I never thought I could ever set foot in Adrian's penthouse, not in this lifetime, but here I am once again. Nothing has changed—it's as though time has been on a halt in spite of many unspeakable events we both had to bear just to forget that we were once happy and full of plans for tomorrow.

Our tomorrow.

Camilla basks me into a hug that lasts a whole long minute. She must've been a mess imagining someone hurting me in her supposedly safe home. I smile gratefully, for it is a beautiful feeling knowing I have a friend who truly cares about me and my well being.

"God, I'm so happy you're fine, Ara. You had my heart on a race, damn it," she whispers.

"Me too. But all is well now." I thaw in her arms, thanking heavens for another countless escape of harm forged my way.

Sometimes I feel like danger has been haunting my existence for much longer than I've known it. Like my own shadow in the dark, it's always lurking around me; I can never escape it regardless of where I go for as long as I live. 

"Where is Isla?" I ask Camilla as we pull apart, noticing she's been chugging some of Adrian’s expensive whisky straight from the bottle that is currently placed on the coffee table.

She's barefoot, dressed in a white palazzo with a half-tucked denim shirt. Her hair is messed up in a floppy bun, and I highly doubt it's a style of her choice.

"Asleep upstairs. She has no idea about tonight so… you're good." Relief dances in her eyes as she says this, and I can feel it too deep in my bones.

My little girl didn't sign up for this kind of life. I've failed her. 

"Thank you," I murmur.

For a moment I just stand still, not knowing what else to do. I see Adrian by the kitchen having a serious chat with Mario, who nods repeatedly, clinging at every word spoken by him. They seem to be discussing the incident, and if I know that man better, he must be diving to the very bottom of it.

"Have you eaten? You look beat, love," says Camilla, her tender eyes fixated on me.

I nod affirmatively and reply, "We stopped at the restaurant. I'm good."

There's too much in my mind. I've got plenty of questions, and most of them require Adrian to answer for some reason. He and I need to talk; I don’t think I can get a wink of sleep tonight without having clarity about certain doubts. I just know I won't.

A moment later, I head straight to the guest bedroom upstairs, locking eyes only momentarily with Adrian. He lets me move without a word, fully aware that I'm not a stranger around his home. I still remember every part of this house like the back of my hand, and each memory engraved is more alive than the wounds inflicted.

My heart pounds heavily at each step.

When I finally see Isla, my whole body relaxes. My little angel is fast asleep in a vast bed covered with neat linen sheets and soft pillows. The room is huge and ravishly made like the rest of the house. It has everything, including a flatscreen TV and a mini fridge stashed with water bottles, in case nothing has truly changed since my first visit here.

I kiss Isla on the top of her head, laying next to her afterward. She stirs but doesn't wake up, which is all I need at this time. I hug her tightly for a very long moment, emptying my mind, calming my soul. I can only hear her soft breath, my perturbed heartbeat, and suddenly, a knock on the door that’s followed by Camilla's footsteps marching in.

"You should rest," she announces while shutting the door gently behind her. "I'll take the couch or—”

"Don't be silly; you're sleeping on the bed," I object. I don't mind sleeping anywhere for I doubt I'll manage to. 

“Oh yeah? And what about you?” she protests.

"I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.” I can take the couch but I’m sure she won’t let me. Her knitted eyebrows shout so. “I mean, We can all fit in this bed, right? It's big enough," I say just to ease her.

She chuckles lightly. "Sure. It's a huge bed, although Adrian offered me another room just in case you want some privacy."

And that must be Reece's room. No, that will be too imposing on Adrian, unless it's Camilla who wants privacy.

"No, I'm good. Aren't we taking enough space already?" Laughing smoothly, I carefully prop Isla's head and place it back on the pillow. While taking off the bed, I add, "Just sleep here, I'm sure you had a long day parading around the amusement park with the little Miss Lincoln."

"You have no idea!" She drops her shoulders loose, sighing, as through the memory itself exhausts her even more.

"Well, that’s it then. As for me, I need a long, long, shower," I lament.

"Me too. I reek," Camilla enthuses.

We share a soft laugh before she goes first to claim that shower.

I sigh heavily. What a day!

—

It’s past midnight when I walk out quietly, leaving Camilla and Isla in the room, lost in their dreamlands. The hallway to Adrians room is wrapped with utter silence; I can almost hear my heart thumping through my ears. At his door, I knock two or three times—my nerves are too spiked to have a proper count—but he doens't respond.

Is he already asleep?

I highly doubt.

After a lungful of breath, I twist the knob and push the door in. It's unlocked, thankfully.  Adrian’s scent rushes into my nostrills like a fresh breeze in the sea, and to me, strangely, it smells like home. The mixture of his favourite collogne and dusty-free air in the room is so neat that I wonder if he sleeps here every night, and wether he does it alone or not.

Pushing my awful thoughts aside, I invite myself in.

"Adrian?" I call gently, taking a few steps further into the room.

His kingsize bed and hot memories of many intimacies we shared on the soft sheets covering it knock me off my wit.

Focus, Arabella! Focus!

“Adrian?” I call him again but still I get no answer.

I pucker my lips.

At this point I'm sure he's anywhere but here. I should probably leave, go back to sleep, but the masochist in me insists on being nowhere but here. So I stroll around, feeling his omnipresence, touching his stuff around—the soft mattress and pillows of his bed, the phone and keys on the nightstand—and slowly I saunter toward the sofa by the window, laying my hands on anything touchable that crosses my sight.

Nostalgia envelopes me when I hold his leather jacket—the same one he wore today—and draw the fabric toward my face to inhale his scent, feeling him as if he’s here.

I miss how it felt to be here with him. 

I fucking miss him.

"What are you doing here?" I suddenly hear this from behind me. 

I almost dismiss his jacket off my grip, startled.

Swiftly, I throw it back on the sofa and turn my body around fully to meet the distraction in the shape of a man.

Adrian Castle, half-dressed in a towel that’s wrapped loosely around his tight waistline, is standing in front of me. Another towel, a small one, is on his hand as though he was about to use it on his drizzling wet hair.

He’s shirtless.

I hate how that makes me feel.

"The door was open," is my immediate, pathetic reaction.

His eyebrows are drawn together in an indescrible form, throwing my already broken composure into a wreck as I recklessly rub my thumbs agaist my indexes.

"I'm sure it wasn't open," he retorts in a perfect baritone.

"Unlocked,” I shoot back instantly, walking back toward the entrance side of the bedroom. His eyes follow me as I move. "I mean, it was unlocked and you weren’t answering when I called and I urgently needed to talk to you so I led myself in." 

I’m a sputtering mess, but somehow it brings back the wee bit of confidence as I say this while ignoring, with difficulty, the distracting sight of his dripping wet hair and the V-shape connecting his obliques and abdominal muscles.

Controll the slut in you, Arabella Lincon!

You’re more decent than that.

Without a word, Adrian runs the hand towel through his hair, staring intensely at me. Afterwards, he marches toward me, his steps as humble as a hunting lion.

I fall back in my steps the closer he gets, and without being fully aware of it, I'm stuck against the wall right beside the doorframe to my left-hand side.

My breath hastens at the look of his ravenous eyes piercing through my soul. I cannot believe that he still makes me fall weak on the knees each time he gets closer to me and its exactly what I feel.

So I wait, panting softly, angrily... and hungrily.

As though he's the master of the moment, Adrian stops right in front of me—so close our bodies can touch—and slips his right hand behind my head, grabbing my neck swiftly and forces me to look up at him with menace.

My heartbeat accelerates as his upper body leans into mine, weighing on me.

"Don't you dare touch me, Adrian!" I seethe.

Taciturn, he looks at me side to side like a predator taunting its prey.

I can recognize the pattern of his dominant behaviour now better than before. And by ‘touch’ it means more than that simple action, for I’m far too gone by now. He's already touching me, this bastard. 

And I can't swear that I hate it.

"Adrian! I just came to talk!" I snap in a tremblig voice, unsure which emotion drives me on right now.

Is it anger, fear, or excitement?

Adrian, on the other hand, doesn't seem to care. Not at all. It’s as if my words have just fuelled him. He anchors himself firmly, pushing his knee between my thighs.

The coldness of his just-showered skin mingles with the warmth of my burning one and every nerve inside me combusts, spreading the heat all over me.

Goddamnit! I thought the effect he once had on me is an old song by now.

"Do you have any idea of what Im feeling right now, Arabella?" he finally asks, every part of him enraged judging by the sound of his deep, throaty voice. His eyes are burning, and I know he's furious about what happened today, among other things. While pulling my hair roughly to claim my full attention, he coldly adds, "Any clue of what I wanna do to you right now?" His gaze trails off toward my cleavage, courtesy of the silky sleeping robe with a plunged v-neckline that I’m wearing without a bra.

As I become aware of his desire, a warm breath escapes my nose. I swallow tightly, soaking my dry throat at a pulsating sensation seeping between my legs. Mixed feelings erupt inside of me the more he talks and grips me so possessive. I swear I could surrender my body and mind to him in a heartbeat.

But hell no.

"I don't fucking care, Adrian!" I tell him irritably, my breath mingling with his as our lips move so close that they nearly brush against each other. My stomach flexes rapidly, in and out, reflecting the speed of my heartbeat. "Why don’t you save your sadistic urges to one of your bimbos—Francesca for starters? I’m sure she’d be delighted to indulge you.”

He frowns and snaps, “Where did that come from?”

“Who cares? Does it even matter?” I snap back. “I'm only here to talk about what happened today, not to fuck you!"

It is true.

Even though my body has a mind of its own, what I just told him is the painful truth.

"Oh, really?" He smirks at me while drawing me even closer toward him by the waist. With his other hand fisting my hair steady, I dare not move my head. His eyes run a trail over mine, and slowly down to my lips as he continues, "Then why does your body say otherwise, Arabella?" His lips brushes over mine roughly, then gently, as if he's breathing me in, playing me.

I draw in a sharp breath, desire to have him growing stronger than the need to flee. He knows I want him and I know he wants me twice as much. Even if the slut in me wishes for him to tear my robe apart, kiss every inch of me, and fuck my brains out—and I'm sure he's capable of doing just that if I give him a tiny greenlight to go on with it—I still have a shred of dignity left after all of his rejections.

"I'm not giving you any consent to kiss or fuck me, you bastard! Let go of me, unless you are just a sadistic animal like your brother! Or even your step father for that matter!" I growl while staring him straight in his eyes. 

Shocked, he squints his eyes.

Other than the man who abused him as a child, Falcon is one of his demons too. That much I know and I used it anyway.

I feel his grip loosening slightly but his eyes remain firm on mine.

"Get your hands off me, Adrian! You don't have the right to touch me, you hear?! You lost that authority and I’m not here to play games with you either!" I keep yelling at him disdainfully.

His breath quickens painfully and his gaze pierces through me like a sharp bow. Being the dominant male he is, I can tell how difficult it is for him to give up his control right now for the sake of abiding by the rule of consent. He can do whatever he wants with me but I choose not to give him the leeway because that is a part of my revenge.

Hurting him hurts me too but I don’t care.

After a monument of time, both of us glaring at each other wordless, with our breaths so fickle, our bodies so hot, and with lustful desire so full of danger, Adrian takes a long sigh of resignation. A small relief wraps around me when he eases his grip on the roots of my neck-length auburn hair, and my waist, before he fully releases me from his captivity.

I breath out deeply, quietly, watching him.

"Whatever you wanna talk about, it can wait." He trudges toward his bed as he says this. "I'm tired,” he tells me gently without giving me so much as a glance.

I fix my crooked robe, composing myself as I debate on how to respond. He looks tired indeed, and I feel like I’ve triggered some old, traumatic feelings from one or two things I’ve said and done after everything we’ve gone through today. 

"Who was she?" I ask anyway, ignoring the fact that Adrian is squeezing the duvet to get himself in bed.

His eyes meet mine briefly before he lays down, placing his head on the pillow. He doesn't answer even when I bolt toward the bed to show him how serious I am about the details.

"I'm asking you," I repeat. "The woman who broke into Camilla's place—who is she? Do you know her? Because I feel like you do."

I'm desperate for answers. I want to know everything I think he’s hiding from me.

Adrian crosses his arms under his head and slants it toward me.

"I warned you to stay away from me, didn't I?" At last he regards me, even though it's the last thing I needed to hear. "I told you my world is not meant for you, Arabella. I tried to keep you safe where you belong but somehow you found a way to endanger not only yourself, but also the people you care about. All for what? Can you tell me?"

All for you, son of bitch!

His self-composure irks me. I hate how he slaps the truth to my face while looking so calm as though he already knew this moment would come since a decade ago.

I just stand on my feet, enraged, unable to utter a word in my defense. He's right. My desire for vengeance has led me here and I'm starting to pay the price.

I have no one else to blame.

"Well, it's too late, Adrian, so get over it! And don't you dare pin this on me because you started this!" I bark between gritted teeth. "If you so wanted to keep me safe as you claim endlessly, you wouldn’t have showed up into my life in the first place and stir things upsidedown so don't give me that fucking I-told-you-so speech!”

"I'm not," he answers coolly. "I take responsibility, fully, which is why you're stuck with me from this moment onward and there's nothing you are going to do about it!” His voice hardens.

"Excuse me?" I scoff. "I'm stuck with you? What does that even mean?"

"It means what it means," Adrian deadpans. He props himself up using his one arm and reaches for his bedside lamp switch. "Now get your ass in bed and sleep; it's way past midnight and we're begining your training tomorrow." 

At this point, I'm simply stupefied. I know he's angry but does he think he's addressing his little subordinate or something?

"Training tomorrow? How about my job in the office—don't I get a say on that?" I ask Adrian, even though this much was somehow expected.

“No, Arabella," he replies. He turns off the light, making the room half-lit to my side. "Your job can wait. Every other thing can wait and that is without any further discussion.”

“I’m not quitting my job,” I tell him.

“We’ll see about that,” he replies coolly.

I bite my lip, almost painfully.

I want to keep arguing till I have it my way, but a part of me knows I've already lost this round. With my insides fuming from anger, I leave his room without looking back.