Chapter 2 2.

Adrian's POV.

Halfway through the board meeting, my phone vibrated against the polished surface of the conference table. I didn't need to look at the screen to know who it was, but still I glanced down.

Jane.

My jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. I let the phone vibrate once, twice, three times, until twelve pairs of eyes were fixed on me from across the table-executives, shareholders, men who measured worth in numbers and projections. The kind of men who didn't tolerate distractions.

I turned the phone face down. "Continue," I said calmly, gesturing for the CFO to proceed.

The presentation resumed, graphs flashing across the screen, figures climbing and falling with mechanical precision. I listened, asked the right questions, corrected assumptions. Business was simple, clean, predictable. Unlike marriage.

The phone vibrated again, and I ignored it. Jane knew better than to call me during meetings. She always did. That was one of the reasons I chose her. She understood boundaries, or at least, she used to.

I told myself she probably wanted something trivial. Breakfast. A driver. A reminder about some social obligation I had no intention of attending. I just knew it was nothing urgent, nothing that couldn't wait.

By the time the meeting adjourned, my phone had gone silent.

Good.

I stood, straightening my suit jacket as the room buzzed with quiet conversations. Another successful quarter. Another step closer to securing the expansion overseas. Another day handled efficiently.

"Excellent presentation," I said to the board as I left the room. "I'll review the final documents this afternoon."

In my office, I loosened my tie and moved straight to my desk. Habit made me glance at my phone. There were three missed calls, no messages. Jane rarely left messages.

I exhaled slowly and set the phone aside. Emotions complicated things. I had learned that early in life. My father had built Blackwood Holdings with discipline and sacrifice, not sentiment. Feelings didn't grow companies, they didn't secure legacies, heirship did. That was the agreement, the foundation of our marriage, and Jane knew that.

I walked to the glass wall overlooking the city, hands clasped behind my back. From this height, everything looked small, and manageable, but reality was that they weren't.

A knock sounded on my door. "Come in." I said.

The door opened slowly, and Lydia stepped in like she owned the room. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor, deliberate, and unhurried. She wore a fitted dress in a deep shade of wine, professional enough to pass unnoticed, but tailored in a way that demanded attention if you were looking closely. And she was looking directly at me.

"You're done early," she said, her voice smooth.

"I cleared my schedule," I replied.

She smiled at that, not the polite one she wore in front of others, but the one meant only for me. The door closed behind her with a quiet finality.

"You didn't answer your phone," she said, walking closer.

"You called?" I asked, surprised because I didn't get any other calls aside from Jane's.

She simply shrugged, pouting her lips. That prompted me to check my phone. Pulling out my phone from my pocket, I checked my call history, and I discovered that amongst the calls that came into my phone, hers was among.

"I was in a meeting," I said, justifying why I hadn't taken her call.

"So was I," she replied lightly. "I still would have answered if it were you."

I studied her as she stopped a few feet away. Lydia always knew how to toe the line, how to blur it without crossing outright. Her eyes flicked briefly to my hand, to my phone that still had the screen lit.

"Jane?" she asked softly.

"Yes," I answered.

"And you didn't answer," she said but it felt more like a question that needed a confirmation.

"No," I replied.

She stepped closer, close enough now that I could smell her perfume that was subtle, and intentional. "Does she know she interrupts important meetings?"

"She forgets sometimes." I replied.

Lydia hummed. "That must be exhausting. Being married to someone who forgets your priorities."

I didn't correct her.

She reached out, adjusting my tie with a familiarity that would have shocked anyone else. Her fingers lingered longer than necessary.

"You look tense," she murmured. "Long day?"

"Productive," I said.

She smiled again. "I like you better when you're tired. You're less guarded."

Her hand slid from my tie to my chest, resting flat against my suit jacket. I should have stepped back, instead, I stayed still.

"Lydia," I said quietly.

"Yes?" she replied, eyes bright, hopeful.

"We've discussed boundaries." I reminded her.

She tilted her head. "Have we? Or have we discussed excuses?"

Before I could respond, she leaned in, her lips brushing the corner of my mouth. Not a kiss, just a suggestion, just enough to test.

"You always stop me," she whispered. "But you never push me away."

Her fingers curled slightly in my jacket, grounding herself. "Tell me to leave," she said, but I didn't.

That was all the permission she needed.

She kissed me then, slow at first, exploratory, not desperate, but confident. She tasted like wine and intent. I responded without thinking, my hand coming up to her waist, steadying her, and the kiss deepened.

Lydia pressed closer, her body fitting against mine like she had practiced this moment a thousand times. She smiled against my lips, encouraged by my lack of resistance.

"You don't kiss your wife like this," she murmured.

I didn't answer, and she took my silence as confirmation.

"I could make you happy," she said softly. "You know that."

Happiness was irrelevant, but comfort wasn't.

Her hands slid up my shoulders, her fingers threading briefly into my hair. I tightened my grip on her waist, pulling her closer.

She gasped softly, encouraged by my response to her touch.

"You deserve more than obligation," she said. "More than a marriage built on debt and duty."

Lydia knew things about me no one else did. Not even the board, the press, or even Jane.

She kissed along my jaw, slow and deliberate, every movement calculated to draw a response. I let her, let the distraction take over.

"Adrian," she whispered, her forehead resting against mine. "I want a future with you," she said, and that stopped me.

I pulled back slightly, enough to look at her. Her eyes were shining now, not with lust, but with belief.

"You know what this is," I said evenly.

"Yes," she replied quickly. "It's the beginning."

I didn't correct her, because Jane could no longer give me what I needed, and maybe Lydia might.

She smiled, emboldened, and kissed me again, harder this time, more urgent. Her hands slid down my back, pulling me closer, as if closing the distance would close the gap between what she wanted and what I intended.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, but neither of us moved.

She laughed softly against my mouth. "Ignore it," she said and I did.

She kissed me again, pushing me back until my hips brushed the edge of the desk. I braced myself against it, steady, letting her guide the moment.

"You need an heir," she said quietly. "And you don't have time to wait forever."

The words were deliberate, and strategic. They should have repulsed me, but they didn't. Instead, they grounded the situation in reality.

She kissed me again, sealing her promise into the moment, her hands gripping my jacket like she was afraid I might disappear if she let go.

Then the office door opened, and Lydia froze.

I turned to find Jane standing in the doorway. Her hand was still on the handle, her eyes wide-not screaming, not crying, just staring at us. Staring at Lydia pressed against me, staring at my hands still on Lydia's waist.

The silence stretched, until Jane took a step forward, and that was when everything stopped.