It was dark, damp, and strangely warm inside the cave.
Adam stood still, dressed in all black, a long coat brushing his ankles. His hands were bare, scarred from ancient runes etched into his skin. A flickering fire danced in front of him, casting shadows against the jagged walls. On the ground were symbols drawn in blood-red ink, and in the center of it all—a small obsidian crystal pulsing faintly.
"No one," he whispered, voice low, steady, and cold, "No one sees into my mind."
He dropped to one knee, pressed a hand over the runes, and began to chant:
"Malven dor'in, zereth kaari—show her not, shield my soul, burn her eyes before the truth unfolds."
The crystal flared for a moment, and the fire shifted—blue, then white, then gone.
A sharp wind blew from nowhere. The cave went still.
And Adam smiled darkly. "Let her try now."
---
I stood in the massive library of the mansion. My fingers grazed the spines of leather-bound books older than my country. A part of me was curious, another part just wanted to punch Adam.
That smug-faced mafia lunatic had dragged me here against my will, told me my mom didn't even bother trying to find me (ouch, thanks for the trauma), and now he expected me to just... stay? Go to school like nothing happened? Oh, and learn about my freaky pain-absorbing powers?
Yeah, no thanks.
So I did what any stubborn, semi-traumatized, half-powered girl would do: I tried to break into his mind.
I closed my eyes, breathed in deep like the books said, focused on that electric pulse I sometimes felt in my chest when emotions ran high.
Show me, show me... what's behind those lying hazel eyes.
Nothing.
Just static.
Then a sharp sting snapped through my temples. I gasped.
My nose actually bled.
And somewhere in the house, I swear I heard him laughing.
I stumbled out of the library, muttering, "Smug-faced, cave-chanting, broody-eyed piece of designer trash."
---
She was asleep.
Adam leaned against the doorframe of her room, arms crossed. He hated this. Hated that she was here. Hated that her powers were unpredictable. Hated that she looked like that when she was... peaceful.
A soft moonlight spilled across her face, highlighting her cheekbones, the curve of her lips slightly parted as she dreamed. Her brows twitched, like she was deep in something—not pain this time, not fear. Maybe just sleep.
His footsteps were soundless as he stepped closer.
He bent slightly, letting his fingers graze her jaw, tracing the outline of it like he was reading a forgotten map.
So delicate, he thought. And dangerous.
His hand hovered for a second longer, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed her cheek.
She sighed in her sleep, turning just a little toward the warmth.
Adam froze.
What the hell was he doing?
He jerked his hand back like he'd touched fire. His eyes hardened.
No.
He wasn't here to be gentle. He wasn't here to care.
He was here to control.
He turned sharply and left the room, slamming the door a little too hard behind him.
---
The next morning, I stomped into the dining room wearing my "Don't Talk to Me Unless You're Coffee" hoodie and mismatched socks.
Adam sat at the head of the table reading the paper like some 1940s mafia boss reincarnated through a Vogue photoshoot.
"Morning, sunbeam," I said sweetly.
He didn't look up. "Your sarcasm is as stale as the toast."
I plopped down across from him and reached for a muffin.
He slapped my hand.
"Ow!" I glared.
"That one's poisoned."
I stared at him.
He shrugged. "Kidding. Maybe. It's a trust exercise."
"Well, congratulations, you failed."
"You've been trying to get into my mind."
I froze. Then I smirked. "You scared?"
"You bled."
"Still not a no."
He leaned forward, tone low. "You don't want to see what's in there, Rhea."
And for a second, I actually believed him.
---
"Alright," he barked, tossing a glowing knife onto the floor between us. "Let's see if you've got anything besides backtalk and sass."
"Excuse me, my sass has levels."
"Yeah? Prove it. Dodge."
He hurled a ball of blue energy at me.
I screamed. Not in fear, in sheer disbelief.
"You psycho! You didn't even count down!"
"The world doesn't count down when it tries to kill you, sweetheart."
I dove, barely missing the wall of flame that exploded behind me.
He was laughing now. Actual, real laughing.
"You're insane!"
"You're predictable. Come on, use your power."
I glared at him. "Fine. Come here, let me punch you and see if I can absorb that smugness."
He grinned. "You'd probably just give yourself a migraine."
---
Later that night, Adam watched from the control room as I sat alone in the training space, breathing heavily, sweat dripping, eyes blazing.
I'd almost done it.
Not just the pain transfer thing. Something... else. When I'd screamed, the lights had flickered. The ground had rumbled.
Adam leaned closer to the monitor.
"She's not ready," he muttered to himself. "But she's close."
He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out an old photo. A woman—elegant, sharp eyes, wicked smile.
"She had the same fire," he whispered, touching the photo. "And it burned everything."
He looked back at the screen, at the girl he kidnapped, the girl who made his jaw clench in annoyance and his chest tighten in something dangerously close to softness.
"You're not her," he said. "But God help me... you might be worse."
---
The sun spilled through the tall arched windows of the mansion, casting golden beams across the marbled floor like it had the right to be that beautiful in such a miserable place.
I had woken up feeling... hollow.
No dreams. Just the bitter taste of reality on my tongue.
My room was as stupidly luxurious as ever—velvet curtains, a chandelier bigger than my brain, and furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum. And still, it felt like a cage.
I stood by the window, gripping the sill like I could punch a hole through the glass and fly away. But no. That wasn't how this nightmare worked.
I turned and saw it.
That photo.
One of my childhood photos. Me. Mom. Dad.
But not in a frame.
In a file.
It was left on my desk. Purposefully.
My heart started thudding wildly as I flipped through the pages. Reports. Timelines. Letters.
From my mother.
To Adam.
Each letter cold, clinical, and signed with the same name I used to scribble on birthday cards: Mom.
"I've done my part," one line read. "She's all yours now. Don't contact me again unless she escapes."
I choked.
It was like something punched through my chest and pulled out whatever was left of me.
Tears blurred my eyes as I staggered back. And then, something snapped in me.
I bolted.
I didn't know where I was going—I just needed out. Out of the room, out of this fake palace, out of this life.
My feet thundered down the hall, past stunned guards, past the grand staircase. I didn't care. I just ran.
Until—
"Rhea!"
That voice.
That deep, infuriating, maddening voice.
Adam.
I didn't stop. Not until I reached the front doors and tried yanking them open. They didn't budge.
Of course.
They never did.
"Open the damn door!" I screamed, slamming my fists against it.
"Stop." His voice was closer now. Controlled. Dangerous.
I turned on him, shaking. "You knew. You KNEW. You've been talking to her—this whole time—you—"
He moved fast. His hands cupped my face before I could back away. I struggled, but he held me firm. Not hard. Just... steady.
"Let me go," I snarled through clenched teeth.
But he didn't.
His face was unreadable. The usual arrogance was there, sure. But something else too. A flicker of—pain?
"I didn't want you to see that yet," he said quietly.
"YET?" My voice cracked like glass. "What else are you planning to show me? A slideshow of my mother throwing me away with popcorn and a soda?"
He flinched. Just a little.
His grip loosened.
And I pulled back.
I ran past him. Nowhere to go. Just... away.
But before I could disappear up the stairs, his voice came again—low, quieter.
"I didn't ask for this, Rhea."
I paused. Just for a second.
I didn't turn around. I didn't give him that.
"Neither did I," I whispered.
And I ran.
---
Later That Day
I didn't come down for breakfast. Or lunch. Or whatever mealtime this prison called it.
I curled up in the corner of my room like a stormcloud, wrapping myself in a blanket I hated but needed.
And then I heard a knock.
I groaned. "If you're here to monologue again, go away!"
The door creaked open anyway.
Adam walked in.
But this time... he wasn't in a suit.
He wore dark jeans, a navy t-shirt that clung a little too well to his ridiculously unfair chest, and he had scruffy morning hair.
Disgusting how hot he still looked.
"Didn't know the Lord of Darkness owned t-shirts," I muttered, hugging my knees.
He ignored that. "I brought tea."
I stared. "What am I, British?"
"No. But you cry like one."
I blinked.
"Excuse me?!"
He set the cup on the table. "Loud. Dramatic. With flair. I thought it was thunder at first."
"Get. Out."
He didn't move.
Instead, he stepped closer, sat on the edge of the table, and said, "I know what your powers are becoming."
I froze.
"What do you mean becoming?"
He leaned forward slightly, the teasing gone from his voice now.
"They're growing. Evolving. Faster than expected. I've been studying them because... well. My mother had them too."
My heart thudded.
"You said that before."
He nodded. "And I also said I hated you."
"You did. And the feeling is very mutual."
He gave a wry smile. "Good. Let's keep it that way."
I rolled my eyes. "You're impossible."
"You're dramatic."
"You kidnapped me."
He raised a brow. "You broke three antique vases, two mirrors, and one guard's ego."
"That's called being resourceful."
"That's called being a brat."
We glared at each other.
The tension between us was electric, like the whole room could explode from the sheer amount of hate and sarcasm bouncing between us.
But underneath it...
Something ached.
"Why didn't you just throw me in a lab?" I asked finally, quietly.
He looked away.
And then he said something I never expected.
"Because... you're not a weapon."
I swallowed.
Silence.
And then, of course, I ruined the moment.
"You just suck at being a villain."
He looked back at me, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"Maybe. But I'm excellent at being your worst nightmare."
I smirked, though my eyes still stung.
"You have no idea what you're in for, Adam."
"And you," he said, standing up and heading to the door, "have no idea how powerful you're becoming."
And then he was gone.
Leaving behind the tea, the chaos, and the first crack in whatever war had started between us.
---