Then, after a long moment, he breaks the tension with a single line.
“It’s part of Nikolai’s plan.”
He slides a hand into my hair, fingers threading through the strands, his palm warm against the back of my neck. I hate how my body responds, how my breath stumbles when he pulls me closer.
And I can’t help it—I lean in.
Our mouths collide—not gentle, not asking. It’s a kiss born from frustration and memory, from everything unsaid. His lips are hot, hungry, tasting faintly of whiskey and something darker. His tongue finds mine, slow at first, testing, then deeper.
His hand tightens in my hair, angling my mouth to his, dragging a quiet sound from the back of my throat I didn’t mean to make. I hate that he hears it. I hate that I feel anything at all.
It’s not the same as kissing Nikolai. With Nikolai, it’s wildfire and ruin. With Adrian, it’s a quiet burn, slower, steadier, and it terrifies me that I don’t feel disgust.
When we finally break apart, breath mingling in the inches between us, I can taste blood—his or mine, I don’t even know. My lips feel swollen, my pulse racing.
Leftover tension hums as the music swells around us, dragging us back into rhythm. Our bodies move automatically, pretending nothing happened.
“You’re a good liar too, Aurelia,” he murmurs against my ear, edged with mockery.
I look up at him, jaw tight, nothing left to say.
“I almost thought you meant that,” he adds, a ghost of a smile curling his lips.
I bite my bottom lip hard enough to taste metal, holding his stare until the song fades. Then, without another word, he walks me back to Nikolai.
When we reach him, I’m pretty sure either Adrian or I are about to die.
Nikolai stands near the edge of the ballroom, a dark shape against the glittering chaos. The chandelier light fractures acrosshis suit, cold gold and shadow, but his eyes—Christ—his eyes are all storm. The music hasn’t stopped, but it feels quieter, warped under the weight of his fury. Every man near him takes a subtle step back.
I’ve never seen him this pissed.
He moves fast, snatching my wrists and yanking them behind my back. The motion is practiced and possessive. The edge of his ring is digging into my skin. My breath catches, but he still says nothing. Not a word.
Adrian just smiles and turns to the cluster of men nearby. Their laughter cracks, loud and ugly, jokes about how they can’t wait for their turn with me.
But their voices fade into static the moment Nikolai pulls me away.
I barely register my heels scraping the floor, the gleam of champagne flutes, and the heavy perfume and cigar smoke bleeding into the air. The ballroom disappears behind us in a blur of light and chatter as he drags me through the corridor.
We don’t even make it to the exit before he shoves open the door to the coat room.
The world narrows.
Dim amber light spills from a single bulb overhead, making his features agonize me with cruelty.
The cuffs on my wrist jingle as he closes the distance between us, the metallic sound slicing through the thick silence. His presence fills the room, pressing into me, consuming my entire body.
My back hits the wall.
My chest tightens—not fear, not exactly, but something darker. Adrenaline, heat, fury, and desire all tangled together, fighting for space beneath my skin.
“Did you enjoy that?”
I smirk, despite myself. “You’re mad about it?”
“Of course I’m fucking mad, Aurelia.”
“Well, why did you come up with this plan if you don’t like it?”
