Chapter 9 — The Monster You Made
Rafael didn't vanish after that day.
He lingered.
In the atmosphere.
In the way people spoke Aria's name.
In the shadows behind conversations that stopped when she walked by.
But no one saw him.
Not yet.
Only the effects.
And that was worse.
Aria moved through the office with a composure carved from iron. Her expression remained calm; her steps stayed measured, but inside—her pulse beat with a quiet, restless awareness.
The kind felt by someone who has survived predators before.
Meanwhile, Adrian was cold.
Not to her.
To the world.
Meetings were shorter. Negotiations were less forgiving. He spoke with the efficiency of a man who had no patience left for anything that didn't matter.
His restraint was terrifying.
And it was all because of one question echoing in his mind: What kind of man must Rafael be if Aria fears him more than she fears me?
He watched her now—not possessively, but perceptively.
He saw everything she tried not to show.
Which made her feel… exposed.
Not weak.
Seen.
---
It began at noon.
Aria's phone buzzed with an unknown message.
No name.
No number saved.
Just five words.
Still wearing my ring, Artemis?
Her blood froze.
Not from fear.
From memory.
That name.
Artemis.
She hadn't heard it in years.
Adrian, across the table, noticed the way her fingers curled.
He didn't speak.
He didn't demand.
He simply waited.
Aria closed her eyes once, exhaled, then turned the phone screen face-down.
"Work," she said. "We're behind on the Shanghai merger."
Adrian didn't let her distraction succeed.
"Don't lie to me," he said quietly.
Her breath stilled.
Not because of the words.
Because of the tone.
It wasn't anger.
It was intimacy.
She turned her head, meeting his gaze.
"Rafael won't move openly yet," she said. "He prefers anticipation. Pressure. He'll watch first—look for what I care about."
Why those words came so easily, she didn't know.
Maybe because she had already accepted something: There was no hiding from Adrian anymore.
Adrian held her gaze.
"And what do you care about?" he asked.
Aria didn't respond.
She didn't need to.
The silence answered for her.
Adrian's jaw tightened.
A decision made itself in him.
"Come with me," he said.
Not a request.
Aria nodded.
Not submission.
Understanding.
---
The penthouse was quiet again that night, but different than before.
This silence didn't feel like a held breath.
It felt like a blade being drawn.
Aria stood near the window, watching the city lights burn through the dark. Adrian poured a drink—bare hands, no hesitation.
He didn't offer her one.
He knew she didn't drink unless she needed to forget something.
He handed the glass to her anyway.
She took it.
The rim touched her lips, and for a moment the burn grounded her.
Adrian spoke first.
"Tell me what he made you into."
Aria's hand tightened around the glass.
She didn't move.
Didn't turn.
Her voice was soft, almost conversational.
"There are two types of people who survive the kind of life I came from," she said.
"The ones who break. And the ones who learn how to break others first."
Adrian didn't interrupt.
"I wasn't the strongest. I wasn't the fastest. I didn't have the physical power Rafael had. So he taught me something else."
She drew a slow breath.
"How to read people. How to see their weaknesses. How to get inside their minds and live there. How to become the thing they trust most… and fear most."
The city lights flickered across her face—gold on steel.
"I became his protégé. His shadow. His knife."
Her voice lowered.
"Not because I wanted to. But because it was survive, or disappear."
Adrian stepped closer.
"Aria."
She didn't turn.
"You think I'm afraid of him," she said. "But what I fear is who I became to escape him."
Now she turned.
Her eyes were not cold.
They were haunted.
"And I don't want to become her again."
Adrian didn't touch her.
But he stepped so close she could feel the warmth of his breath.
"You won't," he said.
She laughed—quiet, sharp.
"You don't get it, Adrian. That part of me isn't dead. She's sleeping. And Rafael is the one person who can wake her."
Adrian's hand lifted—slow, deliberate—and rested beneath her chin just as he had before.
But this time, her breath caught.
Because she wanted it.
His voice was low, deep, unflinching.
"Then let him come."
Her pulse broke its rhythm.
Adrian's eyes burned with something that wasn't rage.
Possession.
Not of her body.
Of the right to stand with her.
"He wants you back?" Adrian murmured.
"He'll have to take you from me."
Her breath trembled. "Adrian—"
"No."
He leaned in—not touching—just letting the closeness consume the air between them.
"If the version of you he created was a weapon…"
His lips were so close she could feel the shape of the words.
"Then I'll stand beside her. Not against her."
The room held its breath.
Something in Aria cracked.
Not breaking.
Opening.
Aria closed her eyes.
She didn't kiss him.
He didn't kiss her.
But their foreheads touched—barely—like an oath whispered without words.
A soft sound broke the silence.
A notification.
Adrian's phone.
He did not move away when he picked it up.
The message was short.
From: Unknown
Nice penthouse. Should I come up?
Aria's heart stopped.
Adrian smiled.
Cold.
Deadly.
"Yes," he murmured. "Let him come."