The night air was heavy, thick with the scent of rain as Ayla sat on the leather seat of Adrian's car, the city lights streaking past like comets. Her fingers curled around the flash drive hidden deep in her purse, every bump in the road making her chest tighten. The weight of it felt unnatural, like a silent ticking bomb waiting to detonate.
Adrian, seated beside her, was silent. One hand rested casually on the steering wheel while the other traced lazy circles on the rim, his sharp profile illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard lights. His stillness made her uneasy; he had that predatory calm, the kind that came before a storm.
She caught herself glancing at him, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the slight stubble shadowing his chin, the faint crease between his brows as though he were wrestling with thoughts he'd never voice aloud. She hated how easily he drew her in, how his very presence demanded her attention.
His voice broke the silence. "You didn't sleep last night."
Ayla blinked, startled. "How would you know?"
He finally looked at her, his piercing steel-gray eyes meeting hers. "You were pacing the hall at 3 a.m. My cameras caught it."
Her heart stuttered, a mix of irritation and unease twisting in her gut. Of course he has cameras everywhere. "Maybe I couldn't sleep because someone tried to kill us the night before," she said, her tone sharper than she intended.
His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "Or maybe because you've been keeping something from me."
Her pulse spiked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Adrian leaned closer, his scent—warm, faintly spiced—curling around her like a trap. "You've been distracted since yesterday. Distant. Like you're carrying a secret you're not sure I'd like." His gaze lingered on her, heavy and searching, before he pulled back, his expression neutral once more. "Whatever it is, Ayla, I'll find out. I always do."
She swallowed hard, gripping her purse tighter. Not yet. He can't know yet.
The car slowed as they pulled into the gated drive of one of Adrian's private estates on the outskirts of the city. It was massive, the kind of place that screamed wealth and power—a sprawling mansion surrounded by high walls and guarded gates. But tonight, its grand beauty felt less like a sanctuary and more like a cage.
Inside, Adrian dismissed the staff and led her upstairs to a suite that overlooked the sprawling gardens. The rain had begun, droplets streaking the windows, the low rumble of thunder rolling through the sky.
Ayla stood by the glass, arms wrapped around herself. "Does it ever get quiet?" she asked softly, watching the storm outside. "Your world. The threats. The shadows following you."
Adrian stepped up behind her, his reflection meeting hers in the window. "No," he said simply. "It doesn't. But you get used to it. Or you drown in it."
She turned to face him, her chest tightening at the closeness between them. "And which one am I supposed to do? Get used to it? Or drown?"
His eyes darkened, a flicker of something raw passing through them. "Neither," he murmured, stepping closer until the space between them was charged with heat. "You stay close to me, and you survive."
Before she could respond, his hand brushed her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. Her breath caught as his touch trailed lower, skimming the sensitive skin of her neck.
"Adrian…" Her voice faltered, a whisper swallowed by the patter of rain.
His other hand slid to her waist, drawing her closer until her body pressed lightly against his. The air between them was heavy with tension, each heartbeat amplifying the pull neither of them could deny.
For a moment, the flash drive, the secrets, the danger—all of it slipped from her mind. All she felt was him, the rough edge of his palm against her skin, the steady thrum of his pulse beneath her fingers.
When his lips finally found hers, it wasn't tentative—it was consuming, demanding. His kiss was a contradiction, both a claim and a question, leaving her breathless as his hand traced the curve of her spine, anchoring her against him.
Ayla's fingers tangled in his shirt, clutching him as if he were the only solid thing in a world built on shifting sand. She shouldn't want this. Not with everything she didn't know about him, not with the danger that followed him like a shadow. But the truth was undeniable: she did want it. Want him.
The kiss deepened, their breaths mingling, heat coiling low in her stomach as the storm outside raged harder, a mirror to the tempest building between them.
But then, as quickly as it began, Adrian pulled back. His hand lingered on her waist, his forehead resting briefly against hers. "You're shaking," he murmured.
"Because you terrify me," she whispered, though her voice trembled for reasons she couldn't name.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips, but his eyes softened in a way that stripped the arrogance from him. "Good," he said, brushing his thumb across her lower lip. "Fear will keep you alive. And close to me."
Before she could reply, the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then the power went out completely, plunging the room into darkness.
Adrian stiffened immediately, his body tense. He pulled away, moving to the window. Outside, the rain had stopped. Too suddenly.
"Ayla," he said quietly, his voice edged with steel. "Stay behind me."
She felt her pulse hammer as he reached into the drawer of a nearby cabinet and retrieved a sleek black pistol, checking the chamber with practiced precision.
"Is it them?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He glanced back at her, his expression unreadable. "Stay quiet. And whatever happens, don't leave my side."
The distant sound of boots on wet gravel reached her ears—multiple sets, moving closer. The estate's guards hadn't sounded an alarm. Whoever was coming had already gotten past them.
Adrian stepped toward the door, his figure a dark silhouette against the faint glow of emergency lights kicking in. "They're not here to talk," he said grimly.
Ayla's hand instinctively reached for her purse, where the flash drive lay hidden. She didn't know why—maybe because some part of her wondered if this was what they were after, not Adrian.
The sound of shattering glass from downstairs made her flinch. Adrian's jaw tightened.
He turned to her, his voice low but firm. "If this is about me, they won't stop until they get what they want. Stay close, Ayla. Or this marriage of ours will be over before it even begins."
And with that, he pushed open the door, leading her into the darkened hall as the storm outside broke once more—not with rain, but with the crack of gunfire.