The penthouse was quiet again, but Adrian felt the silence differently now. It wasn't peace—it was waiting. The kind of silence that pressed against the walls, heavy with unseen breath.
Elara sat near the window, her figure framed by the city lights. She looked almost fragile, but Adrian had learned enough to know fragility was an illusion. She carried something older, heavier, and it had followed her into his empire.
Adrian poured himself another drink, though his hand lingered on the glass longer than usual. "You said they want payment," he began, voice low. "You said they don't fight fair. But what you haven't told me is why me. Why now."
Elara's gaze lifted, steady and unflinching. "Because you signed."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "I sign contracts every day. That doesn't mean I invite curses into my home."
Her lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. "This one was different. The moment your name touched the paper, the curse claimed you. It wasn't me who brought it. It was you who accepted it."
Adrian's breath caught. He turned sharply, pacing across the room. His reflection followed him in the glass, but behind Elara's reflection, the faceless figures pressed closer, their mouths open in silent hunger.
"You're telling me I walked into this willingly?" His voice was sharp, dangerous.
Elara's eyes glistened, sorrow flickering beneath calm. "You didn't know. But ignorance doesn't change the binding. The curse chose you, Adrian. It always chooses the groom."
Adrian's fury surged. He had built his empire on control, on certainty, on bending the world to his will. Yet here, in his own fortress, he was bound by something he hadn't even seen coming.
He turned, his voice cold. "Then tell me how to break it."
Elara lowered her gaze. "You can't break it. You can only endure it. Or surrender."
The words struck him harder than any blow. Adrian's fists clenched, his breath ragged. He had faced rivals, betrayals, wars of numbers and power. But this—this was a war he couldn't fight with contracts or wealth.
The whispers rose again, threading through the silence. This time, they spoke clearly, their voices overlapping, echoing: Adrian Veyne. Adrian Veyne.
Adrian spun, scanning the room. The shadows pressed against the glass walls, faceless figures clawing to break through. His empire glittered beyond, but it felt fragile, as though the city itself trembled under their hunger.
Elara's voice was soft, almost tender. "You're theirs now. And they don't let go."
The glass wall cracked again, a jagged line splitting the skyline's reflection. Adrian staggered back, his breath ragged.
And for the first time in his life, Adrian Veyne realized the contract he signed was not his victory—it was his curse.
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