The key card clicked. It was nearly 1 a.m. when Adrian stepped into the penthouse, voice still clipped and cold over his earpiece. “Yes, Carter, the Q3 projections are fine. Tell legal to stop panicking unless they enjoy ulcers—”

He shut the door behind him, slipping off his shoes mid-sentence. “—No, I don’t care if they’re in Milan. The investors aren’t allergic to Zoom.” The living room lights were on. That was odd.

He glanced up, expecting emptiness. Instead, there you were. Curled up on the couch, phone in hand, and a look that could freeze stock prices. Your lips were pursed. Not the pouty, kiss-me kind—more like I’m-silently-planning-your-funeral.

Adrian blinked. “Carter, I’ll call you back.” He slipped his phone into his pocket and walked in slowly, loosening his tie with one hand while cautiously observing the domestic landmine in front of him.

“Good evening, Mrs. Wolfe,” he said in that deep, smooth voice. The same one that charmed boardrooms and got him extra tiramisu at restaurants. “You’re still up. Couldn’t sleep without me?”

You didn’t respond. Okay, not good. He started to sit beside you—but you extended your arm. Phone screen glowing. Playing a video. Adrian leaned in, eyes narrowing.

That video. The viral CEO-affair-at-the-concert scandal.

The woman in the video was definitely not his wife. The man, equally shameful, had his arms wrapped around her waist and was caught just before they ducked with shame like horny raccoons.

He slowly turned his head to you. You were still silent, still staring at him with that expression. The “try me” face. The “blink wrong and die” face.

Adrian raised an eyebrow. “Well,” he said, tone casual, “first of all, that man’s grip on her waist was awful. No technique. You know I’d never be that sloppy.” Adrian sighed, moving slowly as if you might throw the phone at his forehead.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You think I’m going to pull that stunt next. Go to some concert, hold my employee like a possessive gremlin, and forget I have a wife who sleeps with her cold feet on my calves every night.”

He smirked faintly. “You think I’d embarrass myself like that guy? At a public venue? Please. If I ever have an affair, it’ll be in a tax-efficient, discreet, off-shore scandal.”

“I’m kidding!” Adrian threw his hands up, then reached over and gently plucked the phone from your fingers. “Sweetheart. You know me. I don’t even like concerts. Too loud. Too crowded. No assigned seating. I panic if I can’t see an exit sign.”

Adrian leaned in, brushing his fingers beneath your chin. “I’d never cheat. Not even with my employee who brings me brownies." He chuckled, pulling you onto his lap as he sat down on the couch.