Arielle thought she could get used to the sound of silence.
The silence between classes, the silence of the dorm when her roommate was out, the silence that wrapped around her whenever she tried to convince herself that university was her fresh start.
But then there was the other kind of silence—the suffocating one.
The kind that filled the air when Adrian Wolfe was near.
It wasn't really silence. Not completely. It was the sharp way her own breath seemed louder when he looked at her. It was the erratic beating of her heart when he leaned too close. It was the silence of her voice being stolen from her throat whenever his eyes—those unreadable, dark eyes—pinned her down.
And it was happening again.
He was waiting for her outside the lecture hall. She froze the second she spotted him leaning casually against the wall, his broad frame impossible to ignore, his hands buried in his pockets like he owned the corridor. Students passed him, some stealing quick glances, others pretending not to notice, but everyone felt his presence. Adrian Wolfe wasn't the type you could overlook.
Her chest tightened. She had promised herself she would avoid him, especially after last night—after the way he'd cornered her in the library and whispered things that still echoed inside her skull.
But he was here. Waiting. For her.
When her eyes darted toward the exit, his lips curved into that infuriating smirk. "Run, little dove. See how far you get."
Her stomach dropped. She hadn't moved yet, but somehow he'd already read her thoughts.
Arielle clutched her notebook tighter and forced her feet forward. She would walk. Just walk. Pretend he wasn't there. Pretend she wasn't trembling inside.
But of course, Adrian never let her pretend.
The moment she passed him, his hand closed around her wrist. Not hard, not enough to bruise—but enough to make her pulse stumble. He tilted his head, looking down at her like she was something fragile he'd been waiting years to touch.
"Lysandra," he murmured, his voice a low caress.
Her brows furrowed. That was the second time he'd called her that strange name. The way he said it made her feel like he was peeling back her skin and seeing more than she wanted him to.
"I—I think you've got the wrong person," she stammered, pulling slightly against his grip.
He leaned closer, his breath grazing the shell of her ear. "You'll get used to me calling you what I want."
Her throat tightened. "That's… not my name."
"You don't need to understand it," he whispered. "Just wear it. Like a crown."
Her stomach twisted. What did that even mean?
Students brushed past them, but Adrian acted like they didn't exist. He released her wrist only to slide his hand down, fingers grazing hers before letting go completely. The casual intimacy made her knees weaken.
"Walk with me," he said simply.
It wasn't a request.
Her voice wanted to say no. Her body wanted to flee. But her legs betrayed her, falling into step beside him as he guided her out of the building.
The autumn air hit her lungs like a gasp of freedom, but it didn't last. Adrian walked close enough that his shoulder brushed hers with every step. Too close. Too deliberate.
She hated the way her heart responded to it.
"Why do you keep doing this?" she finally blurted.
He glanced at her. "Doing what?"
"Showing up. Following me. Calling me…" She faltered. "Names that aren't mine."
He smirked again, the expression sharp enough to cut. "Because you're not just Arielle Torres."
Her breath caught. "What does that even mean?"
"You'll learn," he said softly, as if it was both a promise and a threat.
She stopped walking, clutching her books to her chest. "I don't want to learn anything from you."
Adrian halted, but instead of anger, amusement flickered across his face. He stepped closer, forcing her backward until her spine met the cold stone wall of the science building. Her books pressed awkwardly against her chest, her pulse hammering against them.
His hand rose, brushing a strand of damp hair from her cheek. The touch was almost tender, almost gentle—but there was nothing soft about the way he looked at her.
"I've waited too long to let you walk away now," he murmured. "Don't fight it, Arielle."
"I'm not yours," she whispered, though her voice cracked halfway through.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then his lips curved into something darker than a smile. "You've been mine for seven hundred and thirty-two days. You just don't know it yet."
Her knees weakened, and for a terrifying second, she thought she might actually collapse. But Adrian's hand slid down to her arm, steadying her—not out of kindness, but because he wanted her upright, trapped beneath his shadow.
Another name slipped from his lips. Foreign. Velvet. Dangerous.
"Svetlana."
Arielle blinked up at him. "Stop calling me that."
"No." His eyes gleamed. "I like the way it sounds on you."
Her throat closed, her chest too tight to breathe.
The sound of voices broke the spell. A group of students rounded the corner, laughing loudly. Adrian stepped back, but the intensity in his gaze didn't waver.
He let her go, but not before brushing his fingers against hers again. "Go on, little dove. Pretend you're free."
Her hands shook as she fled into the crowd, her heart screaming at her that she wasn't free at all.
---
That night, Arielle sat at her desk, staring blankly at the half-finished sketch in her notebook. She'd drawn the outline of a girl's face, but every time she tried to finish it, Adrian's eyes invaded her mind. His voice. Those names.
Lysandra. Svetlana.
Why did they sound like they belonged to her? Why did hearing them make her skin crawl and her stomach knot, yet leave her with an ache she couldn't explain?
Her phone buzzed. She flinched, snatching it up, praying it wasn't him.
But it was worse.
An unknown number. A single message.
"Sleep tight, little dove."
Her blood ran cold. She dropped the phone onto the desk, her breathing uneven. He had her number now.
How much more of her life had he already taken?
---
The next morning, Adrian was waiting outside her dorm. Not lurking. Not hiding. Waiting—like he had every right to stand there, like he belonged in her world.
Arielle's roommate gushed over how handsome he was, how lucky Arielle must be to have someone so obsessed with her. She didn't know the truth. Nobody did.
Arielle stepped outside, heart hammering, and Adrian's lips curved at the sight of her.
"Good morning, mi corazon," he said, his voice rich and smooth.
Her chest tightened. Another name. Another piece of the puzzle she couldn't solve.
And she realized, with a dread that hollowed her bones, that no matter how many times she told herself she hated him—something inside her was starting to listen when he spoke.
Something inside her was starting to believe.