I feel it cracking.
This city. This man.
I’m not ready for any of it.
And I don’t know how much longer I can keep everything hidden.
Chapter 11
THE QUIET BEFORE
Sometimes, the stillness speaks first
Dorian
She steps out of the hotel just as I expected—precisely on time, looking every inch the composed professional.
But I notice what others don’t.
The tension in her spine. The way her shoulders are pulled back just a little too tight. The stubborn tilt of her chin, sharper than usual.
She’s dressed for battle again—sleek business skirt, soft blouse tucked in, heels sharp and sure. Her chestnut hair with coppery reflexes is pulled back tightly, every strand tamed and in place… except for those few curls that always slip free, no matter how hard she tries to hide them.
Her skin is pale but glowing in the morning light, and her green eyes—sharp, bright, sparking with irritation—find me instantly.
And just like that, everything in me tightens.
She has no clue how beautiful she looks right now. Strong, guarded, fighting every feeling clawing its way back to the surface.
Adriana is walking beside her, chatting about something light, probably work—but my focus stays locked on Della.
I straighten from where I’ve been leaning against the car, giving them both a polite, easy smile.
“Morning, ladies.”
Adriana smiles back, polite but a bit surprised. “Morning.”
Then I look straight at Della, my tone calm, steady, leaving no room for argument.
“I already spoke to Greg,” I say, holding her gaze, leaving no room for negotiation. “You’re with me today. I need you to see the operation… from my side.”
She freezes for half a second—just enough for me to notice.
Her jaw tightens. Her eyes flash. But she doesn’t argue—not here, not in front of Adriana.
She simply gives the smallest nod, her voice cool but polite.
“Of course.”
Adriana glances between us, picking up on the tension immediately. She arches a brow, then looks at Della, almost asking silently.
“Are you sure?”
Della forces a faint smile—tight but convincing enough.
“It’s fine,” she says, the irony in her voice sharp enough to draw blood. “Our client, our master.”
Adriana hums softly, unconvinced but not about to start a scene. She adjusts her bag and flashes a playful smirk.
