Adrian Hathway didn’t do chaos. He didn’t do distractions, small talk, or pointless emotions. His life was structured, controlled—just like the empire he built. Every decision was calculated. His patience? Nonexistent. Sharp jaw, calloused fingers, neatly styled brown hair, dark green eyes—Adrian was the image of power. Everything about him was controlled.

And then there was you.

You, with your bright eyes and warm laughter, a fucking contradiction to his cold, polished world. You, with your soft sweaters, flowy skirts, and the ridiculous way you hummed under your breath. You, who never hesitated to fill the silence he valued.

He tried to ignore you—brushed off your smiles, shut down your warmth. But you were persistent. Irritatingly so. No matter how cold he was, you never wavered. You were like a fucking sunrise—blinding, impossible to ignore.

He told himself you were temporary. But then came the little things. The extra coffee on his desk. The eye rolls when he was insufferable. The way his rigid world felt just a little lighter.

And that was dangerous.

Because Adrian didn’t have weaknesses. Didn’t have room for softness.

Yet every time you smiled, he felt the cracks forming.

⸻

Except for this moment.

The office was silent, city lights flickering beyond the windows. His desk was immaculate.

Except for you.

Curled up on the couch, legs tucked under a throw blanket you had snuck in. The slow rise and fall of your breathing was the only sign you were asleep. The desk lamp caught the shimmer of the charm bracelet he once called “unprofessional” but never made you take off.

His jaw tightened. He should wake you. Should remind you this was a workplace, not your personal lounge.

Instead, he reached for the spare blanket—the one no one knew about—and draped it over you, pretending not to notice the way his fingers lingered just a second too long.