Arielle had thought daylight would keep him away.
It was easy to believe that monsters stayed in the dark, hiding where shadows could mask their sins. But Adrian Wolfe had no need for shadows. He carried them with him, wore them like a second skin, and no amount of sunlight could wash them away.
So when she walked into the student café that afternoon—desperate for the comfort of normal voices, clinking cups, and laughter—her heart plummeted the second she saw him sitting at the back table.
He wasn't pretending to study. He wasn't pretending to belong. He was simply waiting. For her.
And when her eyes found him, his lips curved into that quiet, knowing smile that always stole the air from her lungs.
Her hands tightened around her tray. She considered leaving, but the line behind her trapped her in place. She couldn't make a scene. She couldn't run.
So she sat at the farthest table, heart hammering, hoping—praying—that he would stay where he was.
He didn't.
Within minutes, he was standing beside her table, tall frame blocking the light, his presence pressing down like a weight she couldn't escape.
"Is this seat taken?" His voice was smooth, low, meant only for her.
Her throat tightened. "Yes."
His gaze flickered over the empty chair, then back to her. "Liar."
Before she could argue, he slid into the seat opposite her, his long fingers curling around the edge of the table as if anchoring himself to her world.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
"You shouldn't be alone," he countered.
"I'm not—" She stopped. Because the truth was, she was. Even in a room full of people, she had never felt more isolated than in this moment.
Adrian leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze burning through her defenses. "Eat, little dove. Pretend you can still ignore me."
Her fork shook in her hand. "Why do you keep calling me that?"
"Because it fits you," he murmured. "Fragile. Pure. Made for cages."
Her stomach turned. "I'm not in a cage."
His lips curved. "Aren't you?"
The words struck too deep. She looked away, pretending to focus on the window, but his voice dragged her back.
"Eat, Arielle," he said softly. "Or I'll feed you myself."
Her chest clenched. The way he said it wasn't a threat, but it wasn't kindness either. It was something else. Something dangerous.
She forced herself to take a bite, just to silence him, but the food turned to ash on her tongue.
Satisfied, Adrian leaned back. His eyes never left her face. "You're learning."
"Learning what?" she asked, her voice thin.
"To listen."
Her skin prickled.
The café felt too small, too loud, too bright with him across from her. She wanted to scream at him, to push him away, to shatter the strange hold he had over her. Instead, she sat frozen, letting him unravel her one thread at a time.
Finally, her frustration broke free. "Why me?"
The question hung heavy between them. She hadn't meant to ask it, but once it slipped out, she couldn't take it back.
Adrian tilted his head, his gaze unreadable. Then he leaned closer, his words brushing against her like a touch.
"Because you're the only one who makes the noise stop."
Her chest tightened painfully. She wanted to demand what that meant, but his eyes told her she wouldn't get an answer. Not today.
Instead, he whispered another name. Foreign. Soft. Dangerous.
"Anhel caído."
Her brows furrowed. "Stop calling me things I don't understand."
"No," he said simply. "I'll never stop."
Before she could speak again, someone called her name.
"Arielle?"
Her head snapped toward the voice. A boy from her art history class stood a few feet away, holding a coffee, looking at her with cautious curiosity. His name was Marcus—quiet, friendly, one of the few people who had ever bothered to smile at her without expecting something in return.
"Hey," Marcus said, his smile tentative. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"
Relief flooded her. She opened her mouth to say yes—but Adrian's hand shot out across the table, covering hers.
Her breath locked. His grip wasn't harsh, but it was possessive, unyielding.
Marcus frowned, his gaze flicking to their joined hands. "Oh… sorry, I didn't realize you were with someone."
Arielle's pulse roared in her ears. She tried to speak, to explain, but Adrian's thumb brushed against her skin in a silent warning.
Marcus hesitated, then gave a stiff nod and walked away.
The second he was gone, Arielle yanked her hand back. "What the hell was that?" she hissed.
Adrian's expression didn't change. "Claiming what's mine."
"I'm not yours!"
His smirk returned, sharp and infuriating. "Keep telling yourself that, dulce mentira."
Her stomach twisted. Another name. Another invisible chain tightening around her.
"You're insane," she whispered.
"Obsessed," he corrected. "Don't confuse the two."
Her chair scraped loudly as she stood, her hands shaking. "Stay away from me."
Dozens of eyes turned toward her, curious, but Adrian only leaned back in his chair, calm as ever.
---
But the moment she stepped outside, the weight of his gaze followed her like a shadow. She could feel it pressed into her skin, threaded into her pulse. She hurried through the rain-slick campus paths, telling herself she was free now, that he hadn't chased after her.
Except she knew better.
That night, her phone buzzed. One message.
Fragile little dove. Running won't save you. The cage is already built.
Arielle dropped the phone onto her blanket and curled into herself, tears burning her eyes.
She wanted to scream at him, block him, tell someone—anyone. But fear stitched her mouth shut.
Because deep down, a part of her already believed him.