Adrien's phrase echoed on the rooftop terrace, drowning out the distant city noise: "I could break you or worship you." Élisa, pinned against the wall, felt her entire body vibrate under the impact of those words. His gaze, burning with a dangerous intensity, never left her, and she read in it a promise of damnation or salvation. The air between them was thick, charged with all the suppressed emotions, all the secrets they carried. She no longer knew what was real, what was a dream, what was manipulation. She was at his mercy.
"The truth about Clara," she whispered, her voice barely audible. It was the only thing that mattered, the only reason she was here, caught in this macabre dance with him.
Adrien slightly eased the pressure of his hands against the wall, just enough for her to breathe, but not enough to escape. His face drew closer to hers, his lips just inches away. The scent of his skin, his warm breath, enveloped her.
"You want the truth?" he repeated, his voice hoarse, both a challenge and an invitation. His eyes locked onto hers, an unfathomable depth within them. "Then you must belong to me."
The silence that followed was deafening. Belong. The word echoed in her head, heavy with meaning, mirroring the pages of Clara's journal, Élisa's feverish dreams. It wasn't a question, but a condition. A demonic offer for ultimate knowledge. The truth about her sister, in exchange for her freedom, for her soul. A part of her screamed to run, to push him away, to deny the obviousness of this insane proposition. But another part, darker and deeper, the one that had dreamed of him, the one fascinated by his danger, felt an irresistible pull. It was forbidden, insane, yet it was also the only path to understanding.
Without waiting for a verbal answer, Adrien sealed the pact. His body pressed completely against hers, pinning her further against the wall. His hand entwined in her hair, gently tilting her head back, and his mouth descended upon hers. It was a deep, merciless kiss that stole her breath. His lips were hard, demanding, exploring every corner of her mouth with an insatiable hunger. It wasn't a kiss of love, but a kiss of possession, a dangerous, almost cruel kiss in its intensity. Élisa felt her knees buckle, but her hands, at first hesitant, clutched at his shoulders, responding to his raw force with an equal measure of desperation and desire. The taste of the pact, of sin, of the secret, mingled with every movement of their mouths. When he finally pulled back, his dark gaze was fixed on hers, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. He had her. She belonged to him. The truth was within reach, but at what cost?