The ride home from the gala was silent, thick with tension. Amaya stared out the window, refusing to look at Adrian. His words still clung to her like chains: You're mine, whether you admit it or not.
The car stopped at the mansion. She stepped out quickly, desperate for air, but Adrian followed, his footsteps steady and deliberate.
"Amaya." His voice was sharp, commanding.
She ignored him, walking faster.
"Stop."
She spun on him, fury blazing in her eyes. "What do you want from me, Adrian? You've trapped me, humiliated me, claimed me like some possession. What more could you possibly take?"
He closed the distance in two strides, his hand gripping her arm. "Everything," he said, his voice rough, unguarded. "I want everything—your anger, your fire, your hate, your love."
Her chest heaved. "You don't deserve any of it."
"Then why can't you look at me without shaking?" he growled.
Their eyes locked, fire against fire, hate against hate. The storm broke. She shoved him; he pulled her closer. Their lips crashed together in a kiss that was war and surrender all at once.
Amaya fought him, her fists against his chest, but her body betrayed her, answering every touch, every demand. His mouth was fire, consuming her, and she hated herself for the way she melted into it.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathless. Adrian's hand cupped her jaw, his eyes dark with obsession.
"This is what you fear," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "That you want me as much as I want you."
Amaya shoved him away, trembling. "This changes nothing."
But as she fled into the mansion, her lips still burned with the truth she couldn't deny.