Chapter 70
Lucia couldn’t sleep.
She had tried—God knew she had tried—but her mind refused to settle. She tossed from side to side, staring at the ceiling, then at the wall, then back at the ceiling again. Nothing worked. Not closing her eyes, not counting her breaths, not pulling the blanket higher.
Her thoughts kept circling.
Miguel.
Adrian.
Rico.
Everything.
It felt like her brain was running in loops she couldn’t escape. Every time she shut her eyes, something new popped up. The way Adrian looked at her, the way Rico spat that insult earlier, the way Miguel’s name still felt like a wound.
By the time the clock on the wall softly chimed 1 a.m., Lucia gave up.
She dragged herself out of bed, pulling her pajama top tighter around herself as a wave of cold air greeted her the moment she opened her bedroom door. Adrian’s mansion always felt colder at night—not just temperature-wise, but in atmosphere. Too quiet, too still, and too big.
She padded down the hallway, rubbing her arms for warmth, and headed to the large sitting room. It was one of those open spaces with tall glass windows that stretched almost to the ceiling, giving a full view of the city lights outside. She just wanted air, something to clear her head, something to convince her she wasn’t losing her mind.
But the moment she stepped inside, she froze.
There was someone there.
A tall silhouette stood by the window, unmoving, staring out at the city like he was watching something only he could understand.
Adrian.
For a second, Lucia wasn’t sure if she should call out or retreat. But then he turned, slow and deliberate, and his eyes met hers.
“You can’t sleep too,” he said quietly.
Not a question—just a calm observation, like he already knew the answer.
Lucia nodded. “No. I… I couldn’t.” She hugged her arms around herself, partly because of the cold, partly because being alone with him at this hour made something in her chest tighten.
Adrian glanced at her once, then turned back to the window. The faint city glow cast a soft outline against him, highlighting the broad lines of his shoulders, the way he stood almost too still.
Lucia stared at him for a moment. “What are you doing out here?” she finally asked. “Why aren’t you in your room? It’s late.”
He didn’t answer immediately. His hands were in the pockets of his sweatpants, his posture relaxed but tense at the same time. “Just couldn’t sleep,” he said after a moment. “Didn’t feel like staying in the room.”
“You don’t sleep much, do you?”
Adrian gave a short exhale, something close to a dry laugh. “Not really.”
“That’s bad,” Lucia said, a frown pulling at her eyebrows. “You work too hard all day. You’ll burn out.”
His expression shifted slightly, just enough that she could tell he found her worry almost amusing. “I’m used to it,” he said. “It’s normal.”
“It’s not normal,” she insisted, taking a few steps closer. “Not for someone who has that much responsibility. You should rest.”
Adrian finally turned his head toward her, one side of his mouth lifting in a tired smirk. “Are you trying to lecture me?”
She shrugged, fighting a smile. “Maybe.”
He studied her for a moment, then gave a subtle look—soft, but with a teasing edge. “So… what? You want to help me sleep?”
Lucia blinked, caught off guard. “Help you? With what exactly?”
Adrian’s eyes dropped, briefly, to her lips. Then he quickly looked away and shook his head lightly, almost as if he regretted saying anything. “Nothing. Forget it.”
He pushed himself away from the window as if intending to leave. But before he could take even two steps, Lucia’s voice stopped him.
“Mr. Adrian.”
He froze.
He didn’t turn around.
His back remained to her, but she could see the shift in his shoulders—the tension sliding in, the inhale he tried to hide.
Lucia hesitated for a second. She didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t even know why her heart was beating this fast. But something pushed her forward—something that had been building for weeks and finally snapped free in the silence of that night.
She walked toward him slowly.
Her steps were soft against the marble, almost soundless. When she reached him, she stood there for a moment, unsure, her fingers curling and uncurling. Her breath trembled slightly, but she swallowed down her fear.
Then—before she could overthink it—she stepped close and wrapped her arms around him from behind.
Her cheek rested lightly between his shoulder blades. Her arms circled his torso. Her chest pressed softly, firmly against his back.
Adrian went absolutely still.
For a second, she wondered if she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life. She could feel him tense under her touch, his muscles tightening, his breathing pausing for a beat too long.
“Lucia…” he said, his voice low, and strained.
She held him a little tighter.
“I know you don’t sleep,” she whispered. “I know you act like everything is fine. But you don’t have to pretend all the time. Not with me.”
Adrian’s jaw clenched. She could feel it in the movement of his back under her cheek.
He didn’t pull her hands off. He didn’t move away. But he also didn’t move toward her.
His hands stayed buried in his pockets like he was anchoring himself from reacting.
For a moment, neither of them breathed.
Then Lucia spoke again, quietly. “It’s okay if you’re tired, Mr Adrian. It’s okay if things get heavy for you sometimes. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”
Her voice wavered at the end, but it wasn’t from fear—it was from the weight of everything unsaid between them.
Adrian’s fingers twitched.
Lucia didn’t see it, but she felt the subtle shift in him—the small battle happening under his skin. He was trying, desperately, to stay composed, to keep the walls he lived behind.
But something cracked.
Maybe it was the softness of her voice.
Maybe it was the warmth of her body pressed against his cold back.
Maybe it was the fact that she was the first person in a long time who offered him comfort with no agenda.
Whatever it was, it was enough.
He exhaled—long, quiet, almost shaky—and slowly, painfully slowly, his hands came out of his pockets.
Lucia didn’t move.
She felt the moment he gave in.
He turned around so quickly she barely had time to react, and then his arms were around her—hard, firm, desperate.
He pulled her against him like he’d been holding himself back for too long.
Lucia’s breath caught, surprised. She had expected him to pull away, or stand still, or maybe say something sharp to make her regret it.
She hadn’t expected this.
His embrace was strong, almost overwhelming. His hands pressed against her back, fingers gripping the fabric of her pajama top as though anchoring himself to her.
Lucia’s heart leapt into her throat.
She hesitated only a second before she let herself melt into him. Her arms slid around his waist again, this time facing him. Her cheek rested on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat—steady but hard, louder than she thought it would be.
Neither of them moved.
Adrian’s chin grazed the top of her head, and she felt the ghost of his breath in her hair.
He didn’t speak.
For a man who always had something to say, something to control, something to command—he had nothing now.
Only silence.
And that silence said more than anything he could’ve spoken.
Lucia didn’t know how long they stood there. It could’ve been a minute. It could’ve been ten. Time felt strange, suspended, like the mansion itself was holding its breath.
When Adrian finally pulled back, it wasn’t because he didn’t want the hug anymore—it was because the moment was too close, too raw, too real.
He held her shoulders gently and looked down at her. His eyes were darker than usual, not with anger, but with something deeper. Something he wasn’t ready to name.
“Lucia…” he said, his voice low, and a bit rougher than before.
She looked up at him, waiting.
Adrian opened his mouth like he wanted to say something—something important—but the words didn’t come. Instead, he swallowed and looked away, rubbing a thumb lightly across the edge of her shoulder before letting his hands fall.
Lucia stepped back just slightly, not because she wanted distance, but because she could see he needed space to steady himself.
She didn’t speak either. She didn’t want to break whatever this was.
Adrian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “You should be in bed,” he said finally. His voice was composed again, but softer. “You need rest.”
“You too,” she whispered.
He gave a small, ironic smile. “I’ll try.”
Lucia nodded, then took a step back. She hesitated—again—then added quietly, “Goodnight, Mr Adrian.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Goodnight, Lucia.”
She walked away slowly, feeling his eyes on her until she turned the corner. Once she reached her room, she closed the door and leaned against it, pressing a hand to her chest.
Her heart was racing.
She wasn’t imagining it.
Whatever was happening between them… it was real.
And it terrified her.
Because Adrian was not a man people fell for easily.
But somehow, she already was.