Chapter 70

Adrian's POV

The pounding in my head intensified as Anna's heels clicked away from my office. "Two hours till the meeting. Don't look like you drank the profits." Her words hung in the air - efficient, professional, and completely unmoved by the mess she'd found me in.

I forced myself upright, fighting waves of nausea as the morning sun sliced through the windows she'd thrown open. Charles appeared with fresh clothes and coffee, his disapproval carefully masked.

"The board meeting—"

"I know." I grabbed the coffee. "What's urgent?"

He turned his tablet toward me. The Bloomberg headline splashed across the screen: "Next Gen Store Launch Marks Next Robotics' Retail Revolution." Below it, our flagship store's gleaming facade dominated the page.

My phone buzzed with another notification: "Silicon Valley's Golden Boy Strikes Again: Next Robotics Valuation Soars." I should have felt triumphant. Instead, the words blurred as last night's whiskey churned in my stomach.

"Sir." Charles hesitated. "It's trending." He showed me Sophie's latest move - a carefully staged photo from the MIT alumni gala, complete with a tagged post about our "serendipitous reunion" at the Next Gen launch. The timestamp showed 3 AM.

The emergency meeting snapped together fast. Anna came in last, sliding into the chair at my right—poised, pristine, every inch the assistant. Only her shoulders, rigid under her blouse, hinted at anything else.

"The focus stays on the launch," I cut through their chatter, voice rough. "No hashtag bullshit."

"But sir," Janet from PR piped up, "the Sophie angle could humanize—"

"No." My glare shut her down. She flinched. "Sophie's engaged to Henry Richardson. Any hint of more is trouble."

I turned, sharp. "Anna." Her name snapped out, edged with something I couldn't leash. "Your take?"

She met my eyes—steady, unflinching. "Acknowledge the past. Professional ties only. Say Ms. Green, MIT alum and CEO, supports Next Robotics' work. Then pivot—launch focus." Her voice was ice, smooth, the same damn tone from that night in my office.

I leaned in, voice dropping. "That easy, huh? Wipe it clean like nothing happened?"

Her gaze didn't waver. "It's strategy, Mr. Salvatore. Clean works."

"Clean." I smirked, bitter. "Like you walking out last night? All tidy now?"

A flicker—her lips tightened, barely. "Last night's done. This is business." Her tone stayed flat, but her fingers gripped her pen harder.

"Business," I echoed, low, mocking. "You're good at that. Switching gears—me, him, whoever's next."

Her eyes flashed, just for a second. "Keep it on the launch," she said, voice steel. "That's what matters."

I held her stare, heat coiling in my chest. "Make it happen," I barked, loud enough for the room. She rose with the others, but I caught the faint tremor in her hand as she grabbed her tablet.

By early afternoon, the PR fire was contained, but my mood hadn't improved. Through the glass walls, I watched Anna at her desk. Her posture was perfect, movements precise—every inch the professional assistant. Only I could see the slight tremor in her hands as she typed.

"Send me the latest employee housing updates," I messaged HR.

Minutes later, Dora from HR appeared at my door. "Mr. Salvatore, about the housing report..." She hesitated. "Ms. Rose submitted her notice to vacate last week."

"Where?"

"Harmony Gardens. A fifth-floor walkup across town."

The lease agreement was there in black and white. Anna's elegant signature at the bottom, dated three days ago. Far from the luxury high-rise I'd chosen for her, far from where I could keep her safe.

And Daniel's name was listed as a reference.

Movement at the office entrance caught my attention. Anna was returning from lunch, Daniel at her side. He held the door for her, his hand hovering near the small of her back. She was smiling - not her usual polite office smile, but something genuine that reached her eyes.

"Thanks for lunch," her voice carried through the glass. "The place you recommended was perfect."

"Anytime," Daniel replied, leaning in close to show her something on his phone. Her laugh echoed down the hallway.

Our eyes met through the glass. His smile didn't waver, but there was something knowing in his gaze as he straightened up and headed back to his desk.

My phone buzzed with another call from Sophie. I silenced it without looking.

I needed to hit something. Hard.

Twenty minutes later, I was at William's private gym. He took one look at my face and hesitated, but nodded when I insisted on sparring. He paired me with one of his regular trainers for what was supposed to be a standard session.

The first punch landed clean on my opponent's jaw. He stumbled back, eyes widening at the unexpected force. I pressed forward, throwing combinations with calculated precision. Left hook, right cross, uppercut. Each impact sent shockwaves through my arms, but I welcomed the pain.

When the first trainer couldn't handle my intensity, others stepped in. Two hours and three fighters later, my knuckles were bleeding through the wraps. A sharp pain shot through my ribs where someone had landed a solid hit, and I could taste blood in my mouth. But I didn't care.

The fourth opponent, a heavyweight with cauliflower ears, circled me warily. I caught him with a brutal body shot, followed by a right hook that sent him reeling. My vision blurred with sweat and something else - maybe rage, maybe desperation.

"Adrian!" William's voice cut through the haze. "Enough. You're bleeding, you can barely stand straight, and you're still hungover from last night. This isn't sparring anymore - you're going to seriously hurt yourself."

I ignored him, launching another assault despite the throbbing in my head and the burning in my lungs. My opponent's counter caught me in the ribs again, right where I was already bruised. I stumbled but forced myself back up.

"Don't make me call them," William warned, his tone serious now.

I paused mid-swing. Them? Who could William possibly call that would matter? Who did he think could stop me right now?

"You don't know what you're talking about," I growled, but the moment of hesitation cost me. The heavyweight's jab connected with my jaw, sending me staggering backwards, my vision swimming.

William stepped between us. "That's it. We're done." He pulled out his phone. "I'm making the call."

I watched him through sweat-stung eyes, my breath coming in ragged gasps, every inch of my body screaming in protest. Who was he calling? Who did he think had that kind of power over me?