Chapter 10 - Adrian

I was sitting in the dimly lit study, the silence around me broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire. A glass of whiskey rested in my hand, the amber liquid swirling lazily as I tipped it back and forth. The burn of it down my throat did nothing to numb the thoughts racing in my mind.

The reminders of that night came unbidden, sharp and vivid, as if it had just happened yesterday. I leaned back in my chair, letting the memory take over, unable to stop myself.

I didn't even mean to be there that night. Nick had been starving, practically begging for food like a kid, and I let him drag me into some random restaurant. A place I didn't care about, one I'd never even noticed before. I remember walking in, indifferent, my thoughts elsewhere.

And then I saw her.

I didn't know who she was, didn't know anything about her. But God, she had this presence that demanded attention. She wasn't trying to stand out, wasn't trying to be noticed. But the way she moved, the way she held herself—it was magnetic.

I sipped my whiskey, the firelight reflecting in the glass as I let my mind replay the scene. She was wearing this simple white shirt, her hair tied back. Nothing extraordinary, but she didn't need it. Confidence clung to her like a second skin.

Then that idiot—the drunk guy at the far table—started causing a scene. Loud, obnoxious, harassing one of the waitresses. I had half a mind to get up and handle it myself. But before I could even move, she was already there.

I smirked to myself, remembering the way she handled him. Quick. Efficient. Brutal. She grabbed his wrist like it was nothing, twisted it until he yelped, and slammed his face into the table. The sound echoed through the room, silencing everyone.

And then she said it. That calm, deadly voice of hers, laced with an authority that could make anyone listen. "Don't you dare disrespect my staff in my presence."

I exhaled deeply, the memory still as vivid as ever. That moment... that was it for me. I didn't know her name, didn't know anything about her life. But none of that mattered. All I could think about was how effortlessly she commanded the room, how beautiful she looked in that firestorm of confidence and power.

I stared into my glass, swirling the whiskey again. Seven years. Seven years, and I'm still that same man, caught in her orbit, unable to look away. Even now, with all the chaos between us, with all the rage and tension, she still has that hold over me.

I downed the rest of the whiskey in one go, the burn not even registering. She's always been the storm I couldn't escape—and maybe, deep down, I never wanted to.

I set the empty glass down on the table, running a hand through my hair as the memories continued to pour in, unbidden and relentless. That night had been the beginning of my obsession—no, not obsession, something deeper, something primal.

After that moment, after watching her twist that bastard's wrist and slam his face into the table like he was nothing, I couldn't stop thinking about her. I didn't even know her name, but she was all I could see. I had to know more.

So I went back. Again and again.

Nick thought I was crazy. He didn't understand why I kept dragging him to that little restaurant when I had no interest in the food. But I didn't care. I just wanted to see her. To hear her voice. To watch her move with that same quiet confidence.

The first time I approached her, I thought I had it all figured out. Women didn't usually say no to me. I was Adrian Castellanos, after all. Power, wealth, looks—I had it all.

But her? She didn't care.

I remember walking up to her while she was at the counter, scribbling something in a notebook. I'd tried to play it cool, leaning casually against the counter, flashing her one of my best smiles.

"Do you have a moment?" I'd asked.

She didn't even look up. "If it's about the food, talk to the server."

I chuckled, unfazed. "It's not about the food. It's about you."

That got her attention. She glanced up, those piercing eyes locking onto mine. And in that moment, I swear, the rest of the world fell away.

"Not interested," she said flatly, then went back to her notebook.

I'd been stunned. No one had ever dismissed me like that before. But instead of turning me away, it only fueled the fire.

So I went back. Day after day. Week after week. Every chance I got.

I'd find excuses to talk to her, lingering at the counter, asking her about her day, about the restaurant, about anything I could think of. And every time, she would turn me down, her responses sharp and cutting.

"Do you always follow women around like a lost puppy?" she'd asked once, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Only when they're worth it," I'd replied, grinning.

She'd rolled her eyes, but I caught the faintest hint of a smirk before she turned away.

The more she pushed me away, the more determined I became. I didn't care how many times she said no. I could see it in her eyes—the spark, the fire, the curiosity she tried so hard to hide.

I followed her after her shifts sometimes, staying a respectable distance, watching as she walked home alone. It wasn't stalking—I just wanted to make sure she was safe. That's what I told myself, anyway.

And then one day, I finally asked her outright.

"Why do you keep saying no?" I'd asked, standing in the alley behind the restaurant as she locked up for the night.

She turned to me, her expression unreadable. "Because men like you don't fall in love. They conquer."

Her words had hit me like a punch to the gut. But she was wrong. I didn't want to conquer her. I wanted to worship her.

I just didn't know how to make her see it.

I leaned back in the leather chair in my study, the soft glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows on the walls. The memory drifted in uninvited, but I welcomed it nonetheless.

The day she smiled.

She didn't smile often—at least, not for me. She always wore that guarded expression, those walls built so high I couldn't even see the top. But there was one day, just one, when I saw it.

It was raining that evening. A storm had rolled in suddenly, drenching the streets in minutes. I'd been waiting outside the restaurant, umbrella in hand, watching as the last customers trickled out. Then she appeared, closing the door behind her, struggling to pull on her jacket while balancing a stack of books in her arms.

Without thinking, I stepped forward, holding the umbrella over her head.

"You're going to ruin those books," I said casually.

She startled, looking up at me with those piercing eyes of hers. For a second, I thought she was going to snap at me, tell me to mind my own business.

But then... she smiled.

It wasn't much—a small curve of her lips, barely noticeable. But it was real. Warm. Unfiltered.

"Thanks," she said, her voice softer than I'd ever heard it.

And just like that, she was gone, walking down the street, the rain pounding on the umbrella I'd left in her hands.

I didn't follow her that night. I just stood there, drenched and utterly wrecked by the sight of that smile.

I leaned against the sleek black car parked outside her apartment, the engine idling softly. It was late, nearly midnight, and the streets were quiet. I wasn't supposed to be there, but then again, I never really cared about rules.

She was carrying groceries, a heavy bag slung over her shoulder, her steps slow and tired. She didn't notice me until I stepped forward, taking the bag from her hands without asking.

"Adrian?" she said, startled. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I shrugged, pretending not to notice the way her voice softened when she said my name. "Thought you could use a hand."

"I don't need your help," she snapped, trying to grab the bag back.

I held it out of her reach, smirking. "Clearly."

She glared at me, but she didn't argue further. Instead, she stomped up the stairs to her apartment, muttering under her breath.

I followed, setting the bag on her kitchen counter. She didn't thank me, of course. She just crossed her arms and stared at me, as if trying to figure out what I was up to.

"Why do you keep doing this?" she finally asked.

"Doing what?"

"This. Showing up, helping me, acting like..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

I stepped closer, leaning against the counter, my gaze locked on hers. "Acting like what, Sera?"

She didn't answer. She just turned away, grabbing a carton of milk from the bag. But I saw the way her hands trembled, the way her cheeks flushed. And for the first time, I felt like I might actually be getting somewhere.

I poured another glass of whiskey, the memory sharp and vivid in my mind. It had been late, so late that I didn't expect her to answer when I knocked on her apartment door.

But she did.

She looked tired, her hair messy, her eyes red. I could tell she'd been crying, though she'd never admit it.

"What do you want, Adrian?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

I didn't answer. I just stood there, holding a paper bag filled with takeout from her favorite diner.

She stared at the bag, then at me. For a moment, I thought she was going to slam the door in my face. But instead, she stepped aside, letting me in.

We sat in silence, the only sound the rustling of paper as I unpacked the food. She didn't say thank you, but she didn't need to. The way she picked at the fries, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at her lips, was enough.

"I don't get you," she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"What's there to get?" I replied, keeping my tone light.

"You could have anyone. Any woman, any life you want. Why are you here?"

I leaned back in my chair, studying her. "Maybe I don't want anyone else. Maybe I just want you."

She didn't respond, but the way she looked at me—like I was someone she didn't quite understand but maybe didn't hate as much as she pretended—was enough to keep me coming back.

Her laugh. It was rare, so rare that I could count the number of times I'd heard it on one hand.

It had been an accident, really. I'd been teasing her about something—probably her cooking, or lack thereof—and she'd rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath.

"What was that?" I asked, leaning closer.

"Nothing," she said, her voice clipped.

"Come on, Sera. Don't hold back."

She glared at me, but there was a spark in her eyes, a challenge. "I said, maybe if you spent more time in the kitchen instead of brooding in dark corners, you'd actually be useful for once."

I blinked, caught off guard, and then I laughed. I couldn't help it.

And then, to my utter shock, she laughed too.

It was quiet at first, barely a chuckle. But then it grew, filling the room with a warmth I hadn't realized I'd been missing.

"Don't get used to it," she said, still smiling as she turned away.

But I already had.

I stood there, on that old wooden bridge, the late afternoon sun casting a golden hue over everything. She was facing away from me, her posture stiff, her arms crossed like she was shielding herself from the world—or maybe from me.

"Adrian, stop it," she said, her voice trembling despite the hard edge she tried to give it. "Stop following me around. Just... stop."

I could hear the pain in her voice, could feel the weight of her words settling like stones in my chest. But I wasn't stupid. I knew her too well, even then. She didn't mean it. She couldn't.

"I don't love you," she continued, and those four words sliced through me like a blade. But I didn't falter, because I saw it—the way her shoulders tensed, the way her fists clenched at her sides. She was lying.

She started walking away, her boots clicking softly against the planks of the bridge. I watched her go, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn't let her leave like this. Not this time.

"Seraphina!" I called after her, my voice loud and raw. "I love you, Seraphina!"

Heads turned. People around us stopped in their tracks, their curious gazes landing on me, on her.

She froze mid-step. For a moment, I thought she'd ignore me, keep walking like she always did. But then she spun around, her eyes wide and wild.

"What the hell are you doing?" she hissed, rushing back towards me.

Her hands flew to my mouth, silencing me. "Shut up, Adrian," she whispered harshly, glancing around at the gathering crowd. "Just shut up!"

Her palm was warm against my lips, trembling slightly. I didn't think; I just acted. I pressed a soft kiss to the center of her palm, watching as her eyes widened in shock.

She tried to pull her hand back, but I caught it, holding it firmly in mine. "No," I said softly, my voice steady now. "I won't shut up. Not when it's about you. Not when it's about this."

Her breathing quickened, and for the first time, she looked vulnerable—unsure. I stepped closer, my free hand sliding around her waist, pulling her against me.

"Seraphina," I murmured, my forehead nearly touching hers, "stop running. Please. You know this is real. You know I love you."

Her lips parted like she was going to protest, but no words came out. Instead, she closed her eyes, her head dropping slightly, and I felt it—the moment she let go of whatever wall she'd been holding up.

"Fine," she whispered, so softly I almost didn't hear it. "Fine, Adrian. You win."

It wasn't a grand confession, but it didn't need to be. The way she leaned into me, her hands clutching my shirt like I was the only thing keeping her standing, was enough.That was the day she stopped fighting me.

The day she became mine.