The days began to blur after that, but one thing remained constant—Adrian never disappeared for long.
Elena noticed him in the margins of her captivity. Sometimes he was there in the mornings, standing near the windows with a phone pressed to his ear, speaking in a language she didn't understand, his voice low and lethal. Other times he was gone for hours, leaving behind only the weight of his presence, like the house itself was breathing him in and out.
He didn't touch her.
That, somehow, unsettled her more than if he had.
On the fourth night, thunder rolled across the sky, rattling the windows. Elena sat curled on the couch in the sitting room he'd allowed her access to, pretending to read, when she felt it again—that unmistakable pull. She looked up.
Adrian stood in the doorway, watching her like she was a secret he hadn't decided how to keep.
"You don't sleep," she said, breaking the silence.
"I do," he replied. "Just not when you're awake."
Her fingers tightened around the book. "That's not normal."
His lips curved faintly. "Neither is you."
He crossed the room slowly, stopping near the fireplace. The light carved sharp shadows across his face, making him look carved from stone and fire. For the first time, Elena noticed the exhaustion beneath his control—the tightness around his eyes, the weight he carried without complaint.
"Why me?" she asked again, softer this time. "Out of everyone."
Adrian's gaze dropped to her hands. "Because you look like someone who would never kneel," he said. "And I needed to know why."
Her breath caught. "So this is an experiment?"
"No," he said sharply. Then, after a pause, quieter, "It's a mistake I refuse to undo."
Thunder cracked again, closer this time. The lights flickered. Elena flinched before she could stop herself.
Adrian noticed.
In two strides, he was in front of her. "You're afraid of storms."
She lifted her chin. "Don't pretend you care."
His hand hovered near her shoulder—hesitating. That single hesitation sent a shock through her.
"I don't pretend," he said. "I decide."
He pulled a chair close and sat, not touching her, just near enough that she could feel the heat of him. The storm raged outside, but the world narrowed to the space between them.
"You think control is chains," he continued. "But real control is knowing when not to use them."
She swallowed. "And what am I to you?"
Adrian looked at her then, really looked—like the answer frightened him.
"My undoing," he said. "If I let you be."
The confession hung between them, raw and dangerous.
For the first time since she'd been taken, Elena didn't feel like she was standing at the edge of a cliff alone.
But she also understood something chilling—
If Adrian Volkov ever crossed the line he was holding back from now,
there would be no coming back for either of them.
And the storm outside was only just beginning.