Leah's breath caught in her throat.
His words hung in the air like smoke — heavy, suffocating, real.
"I'm the man who decides whether you live or die."
Her pulse hammered in her ears. Every instinct screamed run, but her legs wouldn't move. Adrian's hand still gripped her wrist — not tightly, but firmly enough that she knew it wasn't a suggestion.
He studied her face with those sharp grey eyes, the kind that seemed to strip away every layer of defense she had. "You really don't know who I am, do you?"
She swallowed hard. "You're a psychopath."
The corner of his lips twitched. "Close."
He finally released her hand, and the air felt heavier without his touch. "I'm the man your city fears but still does business with. The name people whisper when they want power—or protection."
Leah backed away, shaking. "Why are you telling me this?"
He stood, towering over her. "Because I don't want you walking around thinking you can talk to me like I'm ordinary. I'm not."
"You think threatening me makes you special?" she snapped, fear melting into anger.
He smiled faintly, like she amused him. "No. It makes me honest."
Her heart was pounding, but for some reason, she couldn't look away. There was something terrifyingly magnetic about him — the quiet danger in his voice, the way control dripped from every word.
Adrian took a step closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face with a touch far gentler than she expected. "But I'll let you in on a secret," he murmured. "The only reason you're still standing here is because I find you… interesting."
Her breath hitched. "You're insane."
He chuckled — a low, dark sound. "Maybe. But I don't chase just anyone, Leah Donwit."
She wanted to slap him. Wanted to scream. But instead, she whispered, "What do you want from me?"
He leaned down until their faces were inches apart. "I haven't decided yet."
The room went silent except for her shaky breathing. Then, as quickly as he'd lost his temper, he straightened his jacket, his composure back like nothing had happened.
"Go home," he said softly. "Before I change my mind."
Leah hesitated, half expecting him to stop her when she turned to leave — but he didn't.
Only his voice followed her out the door.
"Next time, Leah, don't test how serious I am."
When she finally stepped into the cold night air, her hands trembled. Fear, adrenaline — and something else. Something she didn't want to name.
Because underneath all the danger, all the madness, was a truth she couldn't deny —
a part of her wanted to see him again.
Leah tried to convince herself it was over.
That night had been a mistake — an encounter she'd bury under exhaustion and denial.
But three days later, his shadow found her again.
She was in the small café near her apartment, serving lattes to people who barely looked up from their phones, when a man in a black suit walked in. Not Adrian — someone else. Too formal for a customer, too calm for a stranger.
He set a folded note on the counter. "From Mr. Volkov."
Her stomach flipped. She didn't move for a second, just stared at the paper like it might explode.
When she finally opened it, the handwriting was neat, deliberate.
> Tonight. 8 p.m. Don't make me come find you.
– A.V.
She crumpled it in her hand, whispering a curse under her breath. "You've got to be kidding me."
By evening, she found herself pacing her apartment, trying to decide between self-preservation and curiosity. Common sense screamed stay home. But her mind — her heart — wanted answers. Why her? What game was he playing?
At 7:50, she gave up pretending she wasn't going.
The black car was waiting right outside her building, tinted windows, engine idling.
The driver didn't speak, only nodded as she slid into the back seat.
Her pulse climbed with every streetlight they passed. When they stopped, she recognized the place — a sleek glass tower overlooking the city. The kind of place that whispered money, power, and danger.
Inside, Adrian was standing by a wall of windows, his back to her. City lights painted him in silver and shadow.
"You came," he said, not turning around.
Leah crossed her arms. "I'm starting to think I didn't have a choice."
He finally faced her — same sharp eyes, same unreadable calm. "You always have a choice. You just tend to make the reckless ones."
"What do you want from me?" she demanded.