Chapter 2 - The Crimson Rose
By the following evening, Nora’s apartment was a disaster zone of discarded clothes.
“You’re losing your mind!” her younger sister Tessa shrieked, tossing a red silk dress onto the couch. “You’ve known this man for less than forty-eight hours, and you’re going on a date with the Chicago underworld’s equivalent of a Bond villain?”
“He’s a real estate developer and corporate financier,” Nora insisted, desperately smoothing down a sleek, black velvet midi dress that hugged her curves with lethal elegance. “Stop reading trashy romance novels, Tessa.”
“Tess is right, Nora,” piped up Chloe, one of Nora’s senior designers who had dropped by with wine. “Adrian Vale doesn’t just do business. Rumor has it his family practically built the North Side docks on blood and cement. Cross him, and you don’t get sued—you get erased.”
Nora zipped up her heels. “Well, good thing I’m an interior designer, not a rival mob boss.”
Just then, a sharp rap echoed at her apartment door.
Nora checked her watch. 8:00 PM on the dot. Punctuality. She loved that.
When she opened the door, she didn’t find Adrian standing there. Instead, a towering man in a razor-sharp suit holding a single, flawless crimson rose stood in the dim hallway.
“Ms. Ellison? Mr. Vale’s car is waiting downstairs. He will meet you at the venue.”
Nora took the rose. The stem was stripped of all thorns. Smooth. Safe. But the velvet petals were a deep, bruised red of warning.
Downstairs, a matte-black Maybach waited at the curb. The tinted windows rolled down silently as she approached, revealing Adrian inside. He wasn’t wearing a tuxedo; he wore a black turtleneck under a tailored wool coat that made him look impossibly sleek and predatory.
She slid into the leather interior, the door sealing shut with a muffled, bank-vault thud.
“You look remarkable, Nora,” Adrian said, his gaze sweeping over her from head to toe, lingering for a fraction of a second on the curve of her collarbone.
“And you look like you’re about to execute a hostile takeover of a small country,” she retorted, trying to keep her breathing steady.
Adrian chuckled, a deep, resonant sound. “Just a restaurant. I bought it this afternoon so we wouldn’t be disturbed.”
Nora’s jaw dropped. “You bought a restaurant for a first date?”
“I don’t like crowds. And I don't like other men looking at you.” His voice dropped, losing its teasing edge, replaced by a low, possessive growl that sent goosebumps racing up her bare arms.
The car glided through the snow-slicked streets of Chicago, pulling up to an unmarked oak door in an alleyway near the river. Inside, the restaurant was completely empty—no waiters buzzing around, just candlelight, white linen, and a string quartet playing softly in the corner.
Over a meal of exquisite pan-seared duck and vintage Bordeaux, the conversation flowed with a terrifying, effortless intimacy. Adrian didn’t talk about his power, his money, or his enemies. He asked her about her childhood, how she fell in love with architecture, and why she built her life around absolute control.
“Control is an illusion, Adrian,” Nora said, swirling her wine. “We just build walls to keep the chaos out.”
“And what happens when the walls come down?” Adrian asked softly, his eyes locking onto hers across the flickering candlelight.
“I’ve never let them,” she answered truthfully.
Adrian reached across the table. His large, warm fingers hovered an inch above her knuckles. He didn’t touch her. He wanted to—she could see the hunger in the tighten of his jaw—but he held back.
May you like
“Then we’ll build better walls together,” he said.
***
