Chapter 10 — When Wolves Meet
The elevator doors opened before either of them spoke.
Aria felt it before she saw him—like a shift in gravity, like the air bending.
Rafael stepped into the penthouse with the casual arrogance of someone who never had to knock a day in his life. He wore black—always black—like a shadow given form. His smile was the kind that didn't reach the eyes, the kind that knew too much.
Adrian stood beside Aria.
He didn't move forward.
He didn't posture.
He didn't need to.
Power recognizes itself.
And Rafael recognized Adrian.
"Beautiful view," Rafael said, eyes flicking over the living room. "But you always preferred height, didn't you, Artemis?"
Aria didn't flinch—but Adrian saw the faintest tightening in her jaw.
Rafael's gaze shifted to him now, slow, assessing.
"I wasn't sure the husband was real," Rafael said lightly. "But here you are."
Adrian's voice was quiet.
"And here you are. Uninvited."
Rafael smiled wider. "Oh, I'm always invited. Just not always welcomed."
Aria stepped forward—not between them, but beside Adrian.
Balanced.
Rafael noticed.
"Interesting," he murmured. "You stand with him."
"I don't belong to you," Aria said.
Rafael's smile faded—not anger, not sadness—something colder.
"You once did."
Adrian's gaze sharpened.
"Careful."
Rafael turned to him again. "Ah. There it is. The thorn."
He walked further into the penthouse and sat on the couch without asking, stretching his arm along the backrest like he owned the place.
"Relax," Rafael said. "If I wanted to take her, I wouldn't have knocked."
Aria's voice sharpened. "You don't take what isn't yours."
Rafael's expression turned slow, thoughtful.
Aria had seen that look before.
It meant danger.
Real danger.
He leaned forward.
"Aria… Tell your husband what your real name means."
Her breath stilled.
Adrian looked at her.
Rafael answered for her.
"Artemis. Goddess of the hunt. The moon. The one who never belongs to a man. The one who chooses her prey. The one who kills what hunts her."
His eyes held hers.
"I gave you that name."
Aria spoke before Adrian could.
"No. You tried to assign it to me. But I wasn't your goddess. I was your weapon."
Adrian's fingers curled—just slightly.
Rafael sat back, eyes gleaming.
"And you think he can live with that?" he asked her.
Aria didn't look away.
"He already is."
Rafael laughed—quiet, warm, terrifying.
"You don't know men, Aria. The moment he learns what you've done—the moment he sees the blood you walked through—he'll want to fix you. Shape you. Tame you."
Aria's voice was soft.
"Then you don't know him."
Rafael's gaze flicked to Adrian, sharp and evaluating.
"And what are you, Adrian Kane? Another king who thinks the world answers to him? Another man who thinks she's a prize?"
Adrian stepped forward then—only one step—but the room changed.
Completely.
His presence didn't grow.
It condensed.
Focused.
Like a blade being drawn.
"I don't want to tame her," Adrian said.
"I want the world to remember why they feared her."
The silence that followed was electric.
Aria's breath caught.
Rafael's eyes narrowed.
For the first time, he looked… unsettled.
Just slightly.
"You're not what I expected," Rafael murmured.
"No," Adrian agreed. "I'm worse."
Rafael laughed once, sharp.
Then stood.
"We'll see."
He turned to Aria.
His voice softened – too soft.
"You can run from me again. You can hide behind him. You can pretend that the monster I made in you is gone."
Aria's hands curled slowly at her sides.
"But when the past comes for you—and it will—remember this."
His eyes locked with hers.
"You were never the hunted, Aria. You were born the hunter."
He walked to the door.
Stopped.
And looked back.
"Oh. And Aria?"
She didn't answer.
Rafael's smile returned—gentle, dangerous, familiar.
"I miss the version of you that smiled while you lied."
The door closed.
Silence poured into the room.
Not peaceful.
Not empty.
Charged.
Adrian didn't speak.
Aria didn't move.
They just stood there—two storms sharing the same sky.
Finally, Adrian asked quietly:
"What did he make you do?"
Aria looked at him.
Her eyes weren't steel.
They were tired.
"Not what I did," she whispered.
"What I wanted to do."
And Adrian understood:
Her fear was never Rafael.
It was herself.