The weekend blurred together, each hour dripping into the next with a dull, restless rhythm.
She went through the motions—laundry, grocery shopping, a movie playing in the background she couldn't even remember—but her mind kept circling back to him.
Those storm-gray eyes.
The steady confidence in his voice.
The way he had looked at her like she was already his, even though they'd barely exchanged more than a handful of words.
She hated that she remembered the exact shape of his smirk.
She hated more that part of her wanted to see it again.
By Sunday night, she was curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with a book she'd been pretending to read for the last hour, when her phone rang.
"Olivia?" The voice was her landlord's—strained, apologetic. "I'm afraid I've got bad news. There's been a pipe burst in the upstairs unit. Your ceiling's been damaged, and water's already seeped through the floor. You'll need to stay somewhere else tonight."
Her mind scrambled. "How bad is it?"
"Your living room is… well, you'll see it when you get back. We've moved what we could, but it's not livable right now."
After the call, the apartment felt smaller. The hum of the fridge was too loud. The walls felt closer than they had an hour ago.
She went through her mental list of options.
Marcy? Out of town.
Her cousin? Traveling for work.
A hotel? She checked—fully booked, unless she wanted to risk one that looked like it charged by the hour.
She sat there staring at her phone. The glow of the screen reflected off her coffee table, and in her contact list, one name kept pulling her gaze.
She shouldn't.
She couldn't.
But she did.
The call connected almost instantly.
"Olivia."
Her name in his voice sent an odd shiver through her chest.
"My apartment's flooded," she said quickly, as though speaking too slowly might make her change her mind. "I just—didn't know if you—"
"Text me the address," he interrupted, no hesitation, no question. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"You don't have to—"
"I don't wait for invitations," he said simply, and hung up.
She stared at the phone for a long moment, unsure whether to be relieved or alarmed.
True to his word, exactly fourteen minutes later, a sleek black car slid to the curb. Raymond stepped out himself. Under the streetlight, he looked almost unreal—broad-shouldered, precise in movement, wearing a dark overcoat that made him seem taller somehow.
His eyes swept over the building, then over her. Not just looking—assessing.
The damp cuffs of her jeans. The overnight bag slung carelessly over her shoulder. The way her hair had slipped loose from its clip.
"You should have called me sooner," he said, reaching for her bag without asking. His tone was even, but beneath it was something heavier—something that felt like possession.
"I didn't want to trouble—"
"That's your problem, Olivia," he interrupted smoothly, his voice dropping lower. "You think too much when it comes to me."
She hesitated. "I was just trying to handle it myself."
One corner of his mouth curved, but it wasn't quite a smile. "And yet, here I am."
Before she could respond, he opened the car door. There was no command, no demand—but the expectation in his gaze made it clear she wasn't going to walk away.
And maybe that was the most dangerous part.
Because she didn't want to.
The leather seat was warm, the scent of cedar and faint spice filling the enclosed space. A whisper of fabric brushed her arm as Adrian slid in beside her, closing the door with a quiet click that sounded far too final.
"You're staying somewhere safe tonight," he said, settling back, his voice like velvet over steel.
"Safe according to you, or safe according to me?" she asked, trying to keep her tone even.
His gaze flicked to her, slow and deliberate. "When it comes to you, my definition is the only one that matters."
The car eased away from the curb, the city lights reflecting off the windows in streaks of gold and red. As the streets blurred past, she realized she hadn't even asked where they were going.
Part of her wanted to.
Part of her didn't.
Because deep down, Elena already knew—wherever Adrian Black was taking her, she wasn't just stepping into another building.
She was stepping into his world.
And once inside, she doubted he would ever let her go.