"Not much."
"I'm not surprised. He pretends it never happened." She shakes her head. "He was murdered in front of us. We were kids. Adrian was ten, and I was six. Luc was home sick, so Dad took us out for ice cream. A competitor gunned him down. He came up while he was helping to tie my shoe and blew his brains out."
My hand flies to my mouth. "Oh my God."
"I still can't eat ice cream." Her voice is flat. Practiced. Like she's told this story before. "Adrian tried to fight them. He took Dad's gun and tried to hunt the man down, but he was small and the gun was heavy…" She shivers slightly. "By the time the guards found us, Dad was cold, and we were just standing there traumatized."
Tears are streaming down my face. "Gemma?—"
She finally looks at me. "I think something in Adrian brokethat night. Like his brain just... switched off the parts that feel normal human emotions. All that's left is the need to protect. To control. To make sure nothing like that ever happens again."
Tears stream down my face thinking about that little boy. I mourn for Gemma, who watched her father die.
"I didn't know," I whisper. "He didn't give me details."
"He wouldn't. He doesn't talk about it. Ever." She reaches for my hand. "The fact that he told you some is huge."
"Why did you tell me?"
"Because I want you to understand. Adrian is the way he is because he's terrified. Of losing control. Of losing the people he loves. Of being that helpless boy again."
"So he holds on too tight."
"Yes. And it's suffocating. Believe me, I know." Her grip tightens on my hand. "But it comes from a real place. From real trauma. It doesn't make it right. I've always thought he was a sociopath—someone who can't feel like normal people do. But maybe it makes it more... understandable."
I think about Adrian. About his need to know where I am at all times. His guards. His rules. His violence when anyone threatens what's his.
It's not just about power. It's about fear.
Fear of losing control. Fear of losing me. Fear of being helpless again.
"Thank you for telling me," I say quietly.
"You're family now. You should know." She squeezes my hand, then releases it. "And Sera? He's trying. I can see it. The way he comes home for dinner. The way he set this up for us. He doesn't do things like that. Not normally. You're changing him."
"Do you think that Adrian can change?" I ask. "When all of this is over?—"
"It's never over." She smiles sadly. "But give him time. And maybe meet him halfway. I think you'll be surprised."
"What about you?" I ask. "What about Saint?"
Her smile fades immediately. "What about him?"
"Are you okay? With the engagement? With everything?"
"No." The word is small. Defeated. "But I don't have a choice."
"There's always a choice."
She glances at me. "Sometimes the choices are just varying degrees of bad."
"Maybe you could grow to care about him."
"I don't even know him." She pulls her knees to her chest. "We've met maybe five times. And every time, he goes out of his way to make me feel small. Stupid. Like I'm some spoiled princess he's being forced to marry."
"He is being forced," I remind her. "Maybe there's common ground there."
"He's made it clear he's not interested in finding common ground."
