CHAPTER SEVEN -- UNFINISHED ROLLS AND JEALOUSY

Sleep proved elusive, a luxury as foreign to Zara as the silk sheets that twisted around her restless body. She spent the night tossing and turning in Adrian's guest room, her mind spinning with conspiracy theories and unanswered questions. The room was a study in understated luxury – cream walls, abstract art worth more than her yearly salary, furniture that probably had its own insurance policy. The silk sheets felt too smooth against her skin, the mattress too soft, everything a reminder that she was living in a world that wasn't hers.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw those photos – Adrian's hands covered in blood, Rachel's lifeless form, the look in Nathaniel's eyes as he exposed his brother's secrets to the world. The pieces didn't fit together, no matter how she arranged them in her mind. Adrian's confession about the baby added another layer of complexity that made her journalist's instincts tingle with possibility and danger in equal measure. Was it his baby? 

That would explain Nathaniel's anger.

By six AM, she gave up any pretense of rest. After a quick shower in the marble bathroom that was bigger than her entire apartment, she changed into the designer casual wear that had mysteriously appeared in her closet overnight – dark jeans that fit perfectly, a cashmere sweater in a shade of blue that brought out her eyes. She left a note for Adrian's staff and slipped out, feeling like a thief in reverse, wearing clothes she hadn't bought into a life she hadn't earned.

She needed coffee, space to think, and most importantly, distance from the intoxicating presence of Adrian Cross. In the harsh light of morning, her attraction to him felt dangerous, like playing with fire while doused in gasoline.

The little café two blocks from Adrian's building looked promising—artsy enough to make good coffee, but not trendy enough to attract the morning news crews that were undoubtedly stalking all of Adrian's usual haunts. Vintage posters covered the exposed brick walls, and mismatched furniture gave the place a cozy, lived-in feel that was the opposite of Adrian's carefully curated world. The bell chimed softly as she pushed open the door, the scent of fresh coffee and baked goods wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. It's been long since she allowed herself to indulge in a baked good, too worried she'd run out of money.

If there was ever a time she deserved to splurge on a cinnamon roll, it was now.

She was so focused on the menu board, trying to decide between a simple americano and something more indulgent, that she didn't notice the man beside her until she practically walked into him.

"Careful there," a warm voice said as strong hands steadied her. The touch was gentle but firm, nothing like Adrian's possessive grip. "Though I have to admit, it's not every day beautiful women fall into my arms before I've had my morning coffee."

Zara looked up into the most charming smile she'd ever seen. The man was gorgeous in a wholesome way that was the complete opposite of Adrian's dangerous allure—honey-blonde hair that caught the morning light, bright blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and the kind of face that belonged in toothpaste commercials or romantic comedies where nothing truly bad ever happened.

"I'm so sorry," she said, stepping back and straightening her sweater. "My mind was a million miles away."

"No apology needed." He stuck out his hand, his smile warming further. "I'm Ethan. And you look like someone who could use a good cup of coffee and a friendly ear."

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the stress of the past twenty-four hours, but something about his open, friendly manner made Zara relax for the first time since she'd made her deal with Adrian. He radiated an uncomplicated warmth that felt like a balm to her frayed nerves.

"Zara," she replied, shaking his hand. His grip was firm but not overwhelming, the skin of his palm slightly calloused as if he worked with his hands. "And you have no idea."

"Try me." Ethan's smile widened, revealing perfect teeth that definitely belonged in commercials. "I've been told I'm an excellent listener. And I happen to know they make the best chocolate croissants here in the city."

“I prefer cinnamon rolls,” she quipped and he chuckled.

Before she knew it, they were settled at a small table by the window, trading stories and laughing like old friends. Ethan was funny and self-deprecating, with an easy charm that made her forget about the chaos of her life for a few precious minutes. He worked in art restoration, he told her, his hands moving expressively as he described particularly challenging projects. It was so different from Adrian's controlled intensity that she felt herself unwinding, letting down guards she hadn't realized she'd erected.

It's been so long since she had a chat with someone she could consider a friend.

"So there I was," he was saying, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he recounted a workplace mishap, "covered in paint, trying to explain to this very serious art curator why there was now a perfect handprint on her very expensive white dress—"

Zara's laugh cut off abruptly as the café door opened and a familiar presence filled the space. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was—she could feel him, like a storm rolling in, like electricity before lightning strikes. The comfortable atmosphere of the café seemed to contract, as if the very air was making space for his presence.

Adrian Cross stood in the doorway, his expression thunderous as he took in the scene before him. He was impeccable as always in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than most cars, his tie a splash of blood-red silk against crisp white cotton. 

Several eyes turned to take him in, appreciative looks filling the eyes of the women in the shop. Adrian paid them all no mind, his eyes fixed on Zara's table.

There was something predatory in the way he moved toward their table, something dangerous in the controlled grace of his stride.

"Darling," he said, his voice silk over steel as his hand came to rest possessively on her waist. His fingers found the strip of skin where her sweater had ridden up, his touch burning like a brand. "I was worried when I couldn't find you this morning."

Ethan's smile didn't waver, but something sharp flickered in his eyes – something that made Zara wonder if his wholesome charm was as natural as it seemed. "Friend of yours?"

"Fiancé, actually." Adrian's fingers flexed against Zara's hip, sending sparks of awareness through her body despite her best efforts to remain unmoved. "Adrian Cross. And you are?"

"Ethan Grey." He stood, offering his hand with a confidence that seemed at odds with his earlier friendly demeanor. "Just keeping your lovely fiancée company over coffee."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees as the men shook hands. Zara could feel the tension radiating between them, could see the way their knuckles whitened with barely contained aggression. The other customers seemed to sense it too, conversations dropping to whispers as heads turned subtly to watch the drama unfold. There was a hint of jealousy in the eyes of several women. Oh, if only they knew it was all a farce.

"How fortunate," Adrian said, his smile not reaching his eyes, which had turned the color of storm clouds. "Zara is quite a friendly person. I don't know anyone else who would be chatting with someone they just met like they've known each other for years."

Something in his tone made Zara look up sharply. Was he jealous?

The idea was so ludicrous she almost laughed but when Adrian still didn't crack a smile, she knew she was spot on.

And in the way Ethan's charming smile had transformed into something much more calculated, she realized that he too had realized her fiance's jealousy. 

With a confused smile, she stood up, leaving behind her unfinished coffee and cinnamon roll before smiling apologetically at Ethan.

“I need to leave now, Ethan. Thanks for keeping me company.”

Ethan smirked, his eyes flashing to Adrian before looking back at her. “The pleasure was mutual, Zara. I hope to run into you again.”

Adrian's jaw ticked and Zara moved towards the door, determined to head out before the two men went into blows. Adrian followed her out, opening the door for her.

As they headed back to his house, she couldn't help wondering what the fuck had just happened.

And why the heck did she leave behind her half-eaten cinnamon roll?

What a waste of money.