Adrian's POV
The bass from Inferno still throbbed in my skull when I left.
Another night wasted. Another night drowning in whiskey and women who clung like shadows, none of them able to fill the hollow gnawing at my chest.
I should have felt powerful. Every man in that club bent beneath my name. Every woman bared her throat at a glance. They all knew me Adrian Moretti, heir to the empire that ruled this city from the shadows. Fear kept me king. Desire kept me fed. And yet none of it touched me anymore.
The girls had laughed too loudly, their perfume clawing at my lungs, their painted lips begging for something I didn't have in me to give. I pushed them off, one by one, disgusted by the stench of desperation.
When I finally stepped outside, the cold air slapped against my face like ice water. My driver was waiting, head bowed, door open before I even reached him. I slid into the car without a word.
The ride home was a blur of neon and silence. Buildings streaked past, the city alive with noise I couldn't hear. By the time the iron gates of the mansion closed behind us, dawn was bleeding pale light across the sky. My shirt hung loose, the collar tugged open, and whiskey still burned in my veins.
I hated coming home like this restless, irritable, every nerve sparking for a fight.
I shoved the doors open and strode into the marble hall. Instantly, the staff scattered. Their whispers broke like glass against the walls, their heads dropping low. Good. Let them fear me. Fear lasted longer than loyalty.
I was halfway across the hall when it happened.
A body collided with mine. Small. Soft. Sudden.
She gasped, stumbling. Instinct took over before thought I caught her, one arm firm around her waist, steadying her.
And then I saw her.
Christ.
Chestnut hair framed her face in messy strands, lips parted in shock. Her dress was plain, cheap, almost insulting in this palace—but somehow she glowed brighter than any jeweled woman I had ever taken to my bed.
And her eyes sweet, wide, unguarded. Eyes that had no place in this house. Innocence didn't survive in my world.
For the first time in years, my breath caught.
She looked terrified, like she expected me to strike her. My grip only tightened. I couldn't seem to let go.
"You…" The word broke from my throat, rougher than I meant. "Where did you come from?"
Behind her, one of the maids rushed forward, bowing low until her forehead nearly touched the marble. "Young Master, forgive her. She's new. She came today to… to work off her father's debt."
A debt.
Of course. That explained the bare feet, the trembling hands, the way she looked like she didn't belong here. Because she didn't. She was never meant to set foot in this world.
But something inside me snapped the moment I realized it.
She belonged to me.
The thought was madness. Irrational. I didn't even know her name. But staring into those honey-brown eyes, I knew I couldn't ignore it.
I've been surrounded by women my entire life. Models. Dancers. Heiresses. They threw themselves at me, and I used them, discarded them, forgot them. Not one of them had ever made my pulse thunder the way this little maid just did by simply existing.
The maid cleared her throat nervously. "Young Master, shall I… take her to the servants' quarters?"
Reluctantly, I let go. She swayed back, clutching her dress as if it could shield her, her gaze darting to the floor. Innocent. Shy. Untouched.
"Yes," I muttered, my jaw tightening. "Take her."
But my eyes stayed on her until she vanished down the corridor.
Even after she was gone, I stood frozen in the hall, my chest tight, my fists clenched, my blood roaring in my ears.
What the hell just happened to me?
I never lose control. I never want. And yet holding her, every instinct I had screamed one word: Mine.
That night, I lay awake in my room, the city lights spilling shadows across the ceiling. I couldn't close my eyes without seeing her face. Those trembling lips. That frightened gasp. The way she looked at me not with calculation, not with desire, but like she had no idea what kind of monster held her.
For years I told myself love was weakness. Attachment, liability. Women were toys beautiful, breakable, forgettable.
But now…
For the first time in my life, I wanted to keep.
I didn't even know her name. I didn't know where she came from. But I swore on my life....
She would be mine.
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Adrian had been with women all evening painted, desperate creatures who would have killed for his attention. Not one of them stirred him the way a slip of a maid had in a single accidental collision.
Adrian's jaw locked as he poured himself a drink he didn't touch. The ice clinked against the glass, sharp and impatient, but his pulse was louder. He sat, restless, his blood still hot with the memory of her eyes.
The servants whispered her name somewhere down the hall.
Emma.
The word curled across his tongue like a forbidden secret. Sweet. Pure. Untouched.
He hated the way it tightened his chest. He wasn't supposed to crave innocence. Purity shattered under men like him. His world was too dark, too cruel. Women who cared for him ended up ruined, broken, erased. That was why he never kept them. Why he never let anyone close.
And yet… from the moment she looked up at him, helpless and afraid, something in him shifted.
Adrian leaned back, dragging a hand over his face, frustration carving into every line of him. He was supposed to rule this house. This city. Not lose focus over a girl who didn't belong here.
But it was already too late. He knew it.
He had never chased a woman. He didn't need to. They chased him.
But for the first time in his life, Adrian Moretti felt the dangerous urge to pursue.
And the thought didn't frighten him.
It thrilled him.