ADRIAN'S POV
Carrying her into my villa felt… dangerous.
Not because she was heavy—she wasn't.
But because every soft breath she released brushed against my neck, warm and unguarded, sending unfamiliar sparks through my body. I had carried weapons heavier than her, bodies colder than hers, yet none had made my pulse behave like this.
I laid her gently on the bed, careful—as if she were made of glass.
My intention was simple.
Leave the room.
Lock the door.
Regain control.
I should have walked away.
I wanted to walk away.
But my feet refused to move.
She looked impossibly small in my king-sized bed, swallowed by dark sheets, lashes resting against flushed cheeks. Too vulnerable. Too exposed. Too… human.
And for the first time in years, I hated the kind of man I was.
"Get a grip, Adrian," I muttered under my breath.
I turned to leave—then I saw it.
A faint reddish mark on her cheek.
My entire body went rigid.
My eyes darkened. My jaw clenched so tightly I felt pain shoot through it.
"Who touched you?" I whispered, my voice low and dangerous.
She didn't answer.
Of course she didn't. She was asleep—peaceful, unaware that she had just awakened something vicious inside me.
Cold rage curled in my chest, sharp and familiar. Rage was easy. Rage was safe. Rage is the best option for me to feel than to care.
I forced myself to look away before I did something reckless. I grabbed a fresh shirt from my wardrobe and carefully helped her out of her dress without looking—without allowing my eyes to linger on the curve of her body.
It took everything in me not to touched her.
I turned my back the moment I was done.
I needed space.
I needed distance.
I needed control.
Except she chose that moment to sit up.
Slowly. Groggily. Carelessly
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused, scanning the unfamiliar room before settling on me.
"Where am I?" she murmured.
"My villa," I replied calmly—too calmly.
She shifted slightly, the sheets falling away,revealing the creamy skin I've tried my best to ignore.
That's when she noticed something is wrong.
She was wearing my shirt.
Her cheeks turned pink instantly.
Good.
She looked… cute like that.
"Did we…?" she started,hesitant.
I smirked before I could stop myself.
"Sweetheart," I said lightly, "if I had touched you, you'd remember every second",I replied intensely.
Her blush deepened. She covered her face with her hands.
Adorable.
I stepped closer, intending to check the mark on her cheek—only for her to reach up suddenly and touch my jaw.
I froze.
Her fingers were warm.
Soft.
Electric.
"Your eyes…" she whispered, staring at me with drunken honesty.
"They're too beautiful."
Beautiful.
The word hit harder than any insult ever had.
People had called me dangerous.
Cold.
Heartless.
A monster.
No one had ever called me beautiful.
My breath hitched.
Control cracked.
Her hand slid down to my neck, her thumb brushing my skin absentmindedly.
I swallowed hard.
"You shouldn't do that," I warned, my voice rougher than I intended.
"Why?" she asked softly.
God help me.
I stepped closer instinctively, my presence caging her in.
"Because I'm not a good man," I murmured, leaning dangerously close.
"And if you tempt me again… I won't stop,I won't fight it."
She looked up at me, lips parted, eyes glazed with alcohol,desires,confusion. Her breath mixed with mine, sweet and warm.
For one terrifying second, I nearly closed the distance.
Nearly.
Then she asked the one question I wasn't prepared for.
"Why do you care so much, Mr. Watch Your Way?"
Because I do.
Because you shouldn't matter, but you do.
Because I don't know when it started.
Instead of answering, I lifted my hand and brushed my thumb gently over her cheek.
She gasped softly.
And the rage returned—sharp, protective, uncontrollable.
"Tell me who did this," I said, carefully restraining my anger.
She shook her head. "No one important again."
Wrong answer.
I cupped her chin—gentle, but firm.
"If someone hurt you," I said quietly, "I want to know."
Her eyes softened. She looked away, then back at me—hurt, confused, emotional.
"Why?" she asked. "Why does it matter to you?"
I had no answer that didn't scare me.
So I stepped back.
Distance.
Control.
But she swayed, losing her balance—and I caught her instantly.
My hands wrapped around her waist.
Her body pressed against mine.
Heat exploded through me.
She gasped.
I did too.
Her fingers curled into my shirt. Her forehead rested against my chest, right over my heart.
Then—just as I opened my mouth to warn her, to scold her, to kiss her—
She did the unthinkable
She closed the distance between us and kissed me softly.
The kind of kiss I never expected to love,never expected to be so gentle and sweet.
Then she went lump in my arms
She just fell asleep after cracking the lust I've tried to control.
Just like that.
Against my chest.
Her breathing even.
Her body soft.
Her heart beating dangerously close to mine.
I stood there, frozen.
Confused.
Ruined.
Slowly, carefully, I laid her back on the bed. As I pulled away, her hand slid across my chest, fingers lingering on my skin.
My breath caught.
In the quiet darkness of my room, I finally admitted the truth I wasn't ready to face.
"Sweetheart…" I whispered, voice low and defeated.
"You are going to be the death of me."