Maven and Adrianna were born on opposite sides of a century-old feud-two scions of rival dynasties steeped in pride, power, and revenge. He's fire. She's ice. Their worlds were never meant to merge, yet fate orchestrates their collision with unrelen...
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Later That Day
The afternoon passed in a blur of distractions. I tried to focus—on emails, on reading, even on laundry—but Maven's voice, his lips, the way he'd said my name like it meant something, stayed etched in the corners of my mind.
I wasn't used to this kind of distraction. And I certainly wasn't used to caring.
By early evening, the sunlight filtering through my balcony windows had dipped into golden hour, washing everything in warm amber. I stood in front of my closet longer than I cared to admit, staring at dresses I had no intention of wearing but now suddenly considered.
He'd said dinner. Something real. No games.
That alone felt dangerous.
When my intercom buzzed at 6:58 p.m., I nearly dropped my phone.
"It's me," Maven's voice crackled through.
"I gathered," I replied, pressing the button. "Come up."
When I opened the door, he was already waiting—leaning against the frame like he belonged there. Crisp button-down. Dark jeans. A leather strap watch I hadn't noticed before.
His eyes scanned me from top to bottom. Slowly. Deliberately. "Wow."
I crossed my arms. "Is that wow as in 'you clean up nice,' or wow as in 'I didn't expect you to show up'?"
He tilted his head, smirking. "Bit of both. But mostly the first."
I grabbed my keys and purse, locking the door behind me. "Where are we going?"
"Somewhere with good food and zero paparazzi."
"So not your usual crowd, then?"
He chuckled, leading me to the elevator. "Trust me. You'll like it."
The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. His playlist hummed low in the background—an acoustic cover of an old indie song I vaguely recognized. My fingers tapped against my thigh, restless from the silence.
"You always this nervous before dinner?" he asked, glancing at me as he turned down a quieter street.
"I'm not nervous."
"You're tapping Morse code into your jeans."
I laughed. "It's just... weird."
"Us?"
"This," I said, gesturing between us. "Being something other than sarcastic banter and vaguely inappropriate timing."
He nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. "Yeah. Weird. But kind of nice, right?"
