Chapter 12 Burning At 2A. M
Darcy's POV
Adrian’s words still ring in my ears. “Tell them she means nothing to me.”
I replay them over and over, each repetition a hammer against my chest. The intent might have been clear in his mind directed at the media, at the vultures who see every move of his life as entertainment but in my heart, they feel like an accusation, a shield I wasn’t meant to stand behind.
He approaches me later, trying to soften the edges. “Darcy, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” he says carefully. “It was for the press. For protection. Not… you.”
I stare at him, my chest tight, my throat burning. I want to nod. I want to say, I know. But my fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt instead, the tension in my arms matching the tension coiling between us.
It’s impossible to ignore how fragile everything feels right now. The closeness, the warmth that had been growing between us, suddenly seems brittle, as if one wrong word could shatter it completely. And maybe it already has.
Hazel toddles into the living room, bright-eyed and innocent, unaware of the storm between the adults around her. She reaches for me, small fingers grasping at my hand. My heart softens instantly. I kneel down, scooping her into my lap. Her giggle is a balm, a moment of pure light in a room suddenly heavy with unspoken tension.
Adrian stands a few steps away, his expression taut, conflicted. I can see the struggle in his eyes, his instinct to protect Hazel warring with his instinct to protect me from this mess. The media, his mother, the entire world… and yet, he seems afraid of letting even a hint of closeness slip in my direction.
I catch him staring. For a heartbeat, it’s almost unbearable this mixture of longing, restraint, and frustration. But then he blinks, the fire in his eyes dimming, replaced by the careful armor he always wears when the world intrudes.
“I’ll take her to her room,” he murmurs, voice clipped, trying to mask the emotion I can still see. Hazel squirms in my arms, and I tighten my hold. Adrian hesitates for a fraction of a second before turning away, unwilling or maybe unable to linger.
I feel it immediately: the distance. The walls. The weight of words unspoken but felt. I can’t deny it anymore. I’ve begun to feel something I shouldn’t. Something dangerously real. And now, it’s as if Adrian’s careful barrier has reminded me just how forbidden this connection could be.
The evening drags on, slow and heavy. Hazel falls asleep in my arms after a small dinner, her tiny body warm against my chest. I put her into her crib, adjusting the blankets, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. I glance toward the master bedroom. Adrian’s door is closed. His presence is absent, and the emptiness feels louder than any words could be.
I retreat to my temporary room, shutting the door quietly. I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the ceiling, letting the soft hum of the city filter through the windows. My chest aches not just for Hazel, but for the unspoken tension with Adrian.
He knocks once, softly. “Darcy?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Not yet.
Moments stretch. I hear the faint click of his door opening, the subtle creak of it closing again. I don’t move. I don’t want him to see me like this frustrated, uncertain, aching in ways I didn’t anticipate when I agreed to this job.
I try to focus on something else. The gentle rise and fall of Hazel’s breathing, the soft hum of the refrigerator, the distant honks of taxis. But my mind drifts back to the park, to the photo, to his words, and the line between protection and possession becomes impossible to distinguish.
Hours pass. The apartment grows quiet. The city’s hum fades into a lull. I try to sleep, but my eyelids are heavy with thoughts I can’t unravel. Every memory of the day, the park, Hazel’s laugh, Adrian’s gaze, the tension from the media plays over and over, looping endlessly.
At some point, the clock ticks past two a.m. I lie in the dark, trying to rest, trying to push away the worry that’s rooted itself deep in my chest.
Then I hear it. A faint whimper.
Hazel.
I sit up instantly, my heart leaping. The whimper grows, a small, pitiful sound that jolts me fully awake. I rushed to her crib. She’s flushed, her tiny body hot to the touch. Fever.
“Oh, baby…” I murmur, brushing her damp hair from her forehead. Her little hands fumble against me, searching for comfort. I lift her gently, cradling her against my chest. She buries her face in my shoulder, tiny whimpers shaking through her.
Adrian’s door opens suddenly. He’s in his pajamas, hair mussed, eyes sharp and alert. His gaze lands on Hazel, then shifts to me, and I see it pure, raw panic, the kind that doesn’t hide behind billionaire armor.
“What happened?” His voice is low but urgent, slicing through the dark.
“She’s burning up,” I whisper, holding her closer. “Her fever spiked.”
He’s at my side in a heartbeat, hands on my arms, assessing, touching, feeling. “Okay. Okay. We’ll handle this,” he says firmly. His usual calm, unshakable authority is tempered now with raw fear.
I glance at him, and the tension between us, the brittle wall of words, the distance dissolves in the face of our shared panic. This is bigger than us. Bigger than misunderstandings or headlines. Hazel’s life, her safety, pulls us into a space where nothing else matters.
He reaches for the thermometer, checking quickly. I help him adjust the blankets, smooth her pajamas, and offer sips of water. Every movement, every glance, every shared command is electric, intimate, and terrifyingly real.
Hazel stirs, mumbling my name in her sleep. I brush my lips over her tiny forehead, whispering soft reassurances I hope reach her through the fevered haze. Adrian kneels beside me, holding a cool cloth, dampening her skin. His touch is careful, precise, but there’s a tremor in his hands I’ve never seen before.
We work together silently, the quiet teamwork speaking louder than any words could. I notice the way his jaw tightens, how his eyes dart between Hazel and me, how every instinct he has is devoted entirely to keeping us safe.
And I realize, in that moment, how deeply I’ve already fallen not just for Hazel, but for Adrian. For the way he moves, protects, and refuses to let anything touch the three of us.
But the clock ticks, the night stretches, and the fever rises. The perfect moment, the calm, the distance, the fragile walls between us doesn’t matter anymore. This is reality, urgent and raw.
I press Hazel closer, whispering, “It’s okay, baby. We’re right here. We’re not going anywhere.”
Adrian’s hand finds mine, a grounding touch in the chaos, and I feel the weight of the world press down on us both.
The danger, the media, the threats, and the headlines all pale in comparison to this moment. Because at 2 a.m., with Hazel’s fever spiking, there’s nothing but the three of us, raw and unprotected in the dark.
And I know the night is far from over.
Hazel’s small body shivers in my arms, burning hot. I glance at Adrian, whose jaw is tight, eyes wide with worry, and whisper, “We need help. She’s burning up.”