At 5:45 a.m., the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon, filtering through the towering French windows of Richmans Estate.
Adrian’s eyes slowly fluttered open.
Pain immediately greeted him.
A dull, relentless pounding throbbed behind his temples, and the moment he tried to lift his head, a sharp spike of agony shot through his skull.
"Ugh..."
His throat felt like sandpaper as he forced out a groan.
Rubbing his eyes, he tried to piece together the fragments of his scattered memories.
’What happened last night?’
His gaze wandered across the enormous living room.
Adrian stared at his surroundings, his sleep-addled brain struggling to process the sheer extravagance.
’Where the hell did I spawn?’
Had he somehow wandered into an oil baron’s private residence?
More importantly, how had he gone from drinking at a neighborhood bar to waking up on a designer sofa that probably cost more than a year’s worth of his old rent?
With another groan, he pushed himself upright and shuffled toward the terrace windows. Perhaps a look outside would jog his memory.
Before he could get there, the soft click of a door latch broke the silence.
A woman emerged from the master wing, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one delicate knuckle. She wore a simple tank top and comfortable lounge shorts, while her raven-black hair fell loosely over her bare shoulders.
Roxanne.
Her sleepy gaze went straight to the sofa.
Finding it empty, she looked around until she spotted Adrian standing by the windows, staring back at her like a burglar who’d been caught in the middle of a break-in.
A slow, mischievous smile spread across her face.
"Well, well. Look who finally decided to rejoin the living. Good morning, my drunken master."
Adrian’s brain was operating at roughly two percent capacity. Any attempt at a clever response was doomed before it began.
"Is this your mansion?"
The smile vanished from Roxanne’s face.
She stared at him with an expression so thoroughly deadpan that it practically screamed, ’Are you seriously that stupid?’
Adrian coughed awkwardly.
"Right. Forget I asked. What exactly happened last night?"
Roxanne’s lips twitched. She tried to hold back her laughter, but a soft giggle escaped before she could stop it.
"Well, after we got to Davies Bar, you decided to challenge half the neighborhood to a drinking contest. I have to admit, you lasted a lot longer than I expected." She walked farther into the living room, running her fingers along the back of the sofa.
"Eventually, though, you ran out of steam. You couldn’t even tell me which district you lived in, let alone give me an address. So I brought you here to sleep it off."
Adrian nodded slowly.
That explained how he’d ended up in this ridiculously expensive house.
Unfortunately, it didn’t explain everything.
"Is that... all that happened?"
The playful glint returned to Roxanne’s eyes.
"Well..." She drew the word out, clearly enjoying herself. "Once we got inside, you seemed to lose whatever little filter you had left."
"Oh, God."
Adrian dropped onto the sofa and buried his face in his hands.
"What did I say?"
Roxanne laughed softly.
"Nothing too terrible. You just couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful I was. Apparently, I’m sweet, cute, gorgeous, and blessed with the most breathtaking figure you’ve ever seen. You also had quite a lot to say about my hair."
She moved closer, savoring every second of his embarrassment.
Adrian pressed his palms harder against his face.
’Earth, please open up and swallow me.’
He’d survived rigged casino games, financial ruin, and enough bad decisions to fill a lifetime. Yet somehow, getting drunk and embarrassing himself in front of Roxanne felt like a particularly humiliating new low.
"Please tell me that’s where it ended."
"Not quite."
Roxanne sat beside him, crossing her bare legs.
"You got up, backed me into a corner, and tried to make a move on me."
Adrian went completely still.
A cold sweat broke across his forehead.
He’d actually tried playing the suave ladies’ man while reeking of beer?
If time travel were possible, he’d happily go back to last night just to kick his past self between the legs.
Roxanne watched him squirm for another moment. Then, as the amusement in her expression gradually softened, she tilted her head.
"Hey, Adrian."
Something in her voice had changed.
The teasing was gone, replaced by a quiet sincerity that made him turn toward her.
"If you hadn’t been drowning in cheap beer last night, would you still have said those things?"
Her dark eyes held his, searching his face for an answer.
Adrian blinked.
He hadn’t expected that question.
The sharp-tongued woman who could command a room with a single look had suddenly disappeared.
In her place was someone far less guarded.
For once, Roxanne wasn’t teasing him or trying to get a reaction. She genuinely wanted to know.
Adrian studied her face in the soft morning light. He couldn’t see any hint of mockery in her expression, nor did he sense a trap waiting behind her words.
After a moment, he shrugged.
"I don’t think I’m capable of making things like that up, drunk or sober."
Alcohol might have lowered his inhibitions, but it hadn’t invented the words he’d spoken.
If anything, it had simply made him bold enough to say them.
Roxanne held his gaze for another heartbeat.
Then a small, knowing smile touched her lips.
"Hmm. I thought as much."
Silence settled over the living room.
Neither seemed particularly interested in breaking it.
For a moment, they simply sat there, watching each other as the morning light slowly brightened around them.
Then Roxanne leaned closer.
Adrian met her halfway.
She parted her lips as though she wanted to whisper something, but whatever she’d intended to say never made it past her throat.
Their lips met.
The kiss began tentatively, a brief brush of warmth as they tested the moment. Neither pulled away. Instead, they lingered, the initial hesitation giving way to something more natural.
For a few precious seconds, Adrian forgot about his throbbing headache, the previous night’s drunken antics, and the fact that he was sitting in a billionaire’s living room wearing yesterday’s clothes.
There was only Roxanne.
Then, without warning, she pulled back sharply.
Adrian blinked at her in confusion.
"What? Did I do something wrong?"
Roxanne wrinkled her nose in open disgust.
"Adrian, you need a shower. Immediately."
He stared at her.
"What?"
"You smell like stale, bottom-shelf beer. It’s absolutely revolting."
Still confused, Adrian lifted the collar of his shirt and cautiously sniffed it.
The smell hit him like a physical blow.
He recoiled, his expression twisting in horror.
"Sweet mother of mercy!"
The stench of fermented barley practically assaulted his nostrils.
He hadn’t merely enjoyed a few drinks last night. He’d practically soaked himself in them.
"Guest suite. Down the hall on the left," Roxanne ordered, already rising from the sofa. "There are fresh towels under the sink."
Adrian got to his feet, then paused as a question suddenly occurred to him.
"Wait a minute. If you have a perfectly good guest suite, why did you dump me on the couch in the first place?"
Roxanne looked over her shoulder.
Her expression returned to its usual deadpan state.
"Because you weigh a ton, and I’m not a pack mule."
She flicked her fingers toward the hallway.
"Now go. You’re turning my furniture into a distillery."
Adrian opened his mouth, thought better of it, and headed for the guest suite.
There were battles even he knew better than to fight.
Forty-five minutes later, he emerged from the hallway smelling of cedar soap and fresh linen instead of the consequences of his poor decisions.
His trousers were still slightly rumpled, but Roxanne had left a clean, neutral-colored polo shirt outside the guest suite. It fit him reasonably well, and after a proper shower, he finally felt human again.
He returned to the living room and settled onto the sofa, taking a fresh look at the carefully arranged artwork and collector’s pieces lining the walls.
’This place makes my old penthouse in Las Venturas look like a cheap motel.’
The soaring ceilings, rare collectibles, and understated furnishings all spoke of the kind of wealth that didn’t need to advertise itself.
Whatever Roxanne earned working in Halycon City, it certainly wasn’t enough to explain a property like this.
Unless...
’Don’t tell me she’s secretly a billionaire heiress.’
As if summoned by his thoughts, Roxanne emerged from the master wing.
She was now wrapped in a plush cream robe, a dry towel wound around her wet hair. When she noticed Adrian lounging on her sofa as though he owned the place, one eyebrow slowly rose.
"Still making yourself at home, Mr. Vale?"
Adrian rested an arm along the back of the sofa and flashed her a shameless grin.
"Come on. We’re past formalities now. We just kissed, remember? You can call me Adrian."
Roxanne stared at him for a moment before letting out a weary sigh.
Apparently, his audacity wasn’t an unfortunate side effect of alcohol. It was simply part of his personality.
"Fine, Adrian. But the fun is over. You need to leave. I have a full schedule today."
"What’s the rush?" He sank deeper into the cushions. "Don’t tell me you’ve already grown tired of having me around."
A faint smile tugged at her lips, though she made no effort to entertain his suggestion.
Adrian let his gaze wander toward the vaulted ceiling.
He’d been curious about Roxanne’s background since the previous night, and now that he’d seen her home, his curiosity had only grown.
"Seriously, though. This place is insane." He turned back to her. "What’s your real story, Roxanne? Are you secretly the heiress to some billionaire empire?"
The change was immediate.
The faint warmth in Roxanne’s expression vanished, as though someone had extinguished a candle.
Her shoulders stiffened. The softness in her eyes disappeared, replaced by a coldness that seemed to drain the warmth from the entire room.
"Adrian."
Her voice had dropped into a sharp, cutting register.
"Get out. Now."