The east wing was too quiet and spacey nothing like what I was used to in my parents house.
The chandelier above caught the moonlight, scattering it across the polished floor like broken glass. Everything gleamed, cold and perfect, the way Adrian Throne probably liked it.
I closed the door behind me and leaned my back against it, my heart hammering too loud in the silence. My palms were slick. My mouth dry.
What the hell was I doing here? What had I done to myself?
I told myself I'd never set foot in his world. And now I was living inside it.
I shut my eyes, trying to calm the storm inside me, anger, humiliation, something darker I didn't even know what it was. But before I could catch my breath, the handle turned.
And the door swung open, pushing me asiide and behind it.
He walked in like he owned the place which he did of course but worse, like he owned me.
Adrian Throne.
Black slacks, his jacket discarded, his white shirt undone at the collar, sleeves rolled up. Casual, but not really. Nothing about him was casual. Every movement was deliberate, controlled, as if the whole world bent around his will.
I straightened instantly, my spine snapping into place like armor. "Ever heard of knocking?"
His smirk was pure sin, cutting through me. "Ever heard of gratitude?"
I laughed bitterly. "Gratitude For what? Dragging me here like I'm your property?"
He walked in slowly, closing the door behind him with a soft click. "No. For saving you." His eyes locked on mine. "Because that's what I did."
The words hit harder than I expected. And I hated him for it.
"Don't flatter yourself," I snapped, forcing my voice steady. "The only person you saved was yourself. You just wanted a new toy to play with."
He moved closer. Each step was deliberate, the sound of his shoes against the marble echoing like a countdown.
My pulse raced. I tried not to back away, but when my calves hit the edge of the bed, I realized I had nowhere left to go.
He noticed. Of course he noticed. His mouth curved, dark amusement flickering in his eyes.
"Toy?" His voice was low, dangerous. "Is that what you think you are?"
I held his stare, though my throat felt tight. "What else would you call it? You're enjoying this. Watching me squirm."
His gaze dropped, sweeping over me in a slow, deliberate, like a caress without ever touching me. Heat shot straight through me, humiliating and undeniable.
"Wrong," he said softly. "I'm enjoying watching you fight. Because deep down, Raine…" He leaned in, his breath brushing my ear, my skin sparking traitorously at the heat of it. "…you like the fight too."
A shiver raced down my spine. I hated myself for it.
"Stop looking at me like that," I whispered, the words breaking before I could stop them.
"Like what?" His voice was silk and smoke.
"Like you....." My voice cracked, the words sticking in my throat. Like you already own me. Like you know I'd let you.
I swallowed hard, forcing the steel back into my voice. "Like you've won."
For a moment, silence. Then he reached out, catching my wrist before I could move.
My breath froze. His hand was warm, strong, wrapping around me not crushing, not exactly gentle. Just firm. I felt his pulse against my skin, steady, unshaken, while mine thundered like it wanted to leap out of my chest.
He raised my hand, slow, deliberate, and pressed it flat against his chest. Right over his heart.
"Listen," he murmured. "Do you feel that?"
His heartbeat, steady. Mine, frantic.
"You hate me," he said. "You fight me. You deny me. But your pulse doesn't lie, Raine. You're not as untouched by me as you pretend to be."
Heat exploded through me. My skin burned where he held me, every nerve screaming.
I yanked free, stumbling back, my voice sharp but shaking. "You fucking disgust me."
He only smiled dark, slow, infuriating. "You keep saying that. And yet here you are, in my house. In my room. In my bed." His eyes flicked down to the mattress behind me. "The only question is how long you'll keep lying to yourself."
My chest rose and fell too fast, too shallow.
"You'll never have me, Adrain" I whispered, forcing the words past the lump in my throat.
His smirk deepened, sinful and certain. "We'll see, Raine. We'll see."
And with that he turned, walking to the door with the kind of lazy arrogance that made me want to scream. Just before he left, he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes pinning me in place.
"Sweet dreams, fiancée."
The door closed softly behind him, but the air still vibrated with his presence, thick and suffocating.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, my hands trembling, my chest tight.
I hated him. God, did I hate him.
So why did my lips ache like they still remembered the feel of his kiss??