Angelica's POV
Ugh… the white-hot pain seared through my skull as consciousness clawed its way back.
I pressed my palm against my forehead, already slick with sweat. The air smelled faintly of cold, metallic rust and oil that felt absolutely wrong.
My body felt heavy against the wall, and my head swam with the echo of something… voices.
Low, muffled vibrations rolled through the dim air beside me.
A man's angry and controlled voice.
"There were three of you… THREE. How could you possibly make such a childish mistake?"
That voice—my stomach twisted.
No… it can't be.
Adrian?
Blinking hard, I turned toward the sound. My vision pulsed in and out of focus, but I knew that silhouette anywhere; broad shoulders covered in black, and the edge of that tattoo peeking past his collar.
Even from here, that energy of coiled power restrained by sheer will radiated off him.
"Do you not have eyes? Are you three blind or something?" His sharp tone cut through the stillness.
The men in black masks standing just before him flinched.
"We're terribly sorry, boss," one mumbled. "They were standing together when the lights went out after she announced her divorce—"
"Spare me your excuses." The last word growled out of him.
Pieces began to fall into place—the gala, the blinding lights, my trembling glass of champagne slipping from my fingers as I told the reporters and investors I wanted a divorce. The flash of cameras. My husband's icy glare. Then… everything went black.
My stomach sank.
God…
I shifted, realizing I was lying on an iron shelf, as the cold metal bit through the thin silk of my gown.
Every muscle protested as I pushed myself upright, and the dizziness threatened to pull me back under.
One of the masked men took a cautious step forward. "We're terribly sor—"
"Get out of my sight."
The room fell silent as their boots thudded away, leaving only the sound of my uneven breathing and the low hum of a single bulb overhead.
Adrian let out a long and tired exhale.
"A… Adrian?" My voice cracked.
He turned, just enough for the light to catch the sharp lines of his face and those unreadable steel-gray eyes.
"Angel." His voice didn't falter. Not even a flicker of surprise. "You're awake."
Always calm. Always unreadable.
I swallowed hard, feeling the drum beat of my heart against my ribs. "I… I was just about to leave when I saw someone behind me before everything went black." I rubbed at my temple and glanced around. "What am I even doing here, wherever this is?"
He didn't move. Didn't blink.
The silence stretched between us until the anger began coiling against my chest.
"I hate when you do that, so please say something. You promised you'd help me reaffirm my mamma's dying fashion house if I went through with the divorce, and you told me to disappear afterward. So why in the world did I wake up here… half-conscious in some… some warehouse?"
Still, nothing.
Finally, he took a slow breath, stepped aside, and dragged a wooden chair across the floor, roughly scraping the sound through the quiet.
He flipped the chair backward, facing the backrest towards me, and sank into it with that unnerving calm of his.
His forearms rested lazily over the top rail, flexing those muscles beneath his rolled sleeves as his gaze pinned me in place.
The chair legs groaned against the concrete when he leaned forward, closing the distance just enough for the already heavy air between us to shift somehow. My lips parted before I even realized it, and I hated that he still had that effect on me.
"Why do you think…" His voice came out low. "You were brought here?"
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh, folding my arms to mask the tremor in my chest. "Now that I think about it... I'm sure your men sedated me, dragged me out, and dumped me here against my will."
He didn't react.
"I don't have to answer your ridiculous question," I snapped, tilting my chin higher.
He stayed silent, and for a moment, all I could hear was the hum of the bulb and my own uneven breathing.
It always came back to him—his silence, his control, but more surprisingly, the way he made me feel seen when no one else even bothered to look.
My husband Lucien never saw me. Not really. To him, I was just the extension of a contract my father had signed; an elegant wife as a pawn in a corporate merger he could flaunt at press events.
When I finally realized that I was nothing but an accessory to his ambition, I decided to rebuild the one thing that mattered—my mother's fashion house, the legacy that was about to be buried under dust.
But that dream didn't fit within Lucien's perfect picture. So I turned to the only person who'd ever treated me like more than a name—Adrian.
And yet, here he was, sitting without batting an eye.
I clicked my tongue and pushed myself off the metal shelf. My knees felt weak, but I still forced myself upright.
His eyes followed me, tracking every step as I moved past him.
But before I could take a second pace, his hand shot out—fast, and his unyielding fingers firmly wrapped around my arm.
I froze.
The pressure in his grip sent a quick jolt through me, making my pulse stutter, forcing a sharp turn as I glared down at him. "Let go of me."
He didn't.
Adrian rose slowly, scraping the chair behind him with a harsh screech. He closed the space between us, and the faint heat of his body began brushing against mine.
"Look at the bright side, Angel," he murmured. "You wanted out of that marriage your tycoon father shoved you into…"
His hand slid from my arm, tracing down to my waist before resting there.
"…and I gave you a way out."
My breath hitched, and the air grew heavier.
He leaned closer, whispering against my skin. "That's not all. I helped you disappear after that little stunt of yours, announcing your divorce in front of the press. Chaos, cameras, scandal, all of the above… You should be thanking me."
I clenched my jaw as fury began cutting through the pull in my stomach. "Let go of me." This time, my voice broke under the heat of it.
He didn't move.
I shoved hard at his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath my palms. "I said—"
Before I could finish, he caught me again—faster this time.
His arm looped around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His hot and steady breath grazed the side of my face, and the scent of dark cologne lingered in the space between us.