Elara didn't sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, the weight of Adrian's voice haunted her: Then I'll choose for you.
The city outside the mansion was alive with the muted chaos of the underworld—gunshots in the far distance, the low thrum of bass from hidden clubs, the occasional roar of an engine tearing down backstreets. But here, in the top floors of his penthouse fortress, it felt unnervingly quiet.
She wandered toward the balcony, the night air biting her skin as she stepped into the cold. From up here, the city lights shimmered like constellations scattered across the earth.
It almost felt peaceful… until she saw movement in the shadows of the adjacent rooftop.
At first, she thought it was a trick of the wind. But then, the figure moved again—low, deliberate, predatory.
Her breath caught.
She had seen gangsters before—men with guns, sharp suits, and sharper smiles. But this was different. His movements were too smooth, too unnatural. And when he stepped into the faint glow of a streetlamp, she saw them—eyes that glowed an unnatural yellow, a mouth full of teeth too long, too sharp.
Werewolf.
Before she could back away, the creature crouched low and leapt—crossing the impossible gap between rooftops in a single bound.
"Elara!"
Adrian's voice cut through the night like a blade.
She barely had time to register him before he slammed into her, twisting her away from the balcony's edge just as claws tore through the railing where she'd been standing. Metal shrieked, snapping under the force.
Gunshots erupted from somewhere below. His men—armed, trained, and merciless—were already flooding into the room.
But Adrian didn't take his eyes off the attacker.
"You made a mistake coming here," he growled, his voice not entirely human. His teeth were sharper now, his eyes lit with that same golden fire she'd seen before.
The werewolf lunged. Adrian met him halfway.
It wasn't a fight—it was an execution. Adrian's speed was inhuman, his movements precise and lethal. One moment the attacker's claws were aimed for Adrian's throat, the next, Adrian had him by the jaw, slamming him so hard against the wall that plaster exploded in a white cloud.
Blood spattered the balcony tiles.
The intruder tried to snarl something—maybe a warning—but Adrian's hand closed around his neck. With one violent twist, the fight was over.
Silence fell, broken only by the drip of blood from the lifeless body.
Adrian dropped him without ceremony, eyes still blazing. "Clean it up," he barked to his men.
Then he turned to Elara.
She was trembling, her back pressed against the wall. Her mind raced—this was real. All of it. No movie makeup. No CGI. The monster's body was still on the floor. The blood was still pooling.
"Y-you killed him…" she whispered.
Adrian stepped closer, cupping her face in his blood-slicked hands. "No, Elara," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "I saved you."
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. She didn't know whether to push him away or cling to him.
"You're not safe here anymore," he said, his gaze dropping to her lips for a fraction of a second before meeting her eyes again. "From now on, you don't leave my sight. Not for a moment."
And for the first time, she wasn't sure if that was a promise… or a threat.