. The gentle touch sends shivers down my spine.

His phone cuts through the moment with a harsh buzz. Adrian's jaw tightens as he checks the screen and accepts a call.

"Mr. Vale," Mara's crisp voice carries through the speaker. "The Beijing team needs you immediately. There's been a situation with the neural network deployment."

Adrian's expression hardens, that familiar mask of control sliding back into place. "I'll be right there."

I watch Adrian's expression harden as he stands, already shifting back into the powerful CEO persona. My skin still tingles where his fingers brushed my cheek moments ago.

"I apologize," he says, his voice clipped and professional now. "This requires my immediate attention."

"Of course." I try to keep my voice steady, but disappointment and relief war in my chest. "I should probably head home anyway."

Adrian pauses, conflict flashing across his features. For a moment, I think he might stay, might finish whatever was building between us. But his phone buzzes again, and the moment shatters.

"Mara will arrange a car for you." He takes a step toward me, then seems to think better of it. "Thank you for today, Sophia. We'll continue our discussion soon."

I nod, not trusting my voice. As his footsteps fade down the stairs, I press my cool hands to my flushed cheeks. The night air that felt so intimate moments ago now chills me, and I wrap my arms around myself.

What am I doing? One moment he's all controlled power, the next he's sharing vulnerabilities about his past. It's intoxicating and dangerous.

The memory of his gentle touch lingers as I gather my things from the studio. Everything about this space screams careful planning—the perfect lighting, the exact supplies I prefer. How long has he really been watching me? The thought should disturb me more than it does.

In the elevator on the way down, I feel like a woman caught between desire and uncertainty, between opportunity and risk.

The car Mara arranged idles at the curb. As I slide into the leather seat, my phone buzzes with an email confirmation for tomorrow's supply delivery to the studio. Everything perfectly arranged, perfectly controlled.

Just like Adrian.

My apartment will feel small and shabby after his pristine penthouse, but right now I need its familiar chaos. I need space to think, to breathe, to understand what I'm getting myself into. Because despite all the warning signs—his need for control, the secrets—I can't deny how alive I feel when I'm around him.

The city blurs past the tinted windows as I lean my head against the glass, my thoughts as tangled as the traffic beyond.

Chapter 7

Adrian

I lean back in my leather chair, eyes fixed on the wall of screens before me. The monitors show a different angle of the studio where Sophia works, completely absorbed in her craft. The soft afternoon light gives her a warm glow.

My fingers drum against the armrest. She's right there, not far from me. I could walk over at any moment, watch her work in person instead of through these digital eyes. The thought sends a thrill through me.

Sophia steps back, tilting her head as she studies her work. Her brow furrows in that way it does when she's deep in concentration. I lean forward, drinking in every detail— how she twirls her brush between her fingers when she's thinking, the slight smudge of paint on her cheek she hasn't noticed yet.

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