Page 7 of Monsters Wear Crowns (Crowned Monsters Duet #1)

ADELA

The city pulsed beneath me, alive with the hum of a Friday night.

I’d spent the past two weeks drowning in work, my world reduced to boardrooms, security briefings, and the occasional bottle of wine that did little to settle the restlessness inside me.

But tonight, I couldn’t sit in my penthouse, staring at my phone like I was waiting for something–or someone.

I needed to get out. My stranger hadn’t trailed me since Fort Lauderdale, and I didn’t know what to think about that.

I smoothed my hands down the sleek fabric of my black skirt, feeling the lace against my skin.

The red top clung to my figure, dipping between my breasts.

It was a calculated choice, just like the winged liner that sharpened my blue gaze, the high ponytail that bared my neck, and the crimson soles of my heels clicking against the marble as I crossed my apartment.

I exhaled, staring at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror near the door. I looked powerful. Untouchable.

I sighed heavily, grabbing my black clutch before stepping out.

The moment the elevator doors slid open to the lobby, I was already focused on the bar across the street.

A luxury cocktail lounge–dark, intimate, the kind of place where businessmen whispered sins over hundred-dollar whiskey, and women pretended to listen.

It wasn’t where I usually went to let off steam, but tonight, I didn’t want a crowded dance floor or meaningless small talk.

I wanted control. I wanted oblivion. I wanted the smoothest drinks to coat my throat.

***

The doorman nodded as I stepped inside, and the rich scent of aged liquor and expensive cologne wrapped around me.

Dim golden light illuminated the space. The hum of conversation swirled with the soft melody of a live pianist in the corner.

I headed straight for the bar, perching on one of the plush leather stools as the bartender, a sleek man in a pressed black shirt, approached.

“What’s your poison?”

“Whiskey. Your finest. Neat.”

His brow flicked up in approval before he turned, pouring amber liquid into crystal.

I let my eyes drift across the room, watching the people gathered in their little bubbles of whispered deals and stolen glances.

The game of power was everywhere–subtle, quiet.

I had taken several clients here, whispering of their horrid business deals and shady operations. But my mind wasn’t on them.

It was on him.

The stranger. It had been two weeks, and I still hadn’t heard from him. He had unraveled something inside me, leaving a fraying thread of anticipation wound too tight. In the solitude of my bed, I had thought of him–of his hands, his voice, the way his presence had made my blood heat.

What would he do if I let him in? If I let him take?

Now that was the enticing question.

I swallowed hard, gripping the glass as the warmth of whiskey slid down my throat.

It was insane . I knew that. No sane woman should crave the presence of someone who had watched her from the shadows.

He could be seriously dangerous or unhinged.

Maybe he wanted to drive a blade into my chest forty-five times .

But sanity had never satisfied me. I never understood why I was this way.

Laura was normal, finding immense pleasure in many men.

But me? No. I exhaled slowly, willing the thoughts away.

Maybe tonight, I’d find something or someone to scratch that fucking itch beneath my skin.

A temporary distraction. Because that’s all it ever was.

As I reached for my drink again, a presence brushed past me.

A man slid onto the stool beside me. Tall. Dark hair. Sharp suit.

Not him.

I resisted the urge to sigh.

The whiskey burned warm in my throat, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the creeping awareness curling around my spine. That prickle of being watched. I ignored it, rolling my shoulders back. If he was watching, then let him. Let him see exactly what he’d been waiting two weeks for.

The presence shifted beside me. Not the leering type that clung like cheap cologne. No, this was different. Darker. Commanding.

“Drinking alone?”

I froze. The voice was smooth, a rich, velvety timbre that slid over my skin like silk. But beneath that polish, there was something rougher–something that scraped against my nerves in a way that made my stomach drop.

I turned my head slightly, pulse hammering as I took him in.

Tall. Dark features. Breathtaking in a way that was almost unfair.

Black tousled hair, just disheveled enough to suggest fingers had been in it.

A sharp jawline, the kind that could cut glass.

Strong shoulders, broad and confident beneath his tailored suit.

But it was his eyes that held me captive.

Icy blue. Piercing. Watching me with a lazy kind of amusement.

“For now,” I said, mirroring his smirk as I lifted my glass.

He hummed, tapping a single finger against the rim of his own drink. “A woman like you, alone in a place like this? Either you’re waiting for someone, or you prefer to be left alone.”

I tilted my head. “And yet here you are, ignoring that possibility.”

A slow smile tugged at his lips, and my breath caught. There it was. That dimple. A single, devastating crease on his right cheek.

Fuck. Fuck.

“Something tells me you don’t mind the company.”

The air shifted between us. My heart pounded, though I kept my expression casual. There was something about him–an ease to his confidence, a quiet dominance that made the space around him feel smaller. I was suffocating.

His presence slotted too neatly into the empty space beside me, like he’d been meant to be there all along.

Because he was.

His gaze dragged down the length of me, slow and deliberate, making no effort to hide the way he drank me in. My fitted black skirt, the delicate lace of my red top, the curve of my legs crossed at the knee, my red-bottomed heels tapping against the footrest.

My skin prickled beneath his scrutiny.

“You dress like a woman who enjoys attention,” he mused.

I arched a brow, feigning nonchalance despite the heat licking up my spine. “And you watch like a man who enjoys giving it.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement. Interest. Approval. “Guilty,” he murmured, lifting his drink to his lips.

I exhaled slowly, forcing the tension coiling in my stomach to loosen. He said it like it was an inside joke I was supposed to understand. Fuck. Shit. Oh, god. This was the man stalking me? He was fucking gorgeous.

I swirled my glass, keeping my voice light. “Tell me, do you make a habit of approaching women in bars with thinly veiled arrogance, or am I just special?”

His lips curved around the rim of his glass. “You’re special. ”

Two words. Simple. Uncomplicated. And yet they triggered an annoying flare of arousal. I shifted, suddenly too aware of the situation I was in. This wasn’t just some man flirting at a bar. This was the predator finally pouncing.

I lifted my glass to my lips, letting the whiskey linger on my tongue as I studied him over the rim. “Flattery doesn’t work on me.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh that felt more like a secret than amusement. “Good. I wasn’t trying to flatter you.”

I narrowed my eyes, more fascinated than I wanted to admit. His confidence wasn’t forced. It was effortless , woven into the way he held himself, the way he spoke. I was used to men who thought power was about loud voices and heavy hands. But this man?

He carried it like it was stitched into his very skin.

He turned his glass between his fingers, regarding me with that same casual arrogance. I noticed several silver rings and a very expensive watch. “You’ve been restless.”

I stiffened. “You’ve been watching me?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just took a slow sip of his drink, watching me over the rim. The ice in his glass clinked softly as he set it down. “No,” he finally said. “Not for long. I watched you sit down and order.”

Something about that answer made my heart race. I shouldn’t have been interested. I should have been irritated. Maybe even a little unnerved.

But I wasn’t.

And that was the problem.

I shifted in my seat, tilting my chin up. “And what makes you think I’m restless?”

He leaned in just a fraction, his scent drifting toward me. Whiskey and cedarwood. “Because I know the look of someone who came here searching for something.”

A muscle in my jaw ticked. He wasn’t wrong, and that irritated me more than the words themselves .

I swirled my drink in my glass before gently bouncing it on the bar with a soft clink. “And what exactly do you think I’m searching for?”

His lips parted slightly, as if he were on the verge of saying something scandalous. But then he only smiled. Slow. Intimate. “That,” he murmured, voice like a whisper against my skin. “Is what I’m trying to figure out.”

My stomach tightened.

I didn’t like this–how quickly he got under my skin, how easily he unraveled me with a few carefully chosen words. I exhaled sharply, reaching for my clutch. “Well, good luck with that,” I said smoothly, sliding off my barstool.

His hand moved before I even realized what he was doing–just a brush of fingers along my wrist, barely a touch at all. But it stopped me cold.

Not because of the contact itself.

But because of how my body reacted to it.

Heat licked down my spine. My pulse skipped.

I shouldn’t feel like this. Not from this random man.

His thumb ghosted over my skin, just once, before he let me go. “I didn’t catch your name,” he murmured.

I forced myself to breathe before slipping my wrist from his reach. “Then I guess you weren’t meant to,” I said, offering him a slow smirk before turning toward the exit.

His eyes burned into my back as I walked away. I told myself not to look back.

But I did.

And when I did, I found his gaze still locked onto me.