The mansion felt different tonight.
Colder.
Quieter.
More dangerous. As if there was no one beside her, the guards were standing at their on position as if they were a pillar of the wall with no movement.
Ava paced the living room, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. It had been hours since Adrian left. The clock above the fireplace ticked loudly, each second feeding her anxiety.
The guards still stood at their posts, but they looked restless — exchanging glances, touching their earpieces, checking weapons.
Something was wrong.
She could feel it in her bones.
Finally, she walked toward one of them. "Where is he?"
The guard stiffened. "Mrs. Knight… the boss ordered us not to—"
"Tell me," she said, surprising even herself. "Is he safe?"
A long pause.
"We don't know."
Those three words made her knees go weak. She clutched the couch for support.
Why do I care this much?
She shouldn't.
He forced her into this marriage.
He scared her. Controlled her. Owned her.
But the idea of Adrian… hurt… dying…
It terrified her in a way she didn't understand.
It was nearly 2 a.m. when the front doors blew open.
Ava jumped. The guards rushed forward.
And there he was.
Adrian Knight, supported by two of his men, blood staining the side of his shirt. His expression was cold, but the slight limp in his steps betrayed the truth.
Ava's breath caught.
"Adrian!"
She didn't even realize she'd run to him until she was right in front of him. His eyes lifted to her — tired, dark, and unreadable.
"Ava," he said quietly, almost exhaling her name.
"You're hurt," she whispered, staring at the blood soaking through his shirt.
"It's nothing," he said, brushing past her.
But she stepped in front of him, blocking his path for the first time ever.
"It's not nothing!" Her voice cracked. "You're bleeding, Adrian!"
His men froze. No one ever spoke to the boss like that.
Adrian blinked, surprised… maybe even shaken.
"Move," he ordered softly.
"No."
Ava's chin lifted.
"I'm not letting you walk away like this. Sit down. Let me help you."
For a moment, his eyes narrowed — not in anger, but confusion, as if he wasn't used to someone caring. As if the concept itself was foreign.
"Boss," one of his men interrupted, "the bullet grazed—"
"That's enough," Adrian snapped.
But Ava was already pulling him toward the couch.
And shockingly…
He let her.
She unbuttoned the top of his shirt with trembling fingers. His skin was warm, his muscles tense. The wound was on his side — a deep graze from a bullet, bleeding but not life-threatening.
Still, it scared her.
"Sit still," Ava whispered.
Adrian watched her silently, eyes following every movement. She grabbed the first-aid kit, soaking cotton with antiseptic.
"This might sting," she warned softly.
"It's fine," he said. But the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed the pain.
Ava moved closer, gently cleaning the wound. Her fingers brushed his skin, and she felt him tense — not from pain, but something else.
Something she didn't want to name.
He studied her face closely.
"You're shaking."
"You came home covered in blood," she whispered. "What did you expect?"
He didn't answer.
She finished bandaging him carefully. "There," she said, stepping back. "It's done."
Adrian didn't move. He just kept staring at her, as if trying to understand something he'd never seen before.
Finally, he said,
"No one has ever touched me like that."
Her breath hitched. "You mean… gently?"
His eyes softened — the smallest crack in his icy armor.
"Yes."
For a moment, the world stilled.
No guards.
No guns.
No shadows.
Just Ava and Adrian…
and a silence filled with something new, something terrifyingly tender.
Ava stood to leave, but Adrian grabbed her wrist — gently, carefully, as if afraid she might break.
"Stay," he said.
She froze. "Why?"
His voice dropped, low and honest in a way she had never heard from him before.
"Because for the first time in years… someone worried about me."
Ava's heart thudded painfully. She should have pulled away, but she didn't.
She sat beside him.
And Adrian… the ruthless king of the city… leaned back, exhausted, letting himself exist in the presence of the one person who saw the man behind the monster.
For the first time, Ava didn't feel like his prisoner.
And Adrian didn't look like her captor.
He looked like a man — broken, lonely, and dangerous — who didn't know how to accept the warmth suddenly placed in his hands.