EIRA'S POV
I stood in the far corner of the ballroom, clutching a glass of ice-cold juice until its rim pressed painfully into my fingers.
The grand announcement was over.
The engagement was official.
And I felt as though I might be sick.
Crystal chandeliers bathed the ballroom in a dazzling golden glow. Couples glided across the polished floor, laughter mingled with the music, and champagne glasses chimed in cheerful celebration.
Everyone looked happy.
Everyone except me.
Because I knew the truth.
And Peter knew that I knew.
As though summoned by the thought, his gaze found mine across the room.
His arm rested possessively around Tessy's waist, his expression composed enough to fool anyone who didn't know what lurked beneath his polished façade.
Then his lips curved.
That infuriating smirk.
That calculated, mocking smile that spoke louder than words ever could.
Go ahead.
Tell her.
Nobody will believe you.
My stomach twisted.
I lowered my gaze before he could notice how deeply his silent taunt had unsettled me.
I hated him.
His lies. His arrogance. The effortless charm he wore like a perfectly tailored suit while concealing the ugliness beneath it.
But more than anything, I hated the possibility that exposing him might destroy the very person I was trying to protect.
Tessy.
My best friend.
The girl standing beside the man who had betrayed her without a second thought.
I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and forced myself to look elsewhere.
And promptly forgot how to breathe.
Adrian.
He stood on the opposite side of the ballroom, dressed in black, his imposing figure unmistakable even amid the crowd.
Motionless.
Silent.
Watching me.
His black eyes held mine with an intensity that made something flutter treacherously beneath my ribs.
He didn't smile or acknowledge anyone around him. He looked as though the entire engagement celebration bored him beyond endurance.
Yet his attention remained fixed on me.
Why?
After everything that had happened, why was he looking at me as though he could see every thought I was desperately trying to conceal?
A movement beside him caught my attention.
An extraordinarily beautiful woman stood at his side, her pale skin luminous beneath the chandeliers, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders in glossy waves. Beside her stood a strikingly handsome man whose presence commanded attention without the slightest effort.
There was something intimidating about them.
An effortless authority.
The kind that didn't need to announce itself because everyone in the room instinctively recognized it.
His parents.
I was almost certain of it.
Yet their appearance wasn't what unsettled me.
It was their attention.
Both were looking directly at me.
Not casually. Not with polite curiosity.
They studied me with unnerving concentration, as though I were an unfamiliar language they were determined to decipher.
My fingers tightened around the glass.
What is so interesting about me?
Have I done something wrong?
Do they know something I don't?
A strange shiver crept down my spine.
I quickly averted my eyes, hoping the movement hadn't been obvious.
Unfortunately, my evening seemed determined to offer me no mercy.
Someone touched my shoulder.
I turned.
Tessy.
Her face brightened the instant she saw me, her smile so warm and unguarded that the knot of anxiety in my chest loosened.
"Why are you hiding over here?" she asked, slipping her arm through mine. "You're supposed to be celebrating with me!"
I managed a smile.
"Maybe I'm still recovering from the shock of discovering that Peter actually owns a mirror. How else could he spend so much time admiring himself?"
She laughed.
"Eira!"
"What? I'm trying to be supportive."
She shook her head, still smiling, and squeezed my hand.
For a fleeting moment, I almost told her everything.
The recording. The other girl. The truth about the man she loved.
But the words remained trapped behind my teeth.
I couldn't bear to watch her happiness crumble.
Not yet.
So I smiled back and let her believe everything was fine.
For her, I could pretend.
Even if every second of it felt like another lie I was helping Peter tell.
Just for tonight, I wanted my best friend to remain happy.
Even if her happiness was built on a lie.
ADRIAN'S POV
I had no interest in the gathering.
No interest in Peter.
No interest in his family.
And certainly no interest in whatever elaborate announcement Mr. Dawn had arranged.
I had agreed to attend for reasons that had nothing to do with the festivities.
Then I heard Tessy's name.
And my indifference evaporated.
Tessy meant Eira.
My gaze swept across the ballroom, searching the crowd with growing impatience.
Nothing.
Where the hell was she?
Then I caught it.
Her scent.
Faint at first, then unmistakable.
Sweet. Familiar. Infuriatingly capable of cutting through every distraction around me.
My attention snapped toward a partially open door.
And the moment I saw what lay beyond it, something vicious tore through my restraint.
Eira.
Cornered against the wall.
Peter's hands on her.
Tears glistening in her eyes.
Fear tightening her expression.
For one suspended second, the world went silent.
Then I moved.
I crossed the distance before my anger had even fully registered. One moment Peter was touching her; the next, I had torn him away from her and placed myself between them.
My hand rose instinctively toward her cheek.
She flinched.
The movement was tiny. Barely perceptible.
It stopped me more effectively than any blow could have.
My gaze dropped to the marks on her face, then to her wrist.
I had already seen the bruises there before. They had been enough to put me in a foul mood for the rest of the day.
Now this bastard had frightened her again.
The same bastard she had lied to protect.
The same bastard she had somehow found a reason to defend.
My vision narrowed.
I seized Peter by the throat and slammed him against the wall.
His feet left the floor.
His hands flew to my wrist, clawing uselessly at my grip.
I barely felt them.
"How dare you touch her?"
My voice emerged low and vicious.
Peter's face drained of colour.
Good.
Let him understand what helplessness felt like.
My fingers tightened.
For one terrible moment, I considered snapping his neck.
It would take almost nothing.
One movement.
One decisive twist.
And this problem would cease to exist.
"Adrian!"
Eira's voice cut through the bloodlust clouding my judgment.
Her hands struck my chest.
"Stop! Adrian, please!"
I looked at her.
Her face was pale, her eyes wide with terror.
Not for herself.
For him.
Even now, she was trying to protect the bastard who had put that fear in her eyes.
Infuriating girl.
I released Peter.
He crumpled to the floor, coughing violently as he dragged air into his lungs.
I stared down at him with undisguised contempt.
"Stay away from her."
Three words.
More than he deserved.
Peter rubbed his throat, glaring at me with wounded pride beneath his lingering fear.
I leaned closer.
"Next time, I won't stop."
Then I turned to Eira and caught her hand.
I needed to get her out of that room.
More importantly, I needed distance.
From Peter. From her frightened eyes. From the inexplicable urge to pull her against me and make certain no one ever laid a hand on her again.
I had no intention of examining that last thought.
We had barely reached the ballroom when I saw them.
Mike.
Elisa.
Watching us.
More specifically, watching our joined hands.
Damn it.
I released Eira immediately.
Too abruptly.
Too obviously.
Mike's gaze shifted from my hand to her face.
"Who is she?"
His voice was quiet, but the question carried the unmistakable edge of a threat.
"No one."
The lie escaped before I could reconsider it.
Mike's expression remained unreadable.
"Interesting."
I met his gaze without blinking.
"What's interesting?"
"The way you look at someone who supposedly means nothing to you."
My jaw tightened.
"She's nothing to me."
The words tasted like ash.
Mike studied me for another moment, then gave a faint, humourless smirk.
"Good. She should remain that way."
Something dark stirred beneath my skin.
I didn't appreciate being told what to do, particularly when the subject was none of his concern.
Beside him, Elisa remained silent, her attention fixed on Eira with an intensity that made my instincts bristle.
"She's different," she murmured at last.
I turned toward her.
"She's human."
Elisa's gaze didn't waver.
"I didn't say she wasn't."
"Then what exactly are you implying?"
She tilted her head slightly, as though searching for words to describe something she couldn't quite understand herself.
"There's something unusual about her. Something I can't explain."
My expression remained impassive.
Because, despite every instinct urging me to dismiss her words, I had noticed it too.
There was something about Eira that refused to fit into any category I understood.
Something that drew my attention against my will.
Something that made my carefully controlled instincts behave as though restraint were an inconvenience rather than a necessity.
I hated unanswered questions.
I hated losing control.
And I hated that both seemed to begin and end with one infuriating girl.
"You're imagining things," I muttered.
Then I walked away before either of them could notice how little I believed my own words.
EIRA'S POV
The music resumed, and the ballroom gradually returned to its previous rhythm.
People laughed.
Couples danced.
The engagement celebration continued as though nothing had happened beyond its glittering walls.
I tried to convince myself that my world wasn't quietly collapsing.
Then Peter appeared in front of me.
My stomach dropped.
"Dance with me."
He held out his hand, wearing the charming smile that had apparently fooled everyone in the room.
I stared at it.
Every instinct screamed at me to refuse.
To walk away.
To tell everyone exactly what kind of man he was.
Then I looked at Tessy.
She was watching us with an encouraging smile, completely unaware of the truth lurking beneath Peter's polished façade.
For her.
Just for her.
I placed my hand in his.
The moment his palm settled against my waist, revulsion swept through me.
His touch felt wrong.
I tried to maintain an appropriate distance, but his fingers tightened around my waist, pulling me closer.
Pain shot through my side.
I sucked in a breath.
His smile widened.
"Relax," he murmured. "You're making this awkward."
I wanted to slap him.
Instead, I tried to move away.
His grip tightened again.
Then his expression changed.
The smugness vanished, replaced by a sharp flicker of pain.
I followed his gaze.
And my heart nearly stopped.
Adrian stood beside us.
One hand encircled Peter's wrist.
His grip was merciless.
The tendons in his forearm stood out beneath his sleeve, and his expression was so cold that, for one absurd moment, I thought the temperature in the ballroom had dropped.
Peter tried to pull free.
Adrian tightened his hold.
"Let go of her."
His voice was quiet.
Terrifyingly quiet.
Peter's face paled.
"You're hurting me."
"Good."
Adrian's eyes shifted to mine.
For a fraction of a second, the music, the crowd, and Peter's hand around my waist seemed to disappear.
There was only Adrian's gaze, dark and furious, fixed on me.
I shook my head.
Barely.
Please.
Not here. Not now.
His jaw flexed.
I watched the tension gather in his hand before his fingers finally loosened around Peter's wrist.
He released him.
Relief washed through me.
Then Adrian caught my hand.
His fingers closed around mine, warm and firm, and before I could form a coherent thought, he pulled me away from the dance floor.
"Adrian, wait—"
He didn't.
We passed through the crowd, leaving startled faces and whispered questions behind us.
His stride was long and determined. I had to hurry to keep up, my heels clicking frantically against the marble.
"Where are you taking me?"
Silence.
"Adrian!"
Nothing.
He didn't even glance at me.
By the time we reached the entrance, my heart was hammering against my ribs.
The cold night air swept over my skin as he led me outside.
Only then did he stop.
And turn toward me.
For a moment, he simply studied my face. His gaze lingered on my cheek before dropping to my waist, where Peter's fingers had left an uncomfortable ache.
His expression darkened.
"What did he do?"
I stared at him.
"Nothing."
His eyes snapped back to mine.
"Don't lie to me."
The command was so abrupt that I flinched.
He noticed.
For a fraction of a second, something shifted in his expression. Then he looked away, his jaw set.
"Get in the car, Eira."
I should have refused.
I should have demanded an explanation.
Instead, I followed him.
Because whatever frightened me about Adrian, some reckless part of me believed he wouldn't let Peter hurt me again.
And I had absolutely no idea what that belief might cost me.
The moment we reached his car, Adrian stopped so abruptly that I nearly collided with his back.
Before I could recover, he turned.
My shoulder blades met the cool metal of the car door.
A startled gasp escaped me.
He planted one hand against the door beside my head, then the other on my opposite side, effectively caging me between his arms.
He was too close.
Far too close.
The faint scent of his cologne surrounded me, dark and intoxicating. I became acutely aware of the breadth of his shoulders, the warmth radiating from him, and the narrow strip of air separating us.
I lifted my chin, determined not to let him see how badly his proximity had unsettled me.
"W-what are you doing?"
His gaze swept over my face.
For once, there was no trace of his usual mocking amusement.
Only fury, tightly leashed beneath a frighteningly composed expression.
"What does he want from you?"
The question caught me off guard.
I blinked.
"What?"
"Peter." His voice dropped. "What does he want from you?"
"That's none of your business."
His expression changed.
Barely.
But I saw it—the minute tightening of his jaw, the darkening of his eyes, the way his fingers curled against the metal beside my head.
"None of my business?"
He repeated the words slowly, as though testing how much restraint they required.
I swallowed.
"Exactly."
For several seconds, he said nothing.
He simply stared at me, his gaze moving from my eyes to my lips and back again so quickly that I almost convinced myself I had imagined it.
Almost.
Then he leaned closer.
Not enough to touch me.
Enough to make me acutely aware that he could.
My back pressed more firmly against the car.
"Will you ever answer a simple question?"
His voice was low, roughened by an anger that seemed to have nowhere to go.
I placed my palms against his chest.
"Move."
He glanced down at my hands.
Then back at me.
Neither of us moved.
Beneath my palms, his chest felt solid and unyielding. The faint movement beneath his shirt made me painfully conscious of the contact, and my thoughts scattered in a dozen thoroughly inconvenient directions.
I pushed again.
"Adrian."
Something flickered in his eyes at the sound of his name.
His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth.
Then he straightened abruptly, putting a fraction more distance between us.
"Get inside."
I stared at him, momentarily thrown by the sudden change.
"You're unbelievable."
"And you're irritating."
"You're the one who dragged me out here!"
"And you're the one refusing to answer me."
"Because you have no right to interrogate me!"
His eyes narrowed.
For one breathtaking moment, I thought he might step closer again.
Instead, he opened the passenger door with a sharp movement.
"Inside, Eira."
I folded my arms.
"No."
His eyebrows lifted.
It was a small movement, but the sheer disbelief on his face almost made me laugh.
Almost.
"Did you just refuse me?"
"Brilliant observation."
His mouth curved into a slow, infuriating smirk.
"There she is."
"Who?"
"The girl who mistakes being stubborn for being intelligent."
My jaw dropped.
"You arrogant—"
"Get in the car."
I glared at him.
He stared back.
Neither of us blinked.
Finally, I climbed into the passenger seat, muttering several unflattering things about him under my breath.
He shut the door.
The lock clicked.
I turned toward it immediately.
"Did you just lock the car?"
He walked around the front and slid into the driver's seat.
"Yes."
"Why?"
He started the engine.
"Because I don't intend to spend the evening chasing you around a parking lot."
"I wasn't going to run!"
He turned his head and gave me a look that suggested he considered that the most ridiculous thing I had said all night.
I glared at him.
He smirked.
I hated that smirk.
I hated the way it made me want to argue with him even when every sensible instinct told me to keep my mouth shut.
Most of all, I hated that I could still feel the memory of his nearness, as though my skin had stubbornly refused to forget it.
I turned toward the window.
This was ridiculous.
Adrian was rude, arrogant, insufferable, and apparently incapable of having a normal conversation.
There was no reason for my heart to be behaving as though I'd just run a marathon.
The silence stretched between us.
The engine purred softly.
Streetlights slid across the windshield, illuminating his features in fleeting bands of gold before surrendering them to shadow.
He rested one hand on the steering wheel. The other settled beside the gearshift.
For a moment, he seemed almost calm.
Then he turned toward me.
"Now."
I stiffened.
"Now what?"
"Answer me."
I crossed my arms more tightly.
"No."
His gaze held mine.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then he leaned back in his seat, and that infuriating smirk returned.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
As though he had anticipated my answer and found it amusing.
My stomach tightened.
"What?" I demanded.
"Nothing."
"Then stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're planning something!"
His smirk deepened.
"Perhaps I am."
A shiver raced down my spine.
I hated him.
"You're impossible."
"And you're remarkably talkative for someone who refuses to answer questions."
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
He looked entirely too pleased with himself.
"You're enjoying this," I accused.
"Immensely."
I stared at him in disbelief.
Then he turned toward me fully, and the amusement disappeared from his eyes.
"What happened in that room, Eira?"
My expression faltered.
For the first time that evening, he didn't sound angry simply for the sake of being angry.
He sounded as though the answer mattered.
I looked down at my hands.
"Nothing you need to worry about."
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
"That wasn't what I asked."
"Adrian—"
"Did he hurt you?"
Silence settled between us.
I couldn't answer.
Not because I didn't know the truth, but because admitting it aloud would make everything real in a way I wasn't ready to face.
His expression hardened.
"Look at me."
I didn't.
"Eira."
This time, his voice was quieter.
Somehow, that made it harder to ignore.
Slowly, reluctantly, I raised my eyes.
His gaze locked onto mine.
There was something unnerving about the way he watched me, as though he could see every lie I had ever told and had already decided which ones he intended to tear apart.
"Did he hurt you?"
My throat tightened.
I looked away.
That was answer enough.
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
For a moment, I thought he might turn the car around and go back to the mansion to finish what he had started.
Instead, he closed his eyes briefly and drew a slow breath.
When he opened them again, his expression was unreadable.
"Fine."
I blinked.
"Fine?"
He turned toward the windshield.
"You don't want to tell me what happened? Don't."
I stared at him, bewildered by the sudden surrender.
Then he glanced at me again.
"But don't expect me to stand there and watch him hurt you."
My heart gave an unexpected, painful twist.
"Why do you care?"
Adrian let out a cold laugh.
"Care about you? Don't flatter yourself, Eira. You're nothing but a foolish, irritating girl who can't even keep herself out of trouble. Don't mistake my irritation for concern. You're not that important."
My heart sank.
Yet I couldn't forget the fury in his eyes when Peter touched me.
How could he make me feel so insignificant with his words, yet act as though he couldn't bear to see me hurt?
The contradiction left me more confused than ever.
He turned toward me again.
That smirk returned, slow and infuriatingly confident.
"You know, Eira, you're terrible at hiding things."
I narrowed my eyes.
"And you're terrible at minding your own business."
"Perhaps."
He leaned slightly closer.
My breath caught before I could stop it.
His gaze remained fixed on mine.
"But you'll learn to answer me eventually."
I forced myself not to retreat against the seat.
"And what makes you so certain?"
His eyes darkened with amusement.
"Because I intend to keep asking."
I scoffed, determined to recover whatever remained of my dignity.
"You're not going to get anything out of me."
"We'll see."
He turned back toward the windshield, his smirk lingering.
I looked away, willing my heartbeat to settle.
It refused.
Oh, God.
I was trapped in a car with Adrian Blake—a man who could go from infuriating indifference to terrifying protectiveness without offering a single explanation.
A man who denied caring while behaving as though someone hurting me were a personal affront.
A man whose words made me want to scream, whose proximity left me struggling to think straight, and whose actions contradicted every cruel thing he said.
And now he was smirking again.
That evil, infuriating smirk.
I swallowed.
What was he going to ask me next?
And, more importantly—
What on earth was Adrian Blake going to do to me?