Rain carved silver veins down the café windows, the steady rhythm masking the thundering of Nina's heart. She stood behind the counter, pretending to wipe down a tray that was already spotless, her gaze snagged on the figure by the window.
Adrian hadn't moved.
He sat like a shadow carved from the storm, his jacket dark and gleaming with rain, his profile sharp against the glass. He wasn't on his phone. He wasn't reading. He simply sat, stirring his coffee once, twice, as though time bent around him.
Nina's skin prickled.
He had no reason to be here. No right.
And yet, every time she looked away, her eyes found him again.
Her shift dragged on in suffocating slowness. Customers came and went, laughing, chatting, oblivious to the silent gravity pulling her toward table three. By the time her manager waved her off for the evening, her pulse was a taut wire.
She changed out of her apron in the back room, fingers clumsy on the ties, then stepped out into the cooling dusk. The streets glittered with puddles, neon signs bleeding color into the wet pavement.
She didn't see him follow.
But she felt it.
Every turn of the corner, every shadow stretching too long, the sensation pulsed at her spine. She told herself not to look back. Don't feed it. Don't give him the satisfaction.
Halfway to her apartment, she snapped.
Whirling, breath sharp, she scanned the street.
Adrian stood a few paces away, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable beneath the hood of his jacket.
"You can't keep doing this," she said, voice shaking. "You can't just—follow me."
He tilted his head slightly, pale eyes catching the weak glow of a streetlamp. "You sound afraid."
"I am afraid," she spat.
"Good." His tone was soft, almost tender. "Fear keeps you alive."
Something inside her twisted—rage, yes, but threaded with something hotter, darker, something that hummed low in her bones.
"Why?" The word ripped out of her. "Why me?"
Adrian stepped closer, slow, deliberate, the rain whispering against his jacket. He stopped just out of reach, but his presence crowded the air.
"Because I see you," he said quietly. "When no one else does."
Her throat constricted. She hated the way her breath trembled, hated that part of her wanted to believe him.
"You don't know me," she whispered.
"I know you better than anyone." His voice sank deeper, curling through her like smoke. "I know how you bite your lip when you're anxious. I know you hate parties but go anyway because you're afraid of being forgotten. I know you fall asleep to the sound of rain because silence feels too loud."
Her pulse thundered. The night folded in around them, thick and breathless.
"You shouldn't know those things," she said.
He smiled then—slow, devastating, the kind of smile that felt like a secret. "And yet I do."
She should run. Scream. Call someone, anyone. But her feet stayed rooted, her lungs pulling in air like drowning water.
Adrian reached up, pushing back his hood. Drops of rain clung to his dark hair, sliding down the sharp planes of his face. His gaze held hers, steady, unyielding.
"You burn, Nina," he murmured. "And I can't stay away."
The world narrowed to that voice, that heat. Her knees felt unsteady, her fingers curling into her coat to keep from reaching out.
"Stay away," she whispered, the words hollow even to her own ears.
Adrian's eyes darkened, a storm gathering in pale depths. He stepped closer—just enough that the damp heat of his body brushed the edge of her breath.
"Liar," he said softly.
And then he was gone.
One blink, one heartbeat, and the space was empty.
Nina staggered back against the wall, her pulse ricocheting through her veins. The rain roared louder now, drowning the world in silver noise.
She didn't remember getting home.
---
She locked the door. Checked it twice. Drew the curtains so tight they might tear.
But it didn't matter.
Because when she closed her eyes, he was still there.
Not the threat. Not the fear.
The heat.
The way his voice had curled around her name like a promise.
The way he'd looked at her—as if he owned the air she breathed.
Her body throbbed with restless energy, coiled and aching. She hated it. She hated him. And she hated herself more for wanting to know what would happen if she stopped resisting.
She lay in the dark, the rain tapping against the glass like a whispered dare. Sleep didn't come. Only fragments of him—his hands, his mouth, the shadowed hunger in his eyes.
When her phone buzzed, she wasn't surprised.
Did you make it home?
Her fingers hovered over the keys. She should ignore it. Block the number. End this.
Instead, she typed:
Why do you care?
The reply came in seconds.
Because you're mine.
Her breath caught.
Three words. So simple. So absolute.
And God help her—somewhere deep inside, something answered.
---
Morning shattered her fragile calm.
She dragged herself to class, hollow-eyed, ignoring Lara's concerned whispers. Every sound felt too sharp, every light too bright, the world tilting slightly on its axis.
By noon, she couldn't take it anymore. She skipped her afternoon lectures and fled to the library, hoping for silence.
But silence wasn't what she found.
She sensed him before she saw him—the weight of his presence pressing like a hand between her shoulder blades.
When she turned, he was there.
Adrian leaned against the far shelf, dressed in black, his gaze locked on hers across the quiet expanse. Students moved between them, oblivious, like shadows in a dream.
Nina's heart stuttered. Her breath caught.
And when he started toward her—slow, deliberate—she didn't move.
Couldn't.
Each step brought him closer, until the world was nothing but his pale eyes and the low hum of her pulse.
He stopped before her, close enough that the scent of rain and something darker wrapped around her like a net.
"You didn't answer my question," he murmured.
"What question?" Her voice was barely a thread.
"Do you feel it too?"
Her lips parted—but no sound came. Because she did. God help her, she did.
Adrian's gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered. Heat coiled low in her stomach, sharp and sweet.
His hand lifted—slow, almost hesitant—and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. His knuckles grazed her skin, light as breath.
Nina shivered.
"You should tell me to stop," he whispered.
"I should," she breathed.
But she didn't.
And then his mouth was on hers.
The kiss wasn't gentle. It was hunger—raw, consuming, the kind that devours reason and leaves only need. His hand slid into her hair, angling her head, pulling her closer until her body arched into his.
Nina gasped against his lips, the sound swallowed by his kiss. Heat surged through her, drowning out the fear, the logic, everything but the press of his mouth and the iron strength of his arms.
When he finally tore away, they were both breathing hard, foreheads touching, the air between them scorched.
"This," Adrian said softly, voice rough. "This is what happens when you stop lying to yourself."
Nina's pulse roared in her ears. She should push him away. Run. End this before it burns her alive.
But when his thumb stroked her lower lip, she leaned into the touch.
And in that moment, she knew—
There was no going back.