Page 23 of The Beast's Broken Angel

Adrian appeared at breakfast looking like he'd stepped out of a bloody fashion magazine.

Perfect suit, perfect hair, perfect composure.

As if last night's brutality had happened in another dimension, to different people.

He barely glanced up from his tablet as I dropped into the chair across from him.

“You look like shit, Noah,” he observed casually. “Adjusting to new surroundings can be difficult.”

Rage bubbled up in my chest, hot and sudden. How dare he sit there so calm, so untouched by what he'd done? What he'd made me watch?

“I need to see my sister today,” I said, not bothering to disguise the demand in my tone. Sleep deprivation had scraped away whatever caution I might have had left. “To make sure she's been transferred to Westminster as promised.”

Adrian took a leisurely sip of his coffee, making me wait because he could. Because that's what men like him did to remind you who held the power.

“Your sister was moved yesterday afternoon,” he finally replied, sliding a folder across the table toward me. “Complete treatment authorisation, private room, specialist consultation scheduled for tomorrow. As promised.”

I flipped through the documents, finding everything exactly as he'd described. The ease with which he fulfilled this promise felt like just another manipulation, another way to bind me to him through both threat and reward.

“And you thought this entitled you to make me witness an execution?” I kept my voice low, aware of staff moving quietly around us with coffee and breakfast plates. “Was that meant to show off your power? Break my will? Because it didn't work if that was the plan.”

I expected anger. Maybe even punishment for my insolence. Instead, Adrian's mouth curved into a slight smile, like my defiance actually pleased him somehow. The reaction was more unsettling than anger would have been.

“Actually, it was necessary clarity,” he replied, setting down his cup with deliberate care. “You've entered a world with different rules. Better to understand that immediately than harbour illusions about your new reality.”

“I understood the reality when I signed up for this,” I shot back. “I didn't need a bloody demonstration.”

“Didn't you?” His mismatched eyes studied me with disturbing intensity. “Would understanding it intellectually have been enough? Or did you need to see it, feel it, breathe it in to truly comprehend what you've committed yourself to?”

The worst part was, he might be right. The abstract knowledge that Adrian was a criminal, even a killer, was nothing compared to witnessing it firsthand. Now there was no hiding behind ignorance or plausible deniability. I knew exactly who and what he was.

“Viktor will drive you to Westminster at ten,” Adrian continued, apparently considering the matter closed. “You'll have two hours with your sister. After that, we begin your official medical duties with a full assessment session.”

“Is that what we're calling it now? Medical duties?” I couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped me. “After what I saw last night, are we still pretending that's all I'm here for? ”

Adrian set his tablet aside, giving me his full attention for the first time. The weight of those mismatched eyes felt physical, like being pinned under something heavy.

“Your primary function is medical, Noah.

I didn't exaggerate my need for your expertise with burn treatment.” His voice dropped slightly, intimate despite the subject matter.

“But you're also mine now, in a broader sense. Your time, your skills, your presence—all of it for the next year. How I utilise those resources is entirely at my discretion.”

The possessive claim sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine, one that wasn't entirely fear. There was something else in it, something I didn't want to examine too closely.

“I won't participate in torture,” I said flatly. “I'll patch people up after, if I have to. But I won't help you hurt them.”

“We'll see,” Adrian replied, not arguing but not agreeing either. The ambiguity was clearly deliberate. “Finish your breakfast. You look like you need it.”

I wanted to refuse just to be contrary, but my body betrayed me. I was starving, and the food smelled incredible. Under Adrian's watchful gaze, I forced myself to eat, hating how good it tasted, hating that I was accepting even this small comfort from him.

The private car Adrian had sent was ridiculously luxurious, all soft leather seats and tinted windows.

Viktor drove silently, his massive shoulders blocking most of my view through the front windscreen.

I thought about our strange early morning conversation, wondering if I should mention it.

But then the privacy partition went up, and the moment passed.

Westminster Memorial's exclusive wing looked more like a five-star hotel than a hospital.

The corridors were wide and carpeted, the walls adorned with actual artwork instead of the sad motivational posters most hospitals used.

Isabelle's room was at the end of the hall, a corner suite with windows on two sides.

When I pushed open the door, I nearly gasped.

The room was massive, with a proper bed instead of the standard hospital issue, an attached private bathroom, and a sitting area with comfortable furniture.

Flowers covered every surface, their perfume sweet and heavy in the air.

An easel with fresh art supplies stood near the window, positioned to catch the perfect natural light.

“Noah!” Isabelle's delighted surprise quickly shifted to confusion as she took me in. “What the hell? They moved me yesterday with no warning, and suddenly my treatment's fully authorised for the next year?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Did you win the lottery and not tell me?”

She looked better than I'd seen her in months.

There was actual colour in her cheeks, and she'd tied her hair back with a colourful scarf instead of hiding it under a beanie like she usually did when it was thinning from treatment.

The weight in my chest eased slightly at seeing her improvement, validating my decision even as I hated what it had cost.

“I took a private nursing position,” I explained carefully, the partial truth burning my tongue. “With a wealthy client who insisted on helping with your situation when he learned about it. I'll be living in-residence for a while.”

Isabelle's artist eyes missed nothing, her gaze raking over me with the perception that had always made lying to her impossible.

“You look different. Stressed.” She reached out, grabbing my hand with surprising strength for someone so ill.

“What aren't you telling me? You didn't do anything stupid for me, did you?”

I opened my mouth, searching for a convincing lie, when the door swung open behind me. My stomach dropped to my feet as Adrian himself strolled in, carrying a ridiculous arrangement of exotic orchids like he was just some thoughtful visitor.

“Noah,” he greeted me with perfect casualness, as if we were merely employer and employee. “I thought I'd join you briefly to meet the talented artist I've heard so much about.”

I froze as Isabelle's curious gaze shifted between us, taking in Adrian's expensive suit, his scarred face, the aura of power that surrounded him like a force field. And worst of all, the predatory little smile he gave me that promised complications I hadn't anticipated.

“Isabelle Hastings,” Adrian continued smoothly, setting the orchids on a side table and approaching her bed with his hand outstretched. “I'm Adrian Calloway. Your brother has been kind enough to take a position as my personal medical consultant.”

Isabelle shook his hand, her artist's eyes missing nothing—not the extensive scarring, not the obvious wealth, and certainly not the tension crackling between us.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Calloway,” she said cautiously. “Thanks for...” she gestured around the luxurious room, “all this. It's a bit much, though, isn't it?”

Adrian actually laughed, the sound surprisingly genuine. “Perhaps. But why not be comfortable while you heal? I understand your artwork shows remarkable promise. I've always been a collector of emerging talent.”

And just like that, he launched into a conversation about her art, displaying knowledge that could only have come from extensive research.

He asked about her techniques, her influences, her plans for future projects.

What disturbed me most was that his interest seemed genuine, not just the calculated manipulation I'd expected.

Isabelle warmed to him slowly, her initial wariness giving way to enthusiasm as she described her latest series.

Adrian listened attentively, asking thoughtful questions that revealed actual knowledge of art.

I stood by, feeling increasingly superfluous in a conversation that shouldn't have been happening at all.

“Your brother's medical skills are exceptional,” Adrian told Isabelle, his hand suddenly settling on my shoulder with casual possessiveness that made my skin burn through my shirt. “His talents were being wasted in emergency medicine. I'm fortunate he accepted my offer.”

The weight of his hand felt like a claim, a brand marking me as his property in front of the one person who mattered most to me. The fact that my body reacted to the touch with something other than revulsion only made it worse.

“Noah's always been brilliant,” Isabelle agreed, her eyes tracking the interaction between us with growing suspicion. “But he's never mentioned an interest in private practice before.”

“Sometimes life presents unexpected opportunities,” Adrian replied smoothly. “Opportunities that benefit everyone involved.”

The double meaning hung in the air, clear to me if not to Isabelle. I shifted away from his touch, needing distance.