CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Adrian
I woke to darkness, my throat raw and swollen. When I inhaled, there was a slight burning in my lungs.
The ceiling above me came into focus, familiar and yet strange in my disoriented state. My bedroom. I was in my own bed, not on the kitchen floor where I’d collapsed.
The events came rushing back—the kiss, the strawberries, my wife’s cold smile as I struggled for breath.
She had known.
The little viper had known about my allergy all along.
I pushed myself up, my body protesting with every movement. The EpiPen’s effects were wearing off, leaving me weak but alive. I remembered Edmund finding me on the kitchen floor before I had passed out. He must have been the one to bring me to my room.
“Fuck,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. Sweat clung to my skin.
She had tried to kill me.
My own fucking wife had actually tried to kill me.
A strange sensation bloomed in my chest—not anger, not even rage, but something more complex, an emotion I couldn’t quite understand.
I was infuriated.
But I also had a newfound, grudging respect for my wife.
Serafina had outsmarted me, exploited my weakness with cold calculation. I had underestimated her—her quiet observation, her patience, her intelligence. She’d discovered my one weakness and wielded it like a weapon.
Just like I had done to her.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, testing my balance. The room spun slightly, but I steadied myself against the nightstand. Annoyance at my own weakness bubbled through me, but I couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through my veins.
My wife had teeth and claws.
She wasn’t the docile, broken creature I had believed her to be.
Serafina was far more dangerous than I’d given her credit for. She was a player in this deadly game we’d begun and fuck me, she played it very well.
Her intelligence was intriguing.
Her defiance was addictive.
The clock on the wall showed it was just past midnight. Hours had passed since the incident in the kitchen.
I rolled my shoulders, feeling the muscles unclench as I made my way to the door. Each step was deliberate as I regained control.
I needed to see her, to confront the woman who had nearly ended my life.
No one has ever come close to doing that.
No one has ever dared.
I made my way to her room, and when I tested the handle, her door was unlocked.
A challenge, perhaps.
Oh, I liked challenges. Especially ones that involved my wife, and the fire in her eyes.
I pushed her open without hesitation.
Serafina sat propped against her pillows, a book in her hands, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, the lamplight casting a golden glow across her features.
She didn’t look up as I entered, and didn’t acknowledge my presence at all.
So calm. So composed. So elegant.
But for how long?
How long until she broke again, the fire of her hatred and rage bursting through?
I stalked closer, waiting for her to acknowledge me, to show some sign of fear or triumph. But she remained perfectly still, unbothered as she turned a page of her book with deliberate slowness.
I almost laughed.
My wife was so cute.
I settled into the armchair across from her bed, the same one I’d occupied during my midnight visits. This time, I wasn’t hidden in darkness.
This time, she knew I was watching.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken threats. She turned a page, then another, her expression serene, as if she hadn’t just nearly murdered her husband hours before.
Her calm composure was both maddening and intoxicating.
C’mon, Princess. Show me those teeth and claws.
Hours passed.
The moonlight shifted across the floor as I observed her, noting the steady rhythm of her breathing, the occasional flutter of her lashes.
She was reading a romance book. How fitting.
The longer we languished in silence, I found myself becoming even more intrigued, a dangerous fascination with this woman who had the audacity to try to kill me and then sit calmly, reading as if nothing had happened.
Finally…fina-fucking-lly, she reached the last page.
Serafina closed the book with a soft thud before setting it aside on the nightstand.
Her hazel eyes lifted to mine, clear and defiant.
My cock twitched.
“Hello, husband,” she said, her feminine voice steady, without a trace of guilt or fear.
“Hello, wife,” I replied, matching her tone.
The silence stretched between us, charged with unspoken threats and newfound understanding.
“You tried to kill me,” I stated, watching her face for any flicker of emotion.
She smiled—a small, cold thing that didn’t reach her eyes. “And I see you survived.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
She shrugged, the movement graceful and unconcerned. “I considered it,” she admitted, tilting her head slightly. “But then I realized it would have been... inconvenient. Because that kind of death is a little too merciful for you.”
I laughed, the sound rough in my damaged throat. “Oh, so you were showing me mercy?”
She shook her head. “No, I was just reminding you that I’m not your victim. I’m not your pawn. And I am most certainly not your possession.”
I quirked an eyebrow at her confident words.
She was no longer the frightened bride who hid, and tried to make herself invisible behind a closed door.
“You let me believe that I would die the night you released your beasts at me.” Her voice was deceptively soft as she spoke, but I didn’t miss the sharpness in her eyes, as we were both reminded of what I had done to her.
“And I was just simply returning the favor. Isn’t that what marriage is all about?
Balance? Oh, what is that word…” She tsked, smiling a little. “Oh yes, equality.”
Ah, so she wanted to prove that she was an equal partner in this marriage.
Well, at least she wanted to be my partner.
The thought crossed my mind, almost like a fevered dream, but then I remembered her hand on my brother’s chest. Touching him.
She fucking cooked for him.
And then she poisoned me.
“You’re not loyal to me,” I said, stating the obvious.
We were married, yes.
But her loyalty was…questionable.
“Why would I be?” She asked, not bothering to deny it as she sat up straighter, her chin lifting. “You’re not my choice. You never were. I wanted to marry Matteo. I was supposed to marry Matteo.”
His fucking name on her lips.
My hands clenched into fists. “Careful, Serafina.”
“Or what?” she challenged, her eyes flashing with defiance. “You’ll release your dogs on me again? Make me run through the woods? I’m not afraid of you anymore, Adrian. And unfortunately, I’m stuck with you, bound to you until death do us part, right?”
The words stung more than I cared to admit. I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Careful, Serafina. Think about your words before you speak them.”
“Why should I?” She sat up straighter, her chin lifting. “You’ve shown me nothing but cruelty since the day we met. You married me to hurt your brother. You’ve treated me like property, like a pawn in your twisted game of revenge.”
“You should be afraid,” I countered, rising from the chair. “You don’t know what I’m capable of, Princess.”
She laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. “You’ve already taken everything from me. What more could you possibly do? There’s darkness in you, and I’ve found mine.”
“You have no idea what darkness truly is,” I growled. She jumped out of bed, coming to her feet as I strode over, closing the distance between us. “You think poisoning me with strawberries makes you dangerous? That’s child’s play in our world.”
“Are you challenging me?” Serafina asked, her voice hardening.
No... I wasn’t challenging her.
I was fucking pissed.
My wife was loyal to him.
To my fucking brother.
I reached out before she could react, gripping her arms, shaking her slightly. “Do you know what I do with disloyal people?”
“Tell me,” She hissed, a fierce look in her eyes.
“How about I show you?”
Her lips parted with a shocked gasp, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
My lips twitched.
My sweet, sweet Serafina.
Defiant, yet innocent.
Impulsive, yet naive.
Fierce, yet harmless.
Without another word, I dragged her from the room, down the stairs, ignoring her protests.
She didn’t struggle as much as I expected, her newfound courage making her curious rather than fearful.
So gullible.
She had no idea what was waiting for her and maybe, it was time she saw, she knew.
The house was dark and quiet as we descended into the basement, where not many people were allowed in. And a place Serafina didn’t even know existed, right beneath her as she slept peacefully in her bedroom.
The air grew colder, damper as we descended the concrete steps. The basement door loomed before us, a thick, reinforced steel that led to my private domain.
It creaked as I pushed it open.
The fluorescent lights flickered on, illuminating the sterile space that served as my interrogation room.
The air was heavy with the scent of bleach and metallic blood. The concrete floor was stained dark in places, and the walls were lined with tools—knives, pliers, saws, things that had served their purpose many times before.
Serafina gasped, her chest shuddering, her body releasing a quiver as she took in the scene in front of her.
In the center of the room, a man was strapped to a chair, a black bag over his head. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling with fear or cold… it could be both.
I did keep the temperature of this room extremely cold. My captives tended to talk faster when they felt their blood turning frigid, their body weakening under the bitter chill.
I pushed Serafina into a chair opposite our captive. “Don’t move,” I warned her. “Don’t speak. Just watch.”
She sat perfectly still, her face pale in the harsh light but surprisingly composed.
For now…
I approached the bound man, removing the bag to reveal a young face. Lucca was twenty-five. Tech smart, but cunning in his ways. I liked him, I truly did.
That was until I found out he’d been skimming from our operations.
“Lucca,” I said, testing the name on my tongue, my voice calm, conversational. “You’ve been stealing from us.”
He shook his head frantically. “No, I swear I didn’t do it.”
I backhanded him, the sound of hand hitting flesh echoing in the concrete room. Blood trickled from his split lip.
“Don’t lie to me,” I said, selecting a knife from the metal table beside us. The sharp, shiny blade gleamed under the light as I approached him. “We have evidence. Your accounts, your transactions. All of it.”
I worked methodically, systematically, explaining each step to Serafina without looking at her. I wanted her to understand the world she had married into, the monster she had challenged.
“Disloyalty has consequences,” I told Serafina, finally meeting her gaze. Her eyes were wide, her face a mask of horror, her lips were pressing into a thin line, her skin pale.
But she didn’t look away. She didn’t beg me to stop.
Such a good girl.
She watched as I pressed the knife to Lucca’s throat.
“Please,” Lucca sobbed, his voice raw. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Please, don’t kill me. Please.”
I dug the knife into his flesh, just enough to make a small cut.
Blood trickled down his chest, staining his shirt. His screams echoed off the concrete walls, but Serafina remained silent.
Such stubborn bravery.
Such beautiful defiance.
I bent down, leaning closer to Lucca’s face, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You should have thought of that before you betrayed us.”
I slit his throat in one clean, swift motion.
Blood sprayed across the room, splattering Serafina’s face and dress. She flinched but didn’t make a sound, didn’t close her eyes. She watched as Lucca’s body went limp, as his life drained away onto the concrete floor.
Her hands gripped the arms of the chair until her knuckles turned white.
I wiped the blade on my pants before placing it back onto the metal table and approached my wife.
I grabbed her face, my bloodied fingers smearing crimson across her pale, porcelain cheeks. Her eyes were wide with terror, traumatized.
“That’s what happens to people who betray me,” I told her, my voice low and dangerous. “Remember that, wife.”
I released her, stepping back. “Now go. Run to your room, to your sanctuary.”
She stood slowly, her movements deliberate despite the obvious trembling of her limbs. Her shoulders remained straight, her chin lifted. She didn’t run.
Instead, she walked to the door with measured steps, her head held high, her back rigid.
She never looked back at me as she ascended their stairs, leaving me alone with the corpse and the blood.
I watched her go, a strange mixture of pride and fury churning in my gut. She was stronger than I had given her credit for. More dangerous.
She exited the basement, and closed the door behind her.
And then… I heard it, the erratic shuffling of her feet.
I chuckled, imagining her running back to her room, frightened and shaking from what she had just witnessed.
Serafina wanted to show me how strong she was, how strong she could be…
But in reality…
Death was a darkness her fragile soul was never meant to carry.
It was too cruel of a burden.
My wife could be vicious, but she could never kill.
We had waged war on each other, and through this bitter hate, this hostile resentment had come to be a reckless obsession that would consume us both.
Only one of us would survive the monsters we had become.