HIS DIRTY OBSESSION

The skyline glittered like a crown over Valerio Tower, each light a silent witness to the empire Adrian Valerio was born to rule. From his office on the seventy-second floor, the city looked small, tamed, as though it bowed to him.

But Adrian didn’t feel powerful. Not tonight.

“Sir,” came a voice from the doorway. Smooth, calm, with the faintest hint of warmth just enough to make it dangerous.

Ethan Cross.

The one man in this building who didn’t look at him like a walking bank account. The one man who could step into the room without knocking and not get thrown out. His assistant. His shadow. And, if Adrian admitted it to himself, the only person keeping him from drowning.

“You have the contract from Marseille,” Ethan said, stepping in with a folder in one hand and a coffee in the other. “Extra shot. Just how you like it.”

Adrian allowed himself a small smirk. “You’ve been reading my mind again.”

“Not hard to do. You’ve had that same look since the board meeting like you’d rather throw someone out the window than sign another deal.”

The words were light, teasing, but there was an undertone. Ethan’s way of checking on him without asking outright. Adrian appreciated it more than he’d ever say.

He leaned back in his leather chair, watching Ethan cross the room. God, he moved like he belonged here. Black suit, dark tie, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms that looked far too good for a man who spent most of his time with spreadsheets and phone calls.

Adrian swallowed. This was the problem. This pull between them had been there for years. Ever since Ethan had shown up for his first day and Adrian had thought, “Great, my assistant is better-looking than I am.”

But it was deeper now.

Every late night they’d spent in this office, poring over numbers. Every shared meal in the penthouse kitchen because Adrian couldn’t face another charity dinner alone. Every time Ethan had been the first face he saw in the morning and the last at night.

It was dangerous. And Adrian couldn’t afford dangerous. Not with the pressure his father was putting on him.

“You’re quiet,” Ethan said, setting the coffee down and sliding the Marseille folder across the desk. “That usually means trouble.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “My father wants me to meet with the Rossi family tomorrow.”

Ethan stilled for a fraction of a second. “The Rossi family… as in Marco Rossi? The—”

“Yes. The one you’ve read about in every news outlet that dares to write about him without vanishing.”

Ethan’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “And what exactly does Marco Rossi want with you?”

“My hand,” Adrian said flatly. “In marriage. Or, rather, his daughter’s hand in mine. Cassand…”

“Cassandra Rossi.” Ethan’s voice was low now. “She’s… a piece of work.”

Adrian arched an eyebrow. “Been doing research on my behalf?”

Ethan didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes said enough. Adrian’s father had probably been planning this for months. Rossi’s power plus the Valerio fortune? It would be unstoppable. Except for one small detail. Adrian wanted nothing to do with Cassandra Rossi.

“She doesn’t care about me,” Adrian said, his voice sharper now. “She wants the name. The money. And my father doesn’t care as long as the merger happens.”

Ethan’s gaze softened, but there was steel under it. “So what are you going to do?”

Adrian looked at him for a long moment, letting the silence stretch. He couldn’t say what he really wanted to… That he’d burn the Valerio empire to the ground if it meant keeping Ethan.

Instead, he leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to play the game. For now.”

Ethan hesitated, then nodded. But the way his eyes lingered on Adrian’s face told a different story.

They spent the next hour working through contracts, but the air between them was heavier than usual. Every time Adrian’s hand brushed Ethan’s when they passed papers back and forth, he felt that same electric jolt.

By the time the clock hit 10 p.m., Ethan was gathering his things. “I’ll arrange the meeting with Rossi for tomorrow,” he said. “And I’ll… be there.”

Adrian frowned. “Not necessary.”

“I think it is,” Ethan said quietly. “If you’re walking into a room with a mafia lord, someone should have your back.”

Adrian studied him. “And that someone’s you?”

Ethan didn’t flinch. “Always.”

Something twisted in Adrian’s chest. Always. Dangerous word.

“Get some rest, Ethan,” he said instead, because anything else would be too much. Too obvious.

But when Ethan left, the office felt colder.

*Three Hours Later at the Penthouse Suite*

The city slept, but Adrian couldn’t. He stood on his balcony, the night wind tugging at his shirt. Somewhere below, traffic murmured like a distant storm.

He thought of Cassandra Rossi as flawless, sharp-tongued, and cold as glass. She would smile for the cameras, play the role of perfect bride, and behind closed doors, she would bleed him dry.

Then he thought of Ethan. A loyal, steady, warm in ways that scared him. And it hit him again: there was no safe way out of this. Not without choosing between the empire he’d been born into and the man he couldn’t stop wanting.

His phone buzzed. A text from Ethan.

[ Don’t let them see you flinch tomorrow. You’re Adrian Valerio.]

Adrian smiled despite himself.

He typed back, fingers lingering on the screen longer than necessary.

[ I won’t. Not with you there.]

He hit send, slipped the phone into his pocket, and stepped back inside. Tomorrow would be the first move in a dangerous game. And somewhere deep down, Adrian knew Ethan wasn’t just his assistant.

He was the only reason Adrian still wanted to win.