Adrian's penthouse had never felt more suffocating. The glass walls stretched across the skyline, glittering with city lights, yet the space pulsed with tension that Elena could hardly breathe through. He stood by the bar, pouring whiskey with a hand that shook more than he wanted her to notice.
"You let him talk to you like that," Adrian muttered, his voice sharp, brittle. "You let him stand there and act like he still owns a piece of you."
Elena clasped her hands together, fighting the sting in her eyes. "Because he does, Adrian. Whether you like it or not, Daniel is a part of me. He always will be."
The glass slammed against the counter, amber liquid spilling over his hand. Adrian's chest heaved as his gaze snapped to hers, raw and wounded. "Do you even hear yourself? You're mine, Elena. Mine. And the thought of him—of anyone—touching you, even in memory, makes me want to burn the world to ash."
His words cut through her, half terrifying, half intoxicating. Because she believed him. Adrian Blake wasn't a man who bluffed. He was a man who conquered.
But she also saw it—the flicker of fear buried beneath his fury. A man who had built empires, who never lost, who could destroy lives with a single decision—was terrified of losing her.
She stepped forward cautiously, her voice trembling. "Adrian… this isn't a war. I'm not a prize for you to fight over."
His laugh was bitter, harsh. "That's where you're wrong. Everything in my life has been a war. And I don't lose wars."
Her throat tightened. "Even if winning means breaking me?"
That silenced him.
For the first time that night, Adrian's mask cracked. He turned away, pressing his palms against the cold glass window as though the city lights could absorb his chaos. His shoulders slumped, the powerful lines of his body bending under something far heavier than pride.
"I don't know how to love you gently," he confessed, voice hoarse. "All I know is how to want you, need you, fight for you. And God help me, Elena, I can't stop."
Her heart twisted, torn between compassion and exhaustion. She went to him, laying a trembling hand against his back. He stiffened, then slowly, almost reluctantly, turned to face her. His eyes shimmered—not with anger this time, but something rawer. Something unguarded.
"You think I'm dangerous," he whispered. "You're right. I am. But not to you. Never to you. Only to anyone who dares try to take you away from me."
The intensity in his words should have frightened her. Instead, it broke her. Because beneath that ruthless exterior was a man begging not to be abandoned.
Her voice was soft but steady. "I don't need you to fight for me, Adrian. I need you to love me… without turning me into a battlefield."
The silence between them was thick, trembling, charged.
Finally, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing her cheek as if she were something fragile he couldn't afford to shatter. His kiss was desperate—demanding but broken—like a man who didn't know how to beg but did anyway.
And Elena let herself fall into it, because for all his fire and fractures, Adrian Blake was the only man who could make her feel like the world disappeared when his lips touched hers.
But in the back of her mind, Daniel's voice lingered like a shadow.
One day, you'll have to choose.
And that day was coming faster than she dared admit.