The car ride back was silent.
Adrian sat beside me, his arm draped casually over the back of the leather seat, but there was nothing casual about him. Every shift of his body radiated control. The driver didn't dare speak.
My heart pounded in the stillness. I should have demanded to be taken home. I should have fought harder. Instead, I stared out the tinted window as the city lights blurred into streaks of gold.
"Stop fidgeting," Adrian said suddenly, his tone sharp enough to make me still.
"I'm not—"
"You are." His gaze slid over me, slow and unrelenting. "You don't realize how loudly your body speaks when you're afraid."
Heat flushed my cheeks. "Maybe that's because I am afraid. You've dragged me into your world without asking."
He smirked, but there was no humor in it. "I don't ask, Lyra. I take."
The honesty in his voice chilled me more than any lie ever could.
The car slowed, turning down a narrow street lit only by scattered lamps. My chest tightened as we stopped in front of a tall building with blacked-out windows and guards at the entrance.
Adrian stepped out first, then looked back at me. "Come."
I hesitated, but his voice carried the same gravity as a command carved into stone. My legs obeyed before my mind could resist.
Inside, the building pulsed with life. Music throbbed through the walls, blending with laughter and low murmurs. It wasn't a restaurant this time—it was one of his clubs.
Crystal chandeliers gleamed overhead, but the air was thick with shadows. Men in suits eyed Adrian with respect, even fear. Women draped in silk and diamonds glanced his way, their gazes sharp with hunger.
And yet, when he placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the room, it was clear: I was the one he had chosen to bring.
The thought both thrilled and terrified me.
We entered a private lounge above the main floor, overlooking the crowd. Adrian poured himself a drink, then one for me, placing the glass in front of me like another unspoken order.
"I don't drink much," I said softly.
"Tonight, you do." His eyes pinned mine. "Because tonight, you learn something important."
I swallowed but lifted the glass. The burn of whiskey slid down my throat, leaving warmth in its wake.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a murmur meant only for me. "This is who I am, Lyra. This power, this world, this danger. And if you stay near me… you'll never escape it."
I should have pulled away. I should have told him I wanted no part in it.
But when his hand brushed mine, the smallest touch sparking fire through my veins, I couldn't breathe.
"Why me?" I whispered.
Adrian's eyes softened—just barely. Enough for me to glimpse the man beneath the steel.
"Because you don't bow," he said. "And I'm not used to being challenged."
The words sank into me, leaving me shaken, unsteady.
And as the music throbbed below us, and his touch lingered just long enough to make my pulse race, I realized something terrifying.
It wasn't only fear tying me to Adrian Moretti anymore.
It was want.
Adrian's hand didn't leave mine. His thumb brushed against my skin, casual yet deliberate, as if testing how much I would let him take.
The longer I sat across from him, the more I felt the tug-of-war inside me. Fear warred with fascination. He wasn't supposed to feel real — men like him belonged in stories whispered in dark corners, not sitting across from me with whiskey in hand.
"You're shaking," he said.
"I'm not," I lied.
Adrian leaned closer, his lips ghosting near my ear. "You are. But you're not running. That's what intrigues me."
A shiver ran down my spine. The club's music was distant now, muffled by the thunder of my own heartbeat.
"I should run," I whispered.
"Then why don't you?"
I swallowed, searching for an answer, but his presence consumed every thought. My instincts screamed at me to flee, but something deeper — reckless, dangerous — wanted to see how close I could stand to the fire without burning.
Before I could speak, a sharp knock rattled the lounge door. One of his men stepped in, his face grim. "Boss. We have a problem downstairs."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "Handle it."
The man hesitated. "It's the DiAngelo crew. They're demanding to speak with you directly."
For the first time that night, I saw something flicker across Adrian's expression — not fear, never that, but something like restrained fury.
He stood, his glass forgotten. "Stay here," he ordered me, his tone brooking no argument.
"Adrian—"
His eyes cut to mine, dark and unyielding. "Do. Not. Move."
And then he was gone, the door shutting behind him like a final lock.
I sat frozen in the silence he left behind. My fingers clenched the edge of my seat as muffled voices rose from the floor below. Angry, sharp, threatening.
Curiosity gnawed at me, but his warning echoed in my mind. Still, I found myself drifting toward the window that overlooked the main floor.
Below, I saw him — Adrian, standing like a storm about to break. Several men faced him, armed and dangerous, but it was Adrian's presence that silenced the room. Even from up here, I felt the weight of it, the way power seemed to cling to him like a second skin.
He spoke, sharp and low, and the men flinched. One reached for his jacket — a gun, maybe. My breath caught.
Adrian moved faster than I thought humanly possible. One second the man was reaching, the next Adrian had him by the collar, slamming him onto a table so hard glasses shattered. The entire club fell into stunned silence.
My pulse raced as I pressed a hand against the glass. He wasn't bluffing when he said his world was dangerous.
But as the men backed down, retreating under Adrian's glare, I realized something even more terrifying.
I wasn't horrified. I was… captivated.
When he returned minutes later, his suit immaculate despite the chaos, he found me exactly where he'd left me — wide-eyed, breathless, unable to look away from him.
"You disobeyed," he said softly, noticing my position near the window.
My lips parted, but no sound came out.
Adrian stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could smell the faint trace of his cologne — cedarwood and smoke. His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear with startling gentleness.
"You should fear me, Lyra." His voice was low, almost a growl. "But the way you're looking at me right now… that isn't fear."
And he was right.
The truth terrified me more than any threat could.