The memory of Adrian's last words echoed in her mind. "Don't say no."
Her fingertips traced the edge of her glass of wine. She didn't want to go. Not tonight. But somewhere deep inside, she knew she already was.
Bella stood frozen. Her heels pressed into the polished floor of the dim restaurant, as if the earth refused to let her move.
She hadn't come to this place by chance—no. She had told herself she wouldn't come. She would ignore it. She didn't need more chaos in her fraying mind.
But curiosity is poison.
And now, here she was.
Her pulse trembled in her veins. Cold fingers clutched her purse strap as her eyes locked on a sight across the street.
Chris.
The man she thought she knew—who could talk her body into surrender with a single smirk—wasn't alone.
A girl sat close, too close. A soft laugh spilled from her lips as Chris leaned in, his mouth brushing her ear. His hand was on her thigh beneath the table, his thumb stroking lazy circles like he'd memorized the skin. The girl tilted her head, brushing his chest with painted nails. Chris laughed — low, intimate — a laugh Bella once thought belonged only to her.
The sound shredded her.
It wasn't only cheating—it was betrayal carved into flesh. It was knives disguised as giggles, whispers wrapped in barbed wire.
Every affectionate touch, every look between them, landed on Bella like bruises.
Her chest caved. Her stomach dropped. She felt both heavy and hollow. Her eyes stung, but the tears didn't fall; they burned, like smoke trapped behind glass.
She should have turned away, fled, but her feet refused.
And then—Chris noticed.
His eyes, molten dark pools that had stripped her defenses bare, shifted across the room. They landed on her. Then froze.
For a heartbeat, time fractured. His hand stilled on the girl's thigh. The laugh caught in his throat. His casual mask fell away, leaving his face stiff with panic.
He muttered something, excused himself, and shoved his chair back. It screeched against the tiled floor.
The girl blinked at him in confusion. Bella didn't wait for more. Her heart was already running even if her body stayed put.
"Bella," Chris breathed as he rushed across the street. His voice cracked, sharp, desperate. He reached her in seconds. Panic flashed in his eyes. His mouth-shaped words meant to wound before they healed."Do you know what you look like right now? Standing here? Staring?"
Deflection. Accusation. He was still the same Chris.
The words sliced her raw chest open. She staggered back, swallowing the scream clawing her throat.
And then a shadow moved.
Adrian.
He emerged from behind, tall and steady, his presence a quiet fire. His hand brushed the small of Bella's back—not possessive, not invasive, but grounding. His voice slid like velvet dipped in steel.
"You've already lost her," Adrian said. Calm, dangerous. "Don't make a fool of yourself."
Chris stiffened, his jaw tightening. "And who the hell are you?"
"The man reminding you what you just threw away." Adrian's eyes didn't waver. "Why are you hurting her? You know she loves you. Is this what you call love?"
Chris's mouth opened, then closed. His excuses crumbled before they could take shape. "It's not what it looks like—"
"Stop," Adrian cut in. "We both saw what it was. She deserves better."
Bella's throat burned. The weight of their words pressed against her until she couldn't breathe. She didn't wait for Chris's excuses, didn't wait for Adrian's defense. She turned. Silent. She walked away, her heels clicking like tiny hammers striking her chest.
Adrian followed.
He didn't rush her. Didn't speak. He walked behind her like a shadow that refused to leave. When she stopped at the curb, trembling with too much pain to decide where to go, he finally spoke.
"You don't have to be alone tonight."
Her voice cracked. "I can't go home. I'll lose myself if I'm alone there."
"Then come with me," Adrian said. "Just… come with me."
His apartment was nothing like Chris's. No chaos. No bottles are half-empty. No shirts tossed like confetti.
Adrian's world was intentional.
Polished wooden floors gleamed beneath muted gray walls. A leather couch stretched across the living room, its scent a mixture of musk and cedar. Books lined the shelves in perfect symmetry. A half-finished glass of whiskey glistened on the table, catching the dim golden light of a lamp. A faint cologne lingered in the air, sharp yet warm, wrapping around Bella like invisible arms.
It was masculine, precise, almost too perfect. But beneath the surface was warmth, the space that felt like it would catch you if you collapsed.
Bella felt out of place and fragile in her mess, yet she felt safe.
Adrian didn't smother. He gave her water, gestured toward the couch, and let her sit silently. But his presence was steady, near enough that she knew she wasn't abandoned.
That night, he did not touch, push, or sit close to her, a quiet guardian for her unraveling heart.
Days blurred.
Adrian began checking on her daily. A text in the morning: Eat something. A message at night: Don't let him rent space in your head.
Bella didn't know when it started. Maybe it started that first night. He had leaned close, whispering words to cut Chris down, wrapped in something sticky and sweet. Or perhaps it was the way he lingered in her mind, long after he'd left, like the trace of wine staining her lips. Adrian was a problem. A sweet, devastating problem.
Something had shifted since that first encounter outside Chris's apartment. Adrian had stopped being a stranger in shadows, whispering warnings. Day after day, he had crept closer.
A text here: Did you sleep, beautiful? A call there: I saw the way you looked at him today. You deserve better. An uninvited run-in that didn't feel like a coincidence: Oh, fancy seeing you here… mind if I walk with you?
He was everywhere. A shadow, yet brighter than anyone else in the room. He turned conversation into games. He teased her until her cheeks burned. He looked at her in ways that made her wonder if she wore any clothes.
Chris gave her stability, Adrian gave her chaos, and somehow, chaos was winning.
He made her laugh with sharp wit, teased her when she pouted, and listened when she vented. He filled the spaces Chris had left empty without sound.
Bella noticed it later. She began waiting for his messages, smiling at his jokes, wondering what cologne he wore. He was stealing her attention daily—and she wasn't fighting it.
One evening, needing to express gratitude, Bella invited him for dinner.
"Dinner," she had said over the phone, her voice steady though her palms were slick with sweat. "Just dinner, Adrian. To thank you. For… everything."
His chuckle had slithered down the line, dark and suggestive. "Bella, I've been waiting for you to ask. Dinner… and maybe dessert, hmm?"
She spent an hour in the kitchen, nerves fluttering in her stomach. The chicken almost burned. The rice clumped. She cursed under her breath.
His smirk was instant when Adrian arrived, sharp in black jeans and a rolled-up shirt. "You've tried to assassinate me with smoke, haven't you?"
"Shut up," Bella muttered, cheeks heating.
He leaned against the counter, arms folded, eyes glinting. "Don't worry. I like women who can't cook. Gives me a reason to keep coming back."
Dinner was imperfect but intimate. They sat close, knees brushing under the table. His eyes lingered longer than they should, and his comments were raw and flirtatious.
"Do you know," he said, his gaze sweeping her neckline, "you taste better when you're nervous?"
Her fork clattered. Heat spread across her chest.
By the night's end, her skin buzzed where his fingers had grazed hers while passing the salt. Her bed was cold when she lay down, but her body burned restless, replaying every smirk, every glance.
It didn't take long for the bond to ignite into fire.
Their chemistry boiled over days later, at Bella's apartment.
He came to drop off some notes she'd left at his place. She invited him in. One moment, they laughed. Next, his hand cupped her jaw, his mouth claiming hers with a hunger that stripped her of control.
The kiss wasn't careful. It was raw, demanding.
Bella gasped against him, her body trembling as he pressed her against the wall. His hands roamed down her sides, gripping her hips like he owned them. His tongue slid against hers, tasting, devouring.
Clothes scattered. Her shirt hit the floor. His lips trailed fire down her neck, nipping, biting. She moaned, arching into him, desperate.
His fingers traced her thighs, slipping beneath her skirt, dragging it up until she stood bare.
"God, Bella," he growled against her skin. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this. To taste you. To ruin you."
Her body throbbed at his words.
He lifted her. Her legs curled around his waist. He carried her to the bed, laying her down like a treasure he meant to devour. His mouth trailed lower, kissing her stomach, teeth grazing her skin. She writhed.
When his lips closed over her, Bella cried out, clutching the sheets, back arching. Adrian was merciless, tongue circling, stroking, teasing until she was trembling, begging.
She came undone against his mouth, shaking, gasping his name.
But he wasn't finished.
He kissed up her body, claiming her lips again as he slid into her in one firm, slow thrust. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders.
The rhythm built — slow at first, then harder, faster. Their bodies collided, slick with heat and sweat. Bella clung to him, lost in the rawness, the sensation of his claiming and cherishing her all at once. "Say it," Adrian growled, lips at her ear. "Say you want me."
"I want you," she moaned, broken, breathless.
Her release hit again, harder this time, her body clenching around him. His groan vibrated against her neck as he thrust deep. He shuddered and collapsed into her, crying her name.
They lay tangled, sweat cooling, hearts racing. For the first time in weeks, Bella felt alive.
But the night wasn't finished.
Outside, unseen, Chris had come.
He stood at her door, hand raised to knock—but froze when he heard it. The sounds. Her moans. Her cries. The bed creaks.
Each sound crushed his chest.
He stepped back, swallowing hard, shame, rage, and heartbreak coiling inside him. Didn't call out.
He walked away.
Later that night, Bella's phone buzzed.
She reached for it, Adrian's arm draped heavy across her waist.
It was Chris.
Please give me one more chance. Let's sit down. Let's talk. I'll bring your favorite ice cream flavor. Please. I have something to tell you.
The message glowed on her screen, a cruel reminder of what still tethered her.
Adrian stirred in his sleep, his lips grazing her shoulder, his body heat wrapping her like a drug.
Chris's promise of ice cream should have felt childish, laughable—yet her heart ached.
She typed a reply. Then erased it.
Typed again. Then stopped.
Beside her, Adrian's arm draped heavy over her waist like a lock, like a claim.
One man begged for her forgiveness. The other had already branded her body with sin.
She exhaled, whispering, "Who's the real poison here?"
Blackout.