Chapter 10 Adrian
I t’s late. The snowstorm outside has thickened, and through the window, I can see flakes falling fast and heavy, already blanketing everything in sight. We’re trapped here, that much is clear. The fire crackles low in the hearth, the warmth of it casting flickering shadows on Mia’s face as she watches me, lips slightly parted, eyes dark and unreadable.
I keep my gaze on her, watching the way she shifts around, trying to find a comfortable position with her wrists still cuffed behind her. I notice a hint of discomfort creeping in, a nervous energy I hadn’t seen before. She’s let down her guard, maybe even unintentionally, and now she’s not sure what to do with herself.
“Feeling uncomfortable, princess?” I ask, my voice low and edged with a challenge.
She scoffs, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “No,” she says, a little too quickly, the defiance in her voice faltering just slightly. “But… it’s late.”
I stand, moving toward her, and she tenses. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the key to her cuffs, and I can feel her pulse racing, even though she holds her chin high. “I’m going to take these off,” I say, keeping my voice even. “But don’t get any ideas about escaping. That snow’s not going to stop until there’s two to three feet out there, and your shoes… well, let’s just say I took the liberty of making sure you won’t find them.”
Her gaze drops to her bare feet for a moment before she looks back up at me, resignation in her eyes. She knows she’s stuck here, and she knows I’m not bluffing.
I reach down, unlocking the cuffs with a decisive click, and she rubs her wrists, wincing slightly. “You can wash up in the bathroom if you want. There’s a shirt in there you can change into for the night,” I say, stepping back and gesturing down the hall.
She glances toward the bathroom, then back at me, a flicker of suspicion in her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmurs, the words almost hesitant, like she’s not sure she should be thanking me for something so simple.
“Don’t mention it,” I reply, my gaze steady on hers. “I don’t bite. Not unless you ask me to.”
A faint blush rises in her cheeks, and she gives me one last wary glance before slipping away into the bathroom. I hear the soft click of the lock behind her, and I smirk to myself. She’s in there, alone, probably realizing that once she comes back out, we’ll be sharing the bed—whether she likes it or not. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to sleep on the floor.
Minutes tick by, and I wait, wondering what’s going through that mind of hers. Finally, the door opens, and she steps out, her damp hair falling in waves over her shoulders. She’s wearing the oversized shirt I packed—a black T-shirt that falls to mid-thigh. Her bare legs are slim, pale, and somehow look even more vulnerable out of that red dress she was wearing before.
She avoids my gaze as she walks back to the bed, and I notice she’s carrying the dress in her hand, her fingers clenched tightly around the fabric. When she meets my eyes, there’s a flash of something—resentment, anger, maybe shame.
“What’s wrong with the dress?” I ask, curious. “You’ve been giving it death stares since we got here.”
She hesitates, her fingers twisting the fabric. “It’s not the dress itself,” she says quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “It’s… what it represents.”
I cross my arms, leaning against the wall, waiting for her to continue. She swallows, her gaze flickering to the floor. “Dante makes me wear things like this to… influence the men in the meetings. To keep their attention where he wants it. I’m just a pawn to him, something to flash in front of them when he thinks it’ll get him what he wants.”
My jaw clenches, and I feel a surge of anger—more than I should, maybe, but I can’t help it. I didn’t think I’d care this much about her being used but hearing it from her mouth stirs something in me, something primal and protective. “He uses you like bait,” I say, my voice flat.
She looks away, biting her lip. “It’s just the way things are.”
“The hell it is.” Before I can think better of it, I reach out and take the dress from her hands, crossing to the fireplace. Without a word, I toss it into the flames, watching as it catches fire, the red fabric curling and blackening, reduced to ash in seconds.
Mia watches, her expression softening, something raw flickering in her eyes. “You didn’t have to do that,” she whispers, but there’s gratitude in her voice.
“Good riddance,” I murmur, my voice rough, feeling a surge of satisfaction at defying her brother’s hold on her in this small, symbolic way. I glance back at her, and for a moment, we’re not enemies. We’re not captor and captive. We’re just two people trapped by circumstances we didn’t choose.
“Thank you,” she says, so quietly I almost miss it. Her eyes meet mine, and in the dim firelight, they look almost vulnerable, like she’s seeing me differently for the first time.
The weight of the moment settles between us, and I know that line we’ve been dancing around is growing thinner, harder to ignore. My gaze trails over her, taking in her bare legs, the way the oversized shirt skims her thighs, leaving just enough to the imagination. I see her blush, and I smirk, letting my eyes linger on her a moment longer than necessary.
I strip off my shirt first, watching her reaction as I reveal each inch of my chest, letting the firelight catch the lines of ink that map my skin. Her gaze lingers, more curious than shy, as if she's trying to read every scar, every tattoo. I reach down, unbuttoning my pants, and slide them off, leaving me in just my boxers. Her cheeks flush, and she quickly looks away, but I catch her sneaking a glance from under her lashes.
“Comfortable?” I ask, smirking as I slip under the covers, keeping close enough to feel the heat of her body.
She clears her throat, shifting slightly on the bed, and gives a quick, unconvincing nod. “I’ll be fine as long as you stay on your side.”
“Relax, princess. If I cross any lines, you’ll know,” I say, my voice a murmur, watching the way her lashes flutter, the way her breathing hitches just a bit. She’s affected, whether she wants to admit it or not.
We lie there, the silence stretched taut between us. My eyes drift over her, taking in the softness of her skin and the curve of her neck where her pulse thrums. She’s so close, her warmth soaking into me, yet there’s still that final, invisible wall between us.
“Adrian,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah?”
She hesitates, her fingers brushing the edge of the blanket as if searching for something to hold onto. “Why did you do it? Why did you burn the dress?”
I let out a long, slow breath, feeling the weight of her question. “Because you deserve better than to be someone’s pawn,” I say, voice rough. “You deserve better than this life, Mia.”
Her eyes meet mine, wide and unguarded, and for a moment, all the walls we’ve both built up begin to crumble. The air between us thickens, and I can feel the pull, a magnetic force that has me leaning closer without even realizing it.
My hand moves on its own, tracing a line along her jaw, my thumb brushing her cheek. Her breath catches, and she doesn’t pull away. I see her swallow, her lips parting slightly, and damn if it isn’t the most tempting thing I’ve ever seen.
“Adrian…” she breathes, her voice soft and uncertain, but there’s a hint of a dare in her eyes, like she’s waiting for me to close that final inch between us.
I’m about to give in, about to claim her mouth with mine, when she suddenly shifts, turning her back to me, her breathing unsteady. “Goodnight,” she whispers, her voice tight, her body tense.
I grit my teeth, clamping down on the desire clawing at my insides. “Goodnight, Mia.”
The fire crackles, and I lie there, staring at her back, wondering how long I can keep my hands off her… and how long she’ll keep pretending she doesn’t want me just as badly.
The only glow was coming from the faint embers still smoldering in the fireplace. I close my eyes, trying to push her out of my mind, but sleep doesn't come easily. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under.