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I cry out and he begins fucking me right here on the floor. We’re both sweaty, both bloody, both on the verge of ecstasy as my body clenches around him, taking him deeper than before, milking every last shred of control from him.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You feel too fucking good.”

I let out a high, desperate gasp as his pace quickens, as my body surrenders to the punishing rhythm.

Then his fingers twist into my hair and he yanks me back hard; the sharp pain blends with pleasure and sends me crashing over the edge.

My orgasm tears through me, muscles pulsing and body thrashing.

His breath is ragged and uneven. “Are you ready for me? I’m going to fill you up until you’re dripping with my cum.”

I moan out his name and he drives into me one last time, spilling himself inside with a groan that’s pure relief. I feel his cum leaking down my thighs, hot and thick, marking me in ways I never knew I wanted.

Finally, we collapse in a tangled heap on the floor: panting, spent, gloriously ruined. His arms wrap around me from behind. He nuzzles my neck, whispering my name, which makes me shiver with satisfaction and something dangerously close to happiness.

We stay like this for a long time, neither of us willing to break the perfect silence. Eventually, he carries me to the bed, wraps his strong arms around me, and whispers his love in the dark as I drift off to sleep in perfect bliss.

I wake up to the sound of birds chirping. Sunlight warms my bare shoulders as consciousness seeps back into my bones. I turn over in bed, expecting to hit a wall of muscle called Adrian, but the sheets beside me are empty. My fingers trace the impression his head left on the pillow.

Where is he?

I stretch, noticing the delicious ache in muscles I’d forgotten I had. Memories of last night flood my senses: Adrian’s hands mapping my body like territory he’d been denied for too long, the weight of him above me, inside me.

For the first time in years, I feel whole.

I check the bathroom first, but it’s empty. The sudden absence stirs something uneasy in my chest—a splinter of doubt I don’t want to acknowledge. Old habits die hard; trust is still a tender, healing wound.

I dress quickly, the growing uneasiness pushing me to search for him.

The manor is quiet this morning, most of the staff occupied with outdoor duties. My bare feet pad lightly around as I navigate the maze of hallways.

Voices drift from Adrian’s office—my cousin’s inflection rising and falling in what sounds like annoyance. Adrian’s deeper tones respond, equally tense, so I slow my steps, feeling the sudden sting of caution.

I pause outside the cracked door and listen.

“—came by again today, asking for you,” Lorenzo says. “I told her to leave, but she’s getting more persistent.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Adrian responds, his voice tight. “We can’t have her around here.”

The words freeze my blood.

Her?

My legs are now wobbly from more than just amazing sex last night.

The only “her” I can think of is Lady Harrow.

What if Valentine finally broke and told her Adrian is alive?

If she knows, it’s only a matter of time before she weaves her poisonous web around Julian, manipulating him as she’s always done.

But no—that makes no sense. If Lady Harrow knew her son was alive, she wouldn’t waste time with casual visits.

She’d make sure Julian knew immediately, creating some story about how Adrian and I faked his death to run off together.

Julian would already be at Lorenzo’s gates, armed and murderous, ready to start armageddon.

So who, then? What woman is Adrian talking about?

“The pictures Julian is demanding—” Lorenzo starts.

“I told you, that’s not happening,” Adrian cuts him off. “We’ll find another way to appease my brother.”

Julian’s name only adds to my confusion.

Enough of this. If something involves Julian, I need to know.

I push the door open without knocking, both men turning toward me with identical expressions of surprise.

“What about Julian?” I demand. “What pictures?”

They exchange a look that grates against my nerves—men deciding how much truth a woman can handle.

“Tell me,” I say, crossing my arms. “Now.”

Lorenzo sighs, leaning back against Adrian’s desk. “Julian paid me to take you off his hands, remember? Part of our arrangement involves providing evidence that you’re being… properly dealt with.”

“He’s demanding degrading photos of you,” Adrian says flatly, his jaw clenched tight. “To confirm you’re being broken as he requested.”

This news shouldn’t surprise me. It shouldn’t hurt.

Yet it does—a final, killing blow to whatever lingering affection I had for the boy I once loved.

Julian isn’t just lost; he’s become the monster he always feared.

He doesn’t just want me gone—he wants me humiliated, degraded, my dignity stripped away for his pleasure.

Julian is the one who really died.

I swallow away a lump in my throat and step forward. “I’ll do it. Let’s give him what he wants. Buy ourselves more time.”

Adrian’s response is immediate. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s just pictures. They don’t have to be real?—”

“I said no.” His voice drops to that dangerous rumble that leaves no room for argument. “I won’t have images like that of you existing anywhere. Not even as a ruse. Julian would spread them throughout the Consortium and they’d become public property. Traded and displayed like your mother’s were. ”

“My mother’s pictures?” My voice is weak and deflated.

His expression softens. “Lucian documented everything. Julian doesn’t know—I made sure of that—but the photos circulated among certain members. It was… part of his power play. Evidence of his dominance. Most are gone by now, so I pray you never stumble upon any.”

The thought that my mother’s humiliation is preserved somewhere, passed around like trading cards, makes my knees weak. I stumble slightly, and Adrian rushes forward to catch me, his arms strong and stable around my waist.

“We’ll find another way,” he says, pulling me against his chest. “A way that doesn’t sacrifice your dignity.”

“But Julian will?—”

“No.” His fingers tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“This isn’t a negotiation, Aurelia. Some lines we don’t cross.

Some sacrifices we don’t make. I’ve allowed too many compromises in my life, and I’ve watched too many people I care about be broken on the altar of necessity. Not you. Not this.”

The fierce protectiveness in his voice wraps around me. I see now what he tried to shield me from for all those years and what he’s still shielding me from.

“Aww,” Lorenzo coos from his position by the desk. “You two are adorable when you’re planning murder and arguing about fake degradation photos.”

Adrian shoots him a withering look that would make lesser men crumble, but Lorenzo only grins, clearly comfortable with Adrian’s deadly glare .

“Come on,” Adrian says, taking my hand. “Let’s go back to bed. We need more sleep after last night.”

I allow him to lead me from the office, my heart a strange, overflowing mix of gratitude and sorrow. His fingers wrap around mine, solid and real and present in a way he never allowed himself to be before.

But as we walk, the question lingers, a shadow in my thoughts: who is the woman asking for Adrian?

For now, though, I let myself be guided back to the warmth of sheets that smell like him, that smell like us. For now, I choose to trust.

For once in my life, I choose to believe in something good.