The drive was silent.
Not cold…
Not angry…
But the kind of silence that hums underneath the skin—charged, waiting, watching.
Adrian's hand rested on the steering wheel, veins standing out, jaw tight, eyes fixed straight ahead like every thought he wasn't saying was building pressure inside him.
I sat stiffly, the bracelet light on my wrist, yet heavy with meaning.
His meaning.
I didn't realize I was staring until he spoke.
"You keep looking at it."
My pulse jumped. "It's… a lot."
"A bracelet?"
"You know that's not what I mean."
His jaw twitched, just once.
"Good."
He didn't explain what "good" meant.
He didn't have to.
Possessive.
Protective.
Unapologetic.
We drove for twenty minutes before the city fell away, replaced by long stretches of quiet road and tall trees that swallowed the sky.
"Where are we going?" I asked softly.
"You'll see."
That was all he said.
The car finally slowed in front of a tall, gate-less entrance that led to a glass building tucked deep inside the trees.
No signs.
No guards.
No indication of what it was.
Which, somehow, made it feel even more guarded.
He stepped out first and walked around to open my door.
I hesitated.
He looked down at me with a calm that didn't match the tension coiled beneath his skin.
"Zara," he said, voice low and certain. "Come."
My body moved before my mind did.
Inside the building, the air felt different—colder, precise, controlled.
The halls were silent, pristine, and modern in a way that whispered money and secrecy.
"What is this place?" I asked.
Adrian didn't answer until we reached a private room—minimalistic, with a wide window overlooking the quiet woods outside.
He closed the door behind us and turned to face me.
"This," he said, "is my private clinic."
I blinked. "Clinic?"
"Not a public one."
His eyes held mine.
"A place I bring people I need to take care of. Personally."
A strange shiver ran down my spine.
"And you brought me here because…?"
He stepped closer.
Not threateningly.
Not aggressively.
Just… deliberately.
"You broke a rule," he said calmly. "And I protect what's under my roof."
"That's not a consequence," I whispered.
"It is for me."
He reached for a small device from the counter—sleek, metallic, no bigger than a pen.
My heart spiked. "What is that?"
He lifted it, showing me without touching me.
"A locator calibration tool."
I tensed. "Adrian—"
"Don't overthink it," he said, voice softening a fraction.
"I'm not chaining you. I'm not monitoring you like a prisoner."
His eyes darkened.
"But if you disappear for two minutes, I want to know you're breathing."
"You act like something will happen to me just by opening the balcony door," I argued.
His jaw locked.
"That's exactly when things happen."
He moved closer.
Close enough that I could smell the faint scent of cedar and something darker.
"You think I'm being possessive," he said.
"I am."
"But I'm also being realistic."
His gaze swept my face slowly.
"You don't see what I see, Zara."
"What do you see?"
"That you have no idea how easily someone like you could get hurt."
The quiet way he said it…
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't manipulative.
It was honest.
Painfully honest.
He lifted the device again.
"Give me your wrist."
I hesitated only a moment before extending my arm.
His fingers brushed the inside of my wrist—light, warm, grounding.
Not possessive this time.
Protective.
The device beeped softly as he adjusted the bracelet.
"You're shaking," he murmured.
"I'm nervous."
"Of me?"
"Of… all of this."
His grip tightened slightly—not controlling, just steadying.
"You're safe with me," he said quietly.
"You're safest with me."
The honesty in his voice made my chest twist.
He wasn't threatening me.
He was promising something.
"I don't want to lose you," he said.
My breath caught.
Then—
His fingers slid from my wrist, slow and reluctant.
"All done."
"That's it?" I asked.
"No," he said softly.
He lifted my chin with two fingers.
"The consequence is that from now on, I will know where you are—not to control you, but to keep you alive."
My stomach flipped.
"And the second part," he added, voice dropping even lower, "is that you're going to listen to me when I tell you something is dangerous."
"And what if I don't?"
His eyes sharpened—dark, intense, possessive.
"Then I'll have to make you understand in a different way."
My breath stumbled. "Adrian…"
"Not punishment," he murmured. "Correction."
My pulse hammered.
"Why do you even care this much?" I whispered. "We barely know each other."
He stepped closer—barely an inch between us.
"That's the problem," he said quietly.
"I already care more than I should."
His forehead lowered until it nearly touched mine.
"And for the first time in years, that terrifies me."
The air between us tightened.
Slow.
Hot.
Electric.
But he didn't touch me further.
Didn't cross
the line.
He stayed exactly where he was—
Close enough to feel his breath.
Disciplined enough not to go further.
"Let's go home," he whispered.
And for the first time…
Home didn't sound like his house.
It sounded like him.