Chapter 7

The Unexpected Moment

Elara stared at herself in the mirror. This was the fifth gown now. Pale gold, soft rose, ice blue each one more delicate than the last, like they were made just for her.

But none of them had managed to entrance her like this one. The pale gold highlighted the mahogany color of her hair, and it created a contrast with her silver-grey eyes. The dress clung to her curves in all the right places, hugging her from neck to toe with a flowing tail. The neckline was low but managed to stay just below modest, and the gold of the silk fabric shimmered in the dressing room lights.

She never really cared about her looks before, but now… she thought she looked pretty, if not beautiful.

She wondered what Adrian would think of it, and she hoped he liked the dress as much as she did. She was getting tired of hearing "Hmm. It suits you." That had been his reply to the last four dresses she had worn.

She took a breath and stepped out again, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet.

Adrian looked up.

And time seemed to pause.

His eyes didn't move right away. He just looked. Like she was a painting he couldn't quite figure out. Then his jaw flexed, and he stood taller.

"Elara."

She blinked, nervous. "Too much?"

He stepped closer, gaze roving. "Not enough."

Her lips parted, unsure what to say. The air between them had shifted since that morning something fragile now, and burning.

"I liked the blue one," he added. He couldn't believe he had thought she looked breathtaking that morning. But now—now she was stunning. And all this just because she wore a dress. He wondered how beautiful she would be if she dressed for an occasion. "But this is better," he finished.

Elara blushed a red hue. The intensity of his gaze made her think he meant what he said as an understatement.

He didn't touch her. But she could feel him in every inch of her skin.

Elara turned back into the changing room, heart hammering.

She tried on three more dresses each one getting softer, tighter, more elegant. And each time, she caught that same look in his eyes when she stepped out: heat, restraint, and something else she couldn't name yet.

By the time she changed back into her crop top and jeans, it was already dark.

Wow! I didn't know time had gone like this, she thought.

They left the boutique with half a dozen bags, the assistant waving politely behind them and paparazzi lights flashing faintly beyond the windows. Adrian didn't even blink. He led her back to the Mercedes, opened the door for her again, and slid into the driver's seat with a calm confidence that made her feel more relaxed.

As the car hummed back to life, Adrian finally spoke.

"You did well."

She glanced at him. "I didn't know it was a test."

"It wasn't," he said, voice smooth. "But you're not just Elara anymore. You represent something now. Us. The Wolfe name."

Her fingers tightened around the seatbelt.

"Is this about appearances?" she asked quietly.

"It's about identity," he said, eyes on the road. When people see you, I want them to know who you are. I want them to see someone strong. Unshakable. Mine.

Her stomach twisted at that last word.

Not because she hated it.

But because she didn't.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

But he didn't respond.

---

The car pulled up in front of a sleek salon tucked between luxury storefronts. The glass door shimmered in the late morning light, and the name Jean Luca was etched in silver above the entrance.

As they stepped inside, they were immediately greeted by the scent of jasmine oil and expensive shampoo. Music played low and rhythmic in the background.

A tall, flamboyant man in a crisp black shirt clapped his hands together the moment he saw Adrian.

"My God, Adrian Wolfe," he sang. "You finally bring her in. I was starting to think she was a myth."

Adrian chuckled. Aside from Julian, Jean was one of the people Adrian could count as friends. They both made him laugh on occasion and were fairly good company aside from being his hairstylist, that is. "Jean. This is my wife.He introduced. "Wife, this is Jean – our hairstylist.

Our. Wife.

Elara nodded and smiled at the man. But inside, her stomach fluttered at what he called her. Wife. The term was intimate in its own way, and she figured she would much prefer it to other endearments.

She turned her assessment to the man before her. Jean was a handsome man. She sensed the familiarity between he and Adrian and wondered how long they had known each other.

Jean swept toward Elara like a breeze, eyes wide. "Darling, you are stunning. You've been hiding her. I would have kidnapped you sooner!"

Elara laughed. The man was obviously a charmer. And again, her curiosity piqued. Why was he a hairstylist?

"No changes. Just a relaxing wash and I want you to do it," Adrian said, sliding into a leather chair nearby, legs crossed.

Elara raised an eyebrow. Why come all this way just for a wash? She could have done that at home. And besides, she wouldn't mind a change.

If she was to be the wife of Adrian Wolfe, then her hair needed an elegant style.

Adrian caught the question in her eyes. "I love your hair as it is."

Again, the butterflies. Darn things. She had been feeling a lot of those lately. But damn the blasted man with his words.

"I know exactly what to do," Jean purred, already guiding Elara to a mirrored seat.

As Jean worked his fingers through her curls, humming and occasionally gushing over the shape of her face or the glow of her skin, Adrian said little.

But his eyes never left her.

She felt them in the mirror—dark, steady, watching as Jean smoothed mousse into her roots and began styling soft waves around her shoulders.

Something inside her stirred again.

Heat. Nerves.

Longing.

She didn't want to admit it, but she wanted to look beautiful for him. Not just for the cameras. Not just for the name.

For him.

---

When Jean was through and thorough with her hair, he left them in his private parlour.

Adrian stood and walked over to her.

Their eyes met in the mirror.

Neither of them spoke.

Then, gently, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, fingers grazing her jaw.

"You look perfect," he said quietly.

Elara turned in her chair to face him.

And in the next moment, before she could blink, his lips were on hers.

It wasn't careful.

It wasn't slow.

It was hungry.

Like he'd been holding back for hours and finally let go.

She froze for half a second,shocked but then her body reacted before her mind caught up. Her fingers reached for his shirt, curling into the fabric as she kissed him back.

Her lips moved with his, slow and searching, then deeper, hotter. His hand slid from her cheek to her waist, firm and possessive. Her chest pressed into him, and she felt his breath falter.

Then his palm brushed her chest. Not deliberate at first, but the way his hand lingered, the press of his fingers, the way his thumb shifted slightly set her whole body on fire.

She gasped softly against his mouth.

And he hardened instantly.

She felt it. The sharp shift in him. The way he tensed, the low sound in his throat, the pressure between them.

Her skin blazed.

She'd never experienced anything like it. Her body wasn't just responding it was yearning.

Heat bloomed between her thighs, so sudden and strong it made her dizzy. She didn't have to look down to know what her body was doing.

She was wet.

God.

She wasn't supposed to feel this. Not with someone she barely understood. Not this fast. And yet—

She wanted him.

Even though she'd never been touched like this before.

Even though she'd never let anyone close.

Something about Adrian Wolfe had undone her.

He groaned softly, pulling back.

Their lips parted slowly, his forehead resting lightly against hers.

"Maybe not here," he murmured, voice thick, low.

She swallowed hard, still breathless, nodding.

He stepped back, jaw clenched tight.

For a moment, they just looked at each other.

Then he reached for her hand. "Let's go."

---

The ride home was quiet again but this time, the silence was charged. Tense. Electric.

Every time their arms touched, Elara felt that ache pulse again. Her body hadn't calmed. Neither had her heart.

She couldn't look at him without remembering the taste of his mouth.

And the way he'd touched her like he already knew her.

Like he'd done it a hundred times in his mind.

When they pulled up to the penthouse, Adrian opened her door again but his fingers lingered at her back as he helped her out, his body close behind.

She didn't speak.

Neither did he.

But something had shifted again.

There was no going back now.