Chapter 2

✧ADAM MEADOWS✧

ADAM Meadows. My intuition was right. He was the one picking me up. Now I wasn’t sure if I should go with him or muster the courage to return to the hotel. Because he wasn't an 'I'll-do-my-buddy-a-favor-and-pick-his-sister-up type of guy. He was a look-at-me-wrong-or-say-anything-to-me-I-don't-like-and-I'll-kill-you-with-my-hands kinda guy, and he's doing it looking so calm and gorgeous you wouldn't notice your world crashing down.

I looked down briefly at my dirty feet since I was barefoot when I came here. I swiped my tongue over my dry lips as the passenger seat window rolled down.

"Get in." His voice wasn't loud, nor was it angry. It was just loud enough for me to hear. "Or do you want me to open the door for you?" His tone was so cold that I felt my body freeze.

Reluctantly, I stood up and walked toward him. I didn’t care if I dirtied his car. He was rich enough to have it cleaned anyway.

Once inside, I glanced at him briefly before looking away because I couldn't hold his gaze. I whispered, "Thanks for picking me up."

Silence. No response from him. I couldn't even hear his breathing. He didn't respond or even look at me as he navigated the twists and curves of the road leading to my house. He drove the same way he walked, talked, and breathed—steady and controlled, with an undercurrent of danger warning those foolish enough to contemplate crossing him that doing so would be their death sentence.

'How did my brother meet him? How did they become friends?'

They were so different, complete opposites. It was still a mystery to me how they became best friends, and what's even more baffling is that, among all of Zane's friends—David, Gerald, and Henry—Adam was the closest to him, as observed and confirmed by my brother himself.

But I still don’t get why Adam. I mean, David and Henry weren't as cold and harsh as Adam. So why? Was it because Adam was incredibly smart and rich? So rich that he wouldn’t have to work and could still live lavishly for generations?

Yeah, he’s pretty damn rich at only twenty-seven. I remember Zane telling me that Adam’s parents were business tycoons, and when they died, all their assets went to him. What’s more impressive is that he doubled that wealth five times over by the time he was eighteen.

Why? Because he was extremely intelligent. With an IQ of 160, he was a certified genius. He invested his brilliance in modern technology. I remember Zane mentioning that he invented three financial modeling software and one security software before graduating high school. By seventeen, he was already a multimillionaire and often featured in the news.

Not only that, but he also completed a five-year joint undergrad/MBA program in three years, and now, at twenty-seven, he’s the CEO of one of the most successful electronic companies in the country. He was a legend, and he knew it.

Meanwhile, I’m a twenty-one-year-old HRM graduating student working part-time at a well-known coffee shop as a cashier. I need to work for my luxuries. We aren’t as rich as Adam. Well, we aren't poor. My parents can afford my education and good food. But my luxuries and outings, like today’s, aren’t included in the budget. We’re somewhere in the middle because my dad is a retired pilot engineer, and my mom is a known lawyer with her own office next to our house. Zane, same age with Adam, is a pilot. So, yeah, we’re not poor. In fact, my brother’s a pilot, but sometimes, I wish I could fly him away with a kick.

Zane and Adam have been best friends since high school. They parted ways only for schooling—Zane went to pilot school, following our dad’s career, while Adam went to business school. David, Henry, and Gerald became friends with my brother at pilot school, and Adam blended into their group. But Henry is married now, just last year.

Among all of them, Adam is the only one without a family. That’s why he spends New Year’s with us. My parents insist on it. Mom would call Zane to remind him to bring Adam home for New Year’s Eve. He can't come for Christmas because he goes to Canada to be with his only remaining relative, an aunt.

Counting their friendship years, it’s been over a decade. Yet, despite knowing him for so long, I still don’t fully understand him. Only he and Zane are close. Not us.

When he’s at our house, we hardly speak. Maybe a few short conversations, mostly when he asks for the macaroni salad bowl. Mom’s macaroni salad is his favorite. That’s the extent of our interactions, aside from the incident six years ago when I kissed him.

“Are you going to our house? Or did my brother Zane just ask you to pick me up?” I finally asked, trying to break the awkward silence between us.

“I was on my way when he called.” Still cold.

“Where were you going?”

“To your house.” His fingers curled around the steering wheel, and my crazy hormonal mind latched onto how beautiful they were. That might sound crazy because who has beautiful fingers? Especially on a guy. But he did. Everything about him was beautiful—the dark-brown eyes glaring from beneath dark brows, sharp jawline, sculpted cheekbones, lean frame, and thick, dark hair that looked both tousled and perfectly coiffed. He resembled a statue in an Italian museum come to life. I almost wanted to mess up his hair, just to see him look less perfect. But I didn’t have the courage, so I stayed put.

“Why? What’s happening at the house?” I asked again, unsure if he would answer. As expected, he didn’t. I remained silent until we arrived.

Once he parked in front of the gate, I unbuckled my seatbelt and was halfway out the door when Adam grabbed my arm and pulled me back into my seat. Contrary to what I expected, his touch wasn’t cold. It was scorching, burning through my skin and muscles until I felt its warmth in my stomach.

I swallowed. “Why? We’re here. I’m getting out. Thank you.”

“You’re going out like that?” The tiniest hint of disapproval etched into the corners of his mouth.

When I didn’t respond, he inclined his head toward my legs and chest. I looked down, eyes widening as I noticed my thin, wet t-shirt clinging to my skin. My chest and legs were visible, making it obvious I wasn’t wearing shorts, just the bikini. And my chest, thanks to the cold air conditioning, revealed my n*pples through my swim bra and T-shirt.

I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling my face turn tomato-red with embarrassment. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You could’ve told me earlier.” I glanced at him and noticed his eyes on my legs, making my face heat up even more. “Stop looking!”

He remained unreactive. Instead, he questioned me, “What were you doing at the bus stop alone and dressed like that?” He glanced at my chest briefly before averting his eyes.

I sighed. “I was at a resort with my friends. Then . . .” I hesitated, unsure whether to continue. What if he mocked me, saying it served me right again? And it was embarrassing to admit my boyfriend cheated on me with another guy. “I felt sick and left the hotel to call Zane. But his car wasn’t available, so I guess he asked you.”

He sighed, removed his black leather jacket, and tossed it into my lap. “Wear this. You can’t go out like that. Gerald and the others might be inside already.”

With that, he exited the car, leaving me alone inside. Through the car window, I watched him push open the unlocked gate and enter. He moved as if he owned the place. He really felt at home here.

I looked at the jacket in my lap. Absentmindedly, I brought it to my nose and inhaled.

It smelled of Adam.

It smelled of trouble.

It smelled of danger.

It smelled of someone who could love deeply.

Huh?