Page 40 of The Beast's Broken Angel

BLOOD AND SILK

NOAH

T he ceiling of my room had thirty-seven hairline cracks in the plaster.

I'd counted them twice while lying awake, watching dawn creep through bulletproof windows like a thief.

Hours since Adrian had walked out, getting dressed with that methodical calm that somehow made his departure feel both inevitable and devastating.

Sleep was impossible. My mind wouldn't shut off, cycling through everything that had happened, everything that had changed between us in the space of a few devastating hours. My body still hummed with the memory of his touch, nerve endings firing in patterns he'd mapped with methodical care.

My body remembered every second. The ghost of his hands lingered on my skin like phantom burns, nerve endings still firing in patterns he'd mapped with methodical care.

I'd showered twice, but I could still smell him on me—expensive cologne mixed with something darker, more primal.

Something that made my pulse quicken despite the voice in my head screaming warnings.

The rational part of my brain, the part trained in trauma response and victim psychology, catalogued what had happened with clinical detachment.

Stockholm syndrome. Trauma bonding. Biological responses to prolonged stress and isolation.

All textbook explanations for why I'd not only allowed Adrian Calloway to fuck me senseless but had begged him for more.

Except none of those explanations accounted for the way my chest had tightened when he'd looked at me like I was something precious. Or how his vulnerability, glimpsed in unguarded moments, had made me want to protect him despite everything he'd done.

Christ, what was wrong with me?

I dragged myself out of bed, muscles protesting the movement.

Evidence of our encounter marked my body in bruises and scratches, a roadmap of surrender I couldn't quite regret.

Each mark told a story I didn't know how to process—pain transformed into pleasure, control exchanged through trust I shouldn't have been able to give.

The mirror reflected someone I barely recognized.

Same face, same body, but something fundamental had changed behind my eyes.

The careful distance I'd maintained since arriving at Ravenswood had evaporated, replaced by something raw and unguarded that made my stomach clench with equal parts anticipation and terror.

The silence in my room felt oppressive, thick with the lingering scent of Adrian's cologne and the weight of choices I couldn't take back.

I'd crossed a line tonight, not just physically but emotionally.

Given him something I'd never given anyone else—complete surrender, unguarded trust, the kind of vulnerability that could destroy me if he chose to weaponize it.

The thought should have terrified me. Instead, it sent heat pooling low in my gut, the memory of his hands on my skin, the way he'd whispered my name like a prayer and a claim all at once.

A soft knock at my door interrupted the spiral of anxiety. “Come in,” I called, expecting Viktor or one of the other staff.

Instead, Sophia entered with a tea service, silver hair perfect despite the early hour. Her eyes missed nothing as they catalogued my appearance—the careful way I moved, the marks visible above my collar, the general air of someone who'd been thoroughly claimed.

“Good morning, Noah,” she said with a smile that somehow managed to be both maternal and predatory. “I thought you might appreciate some proper breakfast after your... strenuous evening.”

Heat flooded my cheeks, but I forced myself to meet her gaze directly. “Thank you. That's thoughtful.”

She set the tray on my small table with practiced grace, then settled into the chair across from me like she belonged there. “Adrian's gone to handle some business matters. Financial irregularities that require his personal attention.”

The way she said it made my medical training kick in, analyzing her tone and body language for hidden meanings. Sophia Calloway didn't do anything without purpose, and her presence here felt calculated.

“Is there something specific you wanted to discuss?” I asked, accepting the delicate china cup she offered.

“Several things, actually.” She poured her own tea with the ritual care of someone who'd turned hospitality into an art form. “First, your sister's gallery showing. The arrangements are proceeding beautifully, but I wanted your input on the guest list. It's important we invite the right people.”

The casual mention of Isabelle sent a familiar spike of protective anxiety through my chest. “What kind of people?”

“Collectors, critics, buyers with actual money rather than just aesthetic opinions.” Sophia's smile sharpened slightly. “Your sister has genuine talent, Noah. But talent without proper connections remains forever undiscovered.”

I sipped my tea, buying time to think. Everything in Adrian's world came with strings attached, debts that accumulated interest in ways you didn't understand until it was too late. “And what would those connections cost?”

“Smart question.” Sophia's approval felt like a test I'd unexpectedly passed. “Nothing, directly. But relationships in our world require careful maintenance. Loyalties, once established, tend to become... permanent.”

The warning was delivered with grandmotherly warmth, but the steel underneath was unmistakable. Isabelle's career advancement would come with obligations, expectations that would bind our family to the Calloway empire in ways that went beyond my current arrangement.

“You're concerned about my influence on Adrian,” I said, cutting through the polite conversation to the heart of what she really wanted to discuss.

Sophia's laugh was genuinely delighted. “Direct. I like that about you. Yes, I'm concerned. But not in the way you might think.”

She leaned forward slightly, her expression shifting from social politeness to something more serious.

“Adrian has never brought anyone to Ravenswood who wasn't either family or business.

Never shared his private spaces, never allowed anyone to see him without his armour firmly in place.

Yet here you are, wearing his marks like jewellery, smelling like his cologne, looking like a man who's been thoroughly claimed.”

My face burned, but I didn't look away. “Is that a problem?”

“It's unprecedented,” she corrected. “Which makes it either very dangerous or very valuable. Possibly both. ”

I set down my teacup, needing something to do with my hands. “What do you want from me, Mrs. Calloway?”

“Sophia, please. And what I want is for you to understand what you've gotten yourself into.” She paused, studying me with those sharp eyes that seemed to see everything. “Adrian doesn't do relationships, Noah. He does possessions. Acquisitions. Strategic alliances.”

“I know what he is,” I said quietly.

“Do you?” She tilted her head, bird-like in her focus. “Because what I saw in my grandson's face when he looked at you last night wasn't calculation. It was hunger. The kind that destroys men like him if they're not careful.”

The observation sent a chill down my spine, but not the kind I expected. Instead of fear, I felt something that might have been pride. The idea that I could affect Adrian Calloway enough to crack his careful control was intoxicating in ways I didn't want to examine.

“He told me I had a choice,” I said, remembering his words from the night before. “That he wanted me to choose him.”

“And did you?”

The question was loaded with implications I wasn't ready to face. Because the truth was that I had chosen him. Not just in that moment, but in every moment since I'd signed his contract. Every time I could have run and hadn't. Every time I'd stood my ground instead of backing down.

“I think I've been choosing him all along,” I admitted, the words feeling like confession. “I just didn't want to admit it.”

Sophia's smile was soft, almost maternal. “Then you need to understand the rules of the game you've entered. Because Adrian's world doesn't forgive mistakes, and the people who love him tend to become targets.”

Love. The word hit me like a punch to the chest, stealing my breath. Because that's what this was, wasn't it? This consuming need, this willingness to surrender everything I'd believed about myself. Love, twisted and dangerous and completely fucking insane.

“How do I protect myself?” I asked, surprised by how steady my voice sounded.

“You don't,” Sophia said simply. “You protect him. And in protecting him, you protect yourself. But Noah—” Her expression turned serious, almost grave. “Once you're truly his, there's no going back. The Calloway family doesn't let go of what belongs to it.”

Before I could respond, the door opened without ceremony.

Adrian stood in the doorway, still wearing yesterday's clothes, his hair slightly mussed, looking like he'd been running on pure adrenaline for hours.

His eyes found mine immediately, and the heat in his gaze sent electricity racing through my nervous system.

“Grandmother,” he said without looking away from me. “I need to speak with Noah privately.”

Sophia rose gracefully, patting my shoulder as she passed. “Think about what I said, dear. And remember—in this family, loyalty is rewarded, but betrayal is unforgivable.”

The warning was clearly meant for both of us. After she left, Adrian closed the door with a soft click that sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

“You look like you've been thinking,” he observed, moving closer with that predatory grace that made my pulse quicken.

“Hard not to,” I replied, standing to face him. “Last night changed things.”

“Did it?” He stopped just close enough that I could smell his cologne, see the faint stubble along his jaw, feel the heat radiating from his body. “Or did it just make obvious what was already there? ”