(Adrian's POV continues)
Adrian parked crookedly in front of her house — he didn't remember turning the wheel, didn't remember the last red light, didn't even remember breathing. He only remembered one thing:
Get to her.
He jumped out of the car and raced to the door. Knocked once.
Then twice.
Then harder.
Hard enough that the sound echoed down the quiet street.
"Elena? Leena? It's me — open the door."
Nothing.
His heartbeat slammed against his ribs. He tried the handle, locked.
Pressed his forehead to the wood, cold.
He pulled his phone out and hit her name again.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Voicemail.
"Pick up, come on… please pick up," he muttered, already dialing again.
Still nothing.
A deep, suffocating dread seeped into his bones.
This wasn't her.
Even when she was mad at him, she never ignored him like this.
Never vanished.
Where the hell are you…?
He jogged back to the car, mind racing.
Where would she go?
Campus?
The coffee shop?
The little park she liked behind the library?
Isla's place?
He drove all of them.
Every corner of the neighbourhood.
Every place she might've walked just to think.
He kept calling. Ten times. Twelve. Fifteen.
With each unanswered call, the panic in his chest coiled tighter.
What if she fainted again?
What if she's hurt?
What if Nathan—
He slammed his hand against the steering wheel.
"Stop. Don't think like that. Not until you know."
But the thoughts didn't stop.
They multiplied.
Darkened.
Clawed at him.
After an hour of circling the same streets, he drove back to her house, parking across the road where he had a full view of the front door.
He stayed there.
Waiting.
Watching the empty driveway.
Watching the silent windows.
Dialing her again. And again.
"Pick up, Elena… please."
The sky darkened. A breeze lifted.
Two whole hours crawled by.
His jaw ached from clenching.
His chest felt hollow and burning at the same time.
His mind tore through every possible scenario, each one worse than the last.
Then—
Movement.
A slim figure turned the corner at the end of the street.
Soft steps.
Slow.
Head down.
Shoulders curled inward.
Elena.
Adrian's breath broke out of him like he'd been underwater.
He was out of the car before the door even shut behind him.
"Elena!" he called, voice raw.
Her head snapped up — startled, tired, confused.
She stopped in the middle of the pavement.
Adrian didn't slow as he reached her.
His emotions had boiled over hours ago. Now they were a storm.
He caught her shoulders — gently, but firmly.
"Elena—" His voice cracked. "Where the hell have you been?"
Before she could say anything, Adrian pulled her into him, not gently, not carefully, but like a man who needed to feel her to believe she still existed.
His arms wrapped around her so tight she staggered.
Her smell, her warmth, her small frame against his chest — it shattered something inside him.
She was here.
She was real.
She wasn't a nightmare.
She wasn't gone.
"God, Leena…" he exhaled shakily into her hair, his throat closing. "I thought— I thought something happened to you."
She didn't hug him back.
She just… stood there.
Weak.
Tired.
Something in her eyes duller than he had ever seen.
Something broken.
She finally spoke, voice barely a whisper.
"Why are you here?"
Adrian swallowed hard, pulling in a breath that hurt.
"Let's just go inside," he said softly, brushing her cheek with his thumb. "And then you can punch me as many times as you want, okay?"
She didn't react.
Didn't nod.
Didn't argue.
Just… existed.
He gently took her cold hand and walked her to the main door.
"Keys," he murmured, extending his palm.
She placed them in his hand without a word.
The quiet felt wrong.
Heavy.
Like something vital had been extinguished.
He opened the door, guiding her through the dim hallway, then upstairs.
Her steps were slow.
Silent.
Almost mechanical.
Every second of that silence tore another piece out of him.
When they reached her room, he didn't wait.
He pulled her into his chest again, arms circling her, anchoring her, begging her silently to come back to him.
"Leena…" His voice cracked into a whisper. "I'm so sorry, princess."
His hand slid to the back of her head, holding her gently but desperately.
"Please talk to me. I— I'm a complete moron for doing this to you. For throwing that file in your face. For cornering you. For scaring you. For everything."
She stared past his shoulder, expression blank.
"It was uncalled for. I know," he whispered, voice shaking. "I should've softened it. I should've protected you instead of breaking you. I should've found a better way, a thousand better ways."
She didn't speak.
Not a word.
Not a sound.
His chest tightened until it hurt to breathe.
He lifted her chin carefully with trembling fingers.
"Leena… can you hear me?" His voice was barely holding together. "Please say something. Before I— before I kill myself."
His eyes burned.
Tears slipped down his face.
He didn't even wipe them.
She finally looked at him.
Really looked.
Her eyes were red.
Dull.
So tired they made him feel physically sick.
"I don't want to talk now," she whispered.
The words sliced straight through him.
"No," he whispered back immediately, stepping closer, cupping her face with both hands. "Please, Leena. Talk to me. Say anything. Anything. I'm begging you."
She remained silent, until a tear trembled down her cheek.
He chinned her up again gently, almost frantically, brushing her tears with shaking thumbs.
"Leena," he breathed, voice breaking completely, "please… I want to hear everything."
Her lips parted—
A small, fragile breath escaped—
And fresh tears spilled across her cheeks.
Elena's lips trembled, but no words came out. Her eyes darted away, as if searching for a place inside herself where she could hide.
Adrian gently brushed his thumb under her eye again.
"Okay," he whispered, trying to steady his breath. "Let's start with something small. Something simple."
He swallowed hard.
"Where were you?"
Nothing.
He tried again, more fragile this time.
"I've been here for three hours, Leena. Three."
His voice cracked.
"I called you until my hands were shaking. I thought—"
He broke off, jaw clenching painfully.
"Leena, answer me honestly. Please."
She inhaled shakily.
"I… I was…"
Her voice faltered, thin as paper.
"I wanted to think about something. I just… kept walking."
Adrian closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself not to explode with fear.
"Where to? I checked all the streets. Every single one."
She winced, as if the truth itself hurt.
"Elena… princess…" He cupped her face again, forehead nearly touching hers. "Please. Let me in. Let me help you."
His voice deepened, edged with something dark and unfiltered.
"Because for the love of God, I swear I'll go on a killing spree if you don't tell me everything."
Her breath hitched.
He forced himself to soften, to not scare her further but his desperation leaked through anyway.
"I tried to control myself," he added, voice raw. "I'm trying. But Leena, I know you promised him to stay quiet about it."
She froze.
"I know," he whispered. "He made you promise, didn't he?"
A flinch.
A tiny one.
But he saw it.
His voice dropped to a low, steady command, not angry, but unshakably protective.
"Break it."
He lifted her chin gently but firmly.
"Break it right now."
Something in his tone, the absolute certainty, the refusal to let her drown alone, cracked whatever was left of her resistance.
Her tears spilled again.
"I was walking…" she whispered, barely audible.
"And walking… and walking…"
Her voice broke.
"Until I reached his penthouse."
Adrian went completely still.
Elena trembling under his hands, her breathing uneven as the words fell out of her like shards.
"I wanted to see…"
Her throat closed.
"To see if the name plate really existed there."
Adrian's heart dropped like a stone.
His fingers tightened slightly around her arms, not in anger, but in the sheer ache of hearing her say it.
"You walked all the way to his place?" he whispered, horrified.
"By yourself? In this state?"
She nodded weakly.
Adrian felt something inside him snap.
Not anger.
Not jealousy.
Not even heartbreak.
Fear.
Bone-deep, suffocating fear.
He leaned his forehead against hers, voice shaking so hard it barely sounded like him anymore.
"Leena… why would you go there? What were you trying to find?"
Her lips parted.
Her eyes flickered with a pain so deep it nearly brought him to his knees.
"I wanted to know…"
A trembling breath.
"If last night was real."
Her voice broke completely.
"If he was real. Or if I'm just losing my mind."
That bastard!
The moment the words left her mouth, Elena shuddered, a small tremor at first… then a full-body shake she couldn't control.
And then she broke.
Without warning, without breath, without thought, she threw herself into him, gripping his shirt like she was afraid he'd disappear if she let go.
Her forehead pressed into his chest.
Her fingers curled into the fabric.
Her entire body shook as the first sob tore out of her.
"Elena—" Adrian gasped, arms circling her instantly, holding her as tight as he dared. "Leena, princess—"
But she was already gone.
She cried like someone whose voice had been locked away for far too long — the sound jagged, desperate, heartbreaking.
Her knees buckled, and Adrian caught her, guiding them both slowly down to sit on the edge of the bed.
She buried her face into him as if she wanted to disappear inside his chest.
Her tears soaked through his shirt.
Her hands fisted tighter.
Her shoulders trembled violently.
It was the kind of crying that didn't come from the eyes…
It came from somewhere deeper.
Somewhere that hurt too much to name.
Adrian held her like he was trying to shield every shaking part of her from the world.
"It's okay, princess… I've got you… I've got you," he whispered, voice breaking. "Just let it out. Let everything out."
She choked on another sob, body jerking in his arms as if her own emotions were too big for her to handle.
He pressed his cheek against the top of her head, eyes squeezed shut, tears slipping down his own face.
"Shh… you're safe, Leena… I'm here now," he breathed, rubbing slow circles on her back even though his own hands were shaking.
Her sobs kept coming — raw, trembling, unfiltered.
It felt like she was unravelling —
like the tight knots inside her chest were finally snapping one by one,
like every suppressed fear, confusion, and pain were pouring out all at once.
And Adrian…
Adrian felt his own heart tearing apart with every sound she made.
Because this was the Elena I knew —
the one who always held everything in,
who smiled through storms,
who apologized for hurting even when she was the one bleeding.
Seeing her break like this,
completely, helplessly, uncontrollably,
crushed him.
He tightened his hold, pulling her closer, almost rocking her gently without realizing it.
"I'm here, Leena… I'm right here," he whispered into her hair. "I won't go anywhere. Not now, not ever."
He held her through every sob,
every tremor,
every breathless break.
Until her cries softened…
…not gone, not healed…
…but losing their sharpest edges.
A fragile, broken exhaustion settling into her bones.
Adrian cupped the back of her head, trembling as he pressed a soft kiss to her hair.
"Good girl," he whispered, voice shredded.
"You did so good. Letting it out… you did so good."
She didn't reply.
But her arms tightened around him like
a small, silent plea.
Don't let go.
I wouldn't.
I couldn't.
Not now.
Not while she was falling apart in my arms.
Not while she finally, finally let me see the pieces.
He kept his arms around her, waited until her breathing steadied enough that his words wouldn't crush her.
Only then did he speak, voice low, steady, threaded with guilt.
He told her how it started, seeing her with Nathan that day, noticing the way she looked at him, how fast she was falling. He knew she didn't have the experience to gauge what was normal and what was dangerous.
And he'd panicked. Not out of jealousy. Not out of judgement. Out of fear.
He explained how he asked around in the U.S., how the things he heard didn't sit right. How suspicion turned into worry, worry into instinct, instinct into action. He admitted hiring people. Ordering a deeper look. Getting that file. Mishandling everything that came after.
His voice cracked on the words "I should've known better."
Because he should have.
He should have softened it.
He should have protected her from the impact.
He should have remembered she trusted too easily, believed too sincerely, opened her heart too fast.
He should have known she wouldn't listen immediately, not when she believed Nathan cared about her.
He should have done everything differently.
And he didn't.
He felt her chest rise and fall in a shaky breath, her fingers curling weakly against his shirt.
She was listening — really listening — even if she wasn't ready to speak yet.
He exhaled deeply and asked the question he dreaded most.
"What happened after you left my office?" He asked her gently.
She stiffened the moment the words hit the air. A small shiver ran through her, so subtle anyone else would have missed it, but he felt it like a punch.
It was too personal.
Too painful.
Too close to the thing breaking her from the inside.
But he needed to know.
Not for curiosity.
Not for anger.
For her.
To understand how to help her.
To understand what I was dealing with.
He whispered for her to start talking.
And she did.
Slowly at first, hesitantly, her voice dragging through each memory like it hurt to push the words out.
She told him about the text.
The gift waiting at home.
The note that meant to soften her, confuse her, pull her back in.
Adrian felt his stomach twist as she described it and he thought, how perfectly timed it all was, how precisely Nathan hit her weakest moment. He cursed himself silently. If he hadn't cornered her, if he hadn't scared her in that office, if he hadn't thrust that file into her world — she wouldn't have been this raw. She wouldn't have been this easy to manipulate.
And Nathan…
That bastard had known exactly what he was doing.
She explained how she went to him, still shaken, still unraveling from everything Adrian had told her. Nathan had welcomed her gently, warmly, too warmly, making her confusion feel like intimacy, making her vulnerability feel like closeness.
That bastard played with her innocence!
Adrian listened in silent horror as she described the yacht, the old movies theme, how the atmosphere shifted — how she wasn't thinking clearly, how she tried to slow things down, how she told him she wasn't in the right mental state…
How she tried to stop him.
That was the moment Adrian felt something inside him snap.
But he didn't move.
He didn't interrupt.
He didn't speak.
He forced every muscle in his body to stay perfectly still. Because if he reacted now, even with a breath too sharp, she'd close up again. And he couldn't let that happen. Not when she was finally untying the knots inside her.
She continued, her voice breaking, telling him how she kept blaming herself, how she kept telling herself it was passion, heat, timing, anything but what it truly was.
She defended Nathan in the story even as her voice trembled through the details.
She clung to the idea that they both lost control.
That it was "normal."
That it was somehow her fault for hesitating, for freezing, for not knowing better.
Adrian felt sick.
She didn't know.
She didn't understand.
She didn't see what had actually happened to her.
Elena… he played with you!
Her innocence made her blind to the violence of the moment.
Her loyalty made her rewrite it into something softer.
Her confusion made her believe she had to accept it.
Then she told him what happened after…
How Nathan treated the whole thing like it was casual. Effortless. Meaningless. How he kissed her forehead, told her he had a flight, and left.
Just left.
Left her alone.
Hurting.
Shaken.
Changed.
Adrian's hands shook around her.
His mind was a storm of rage and dread and guilt so heavy he thought it might crush him.
Nathan had taken her first time!
Taken it at the exact moment she was mentally broken!
Taken it without care, without patience, without checking if she was even present!
And then he'd walked away like she meant nothing…
Everything in Adrian screamed to go find the bastard immediately.
To tear him apart.
To destroy him.
To make him feel the pain she was drowning in.
But Elena was still trembling in his arms.
Still fragile.
Still trying to make sense of her own emotions.
Still incapable of seeing the truth written in bold right in front of her.
He couldn't push her further.
He couldn't rip off that layer of denial, not yet.
Not when she was this close to breaking.
He didn't know what to say.
Didn't know what words could possibly soften the reality.
Didn't know how to comfort a girl who didn't realize she was hurting from something she shouldn't have had to endure.
He was walking on eggshells, every step dangerous.
One wrong sentence, one wrong truth, and she could crumble entirely.
Or blame herself even more.
Or shut down completely.
He didn't know what to do.
But he knew one thing with terrifying clarity:
I had to protect her.
Whether she understood it or not.
Whether she accepted it or not.
I had to do something.
But how?
How, when speaking the truth could destroy her?
How, when keeping quiet was tearing him apart?
He had no answer.
And the weight of it pressed against his chest until breathing hurt.
One thing was clear in his mind though…
He won't let him touch her again.
Period!
—-
Later that night, Adrian sat in the dark, Elena finally asleep in the next room.
His phone sat on the table in front of him.
He could call the police.
But what would he say?
She was assaulted but doesn't realize it?
She's defending her rapist?
They'd ask if she wanted to press charges.
She'd say no.
She'd say it was consensual.
She'd protect Nathan.
His hands shook.
There had to be another way.
He picked up his phone.
Called Nick.
"Get here. Now."