Chapter Twenty-One
Adrian
I stared at my monitors the next day, fingers drumming against the jade knife handle as my six-screen setup cast its unholy glow across my sunlit living room.
The rage simmering beneath my skin felt controlled and focused, like a scalpel instead of a sledgehammer. Much more dangerous that way.
Adrian
Today's task, angel.
Gather everything Noah ever gave you or that reminds you of him. Put it all in a bag. Send me a picture when it's done.
On my surveillance feed, I watched Isla's face illuminate as she read my command, her phone casting light across those perfect features.
The white ribbon around her throat caught the glow—my mark, my claim, my fucking property .
Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she typed her response.
Isla
Everything?
One word. Loaded with hesitation that made my jaw clench and my fingers drum faster.
Adrian
Every. Fucking. Thing.
Please, angel.
Because I was going to burn it all to dust and scatter the remains where that pathetic fuck will never find them.
On screen, she nodded to herself and stood, my good girl already obeying.
I switched camera angles, following her movement through the apartment like a digital stalker, which I absolutely was.
She started in her closet, and I leaned forward when she pulled out a blue sweater from the back, holding it with a wistfulness that made my blood simmer.
"That's it, angel," I murmured to my empty room, the piranhas behind me circling restlessly.
They could sense my predatory mood, probably wondering if they'd get fresh meat tonight.
Patience, my beauties. Soon.
She tossed the sweater onto her bed, then reached for a shoebox on the top shelf. When she opened it, I leaned forward, eyes narrowing. It held photos, notes, a few small stuffed animals.
Each memento was another thread connecting her to a past that didn't include me, and I fucking hated it.
My phone buzzed:
Connor
Skipping practice?
Adrian
Rain check. Angel duty.
Jax
Domestic bliss already?
Adrian
We’re burning everything Noah ever gave her.
Jax
Good.
Connor
Good.
I smirked, steadied by their approval as I watched Isla carefully place a candle into the garbage bag.
Every image she touched was another reminder of hands that weren't mine, lips that had kissed her before I claimed them, a voice that had whispered sweet nothings in her ear before I taught her what real devotion sounded like.
She disappeared into the bathroom, emerging with a toiletry bag that joined the growing pile. Something dark and primitive unfurled in my chest as I realized it probably contained scented products Noah had liked.
The thought of her choosing her fragrance based on another man's preferences made my teeth grind together.
Soon, I’d burn it all. Watch the flames lick away every trace of him until there's nothing left but smoke and memory.
My phone hummed with Isla’s custom text tone:
Isla
What about gifts that I actually like ?
My fingers stilled.
Adrian
What did you just ask me, angel?
ALL of it. No exceptions.
I watched her face contort slightly on the monitor, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she nodded again.
She moved to her dresser, pulling out a delicate silver bracelet. She studied it for a moment, probably remembering the occasion, the words that accompanied it, before dropping it into the bag with the rest.
"That's right," I purred, satisfaction threading through the possessive rage. "Nothing of his gets to stay."
Over the next hour, I tracked her progress through her apartment. A book from her shelf. A mug from her kitchen. A framed concert poster from her closet.
Each item went into the bag, each one another victory in my silent war against the ghost of Noah fucking Brown.
All of it will burn. Every fucking piece.
The fantasy was already taking shape in my mind—a huge fire, flames reaching toward the sky like hungry fingers.
I'd make Isla watch as her past turned to ash and smoke, then I'd fuck her in the glow of the dying embers until she forgot Noah had ever existed.
She opened a box, revealing a diamond-shaped pendant. Fucking predictable. No imagination, no understanding of what a woman like Isla truly deserved.
I watched her touch it gently, a flash of nostalgia crossing her features that made me stand abruptly, pacing the length of my living room like a caged animal.
"No," I hissed, sending another text.
Adrian
Everything in the bag .
She startled at the notification, then closed the box and added it to the collection.
The pendant would burn beautifully—silver melting in the flames until it was nothing but a puddle of metal that would cool into an unrecognizable mass.
Just like Noah's memory would become in her mind once I was done with her.
The final item was a photo album, which she flipped through page by page with an expression I didn't like.
It was too much nostalgia, too much sentiment. When she finally closed it with a sigh and added it to the bag, I felt my shoulders relax slightly.
Isla
I’m done.
The image she sent showed a black garbage bag stuffed to capacity with the physical representations of her relationship with Noah.
I stared at it for a long moment, savage satisfaction mixing with arousal at the sight.
But having them bagged in her apartment wasn't enough. They needed to be destroyed, cremated, reduced to nothing but carbon and regret.
I grabbed my keys and jacket, my knife secure in its sheath at my hip. The Lamborghini's engine roared to life like a dragon waking from slumber, and I tore through the city streets with a single-minded purpose.
The security guard at her neighborhood’s entrance barely glanced at me; he knew by now I almost lived here.
I took the stairs quickly, too impatient for the elevator. When she opened the door, the garbage bag sat at her feet like an offering to the dark gods.
Her blue eyes went wide as I stepped inside, pupils dilating with that perfect mix of fear and desire that made my cock twitch. Both fed the primal need growing inside me .
"Adrian?" she questioned, stepping back to let me in further. "I didn't know you were coming over."
"Change of plans, angel." I lied, eyes drinking in every detail of her white sundress clinging to the soft curves of her body, and how the light caught in her blonde hair, creating a halo effect that made my 'angel' nickname for her feel almost prophetic.
I scooped up the bag in one hand and her waist in the other. "We're going for a ride."
"Now?" She blinked up at me, confusion and excitement mixing in her expression. “Where are we going?”
"My place," I answered, already steering her toward the door. “We’re doing something fun.”
She hesitated only briefly before grabbing her phone from the coffee table. "Should I change? Or pack something?"
"No." The word came out sharper than I intended, my patience fraying with every second those reminders of Noah remained intact.
I softened my tone, brushing my thumb along her jaw. "You're perfect as you are. We won't be long."
Another lie. She wasn't coming back tonight, or possibly tomorrow. Not until every trace of Noah Brown had been properly cremated and scattered to the wind.
Outside, I tossed the bag into the frunk of my car, then opened the passenger door for her. "In you go."
She slid into the seat, her dress riding up to reveal a creamy glimpse of thigh that momentarily distracted me from my mission.
I closed her door, moved around to the driver's side, and we were peeling out of the garage before she'd even fastened her seatbelt.
"Adrian?" Her voice was careful, measured. "What's going on?"
I glanced at her, at my ribbon, at the confused furrow between her pretty brows.
Something wild was building in my chest, a pressure that demanded release.
"You'll see," I promised, "Just trust me."
The drive took twenty minutes, during which Isla alternated between nervous silence and casual questions about my day that I answered with half-truths.
I wasn't ready to explain what was driving this need, this hunger to eliminate every vestige of the man who'd come before me.
When we pulled into the private garage beside my place, her eyes widened at the collection of vehicles again.
"Home sweet home," I announced, killing the engine and moving around to open her door.
I helped her out, one hand lingering at the small of her back as I retrieved the bag.
"This way."
I led her through the garage, and she eyed every car and torture tool like they were items from a museum until we reached my back door.
Her confusion deepened as I punched in the security code and led her through.
"Adrian, what are we doing?"
I didn't answer, too focused on the weight of the bag in my hand, on the knowledge that soon these physical tethers to her past would be nothing but ash.
We emerged into my sprawling yard, acres of private oasis with views of the skyline, featuring a custom fire pit I'd installed for exactly this kind of occasion.
"It's beautiful," Isla breathed, momentarily distracted by the city spread out before us. "I didn't know you had a?—"
Her words died as I strode to the fire pit, dropped the bag beside it, and began stacking kindling. I could feel her eyes on me as I worked, could sense her growing unease as understanding slowly settled.
"Adrian," she said, her voice smaller now. "What are you doing?"
I looked up at her, at the woman who'd worn my mark without hesitation but still kept another man's gifts tucked away in her home. The wildness in my chest expanded.
"What does it look like, angel? We're having a bonfire."
Her eyes widened, darting from me to the garbage bag and back. " With my things? But I thought... I thought you just wanted me to collect them."
I stood, towering over her smaller frame, something wild and thrumming through my veins like a drug.
"Collecting them was step one," I explained, reaching for the can of accelerant I kept nearby. "Destroying them is step two."