Page 41 of The Beast’s Broken Angel

The question was dangerous territory, but I found myself stepping into it anyway. “What was already there?”

“This.” He gestured between us, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that made my skin burn. “The way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention. The way your pulse races when I get too close. The way you stayed when you could have run.”

“I stayed for Isabelle,” I said, but the words sounded weak even to me.

“Bullshit.” Adrian stepped closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “You stayed because some part of you wanted to be here. Wanted to be mine.”

The accusation sent heat flooding through my veins, partly because it was true and partly because he had the balls to say it out loud. “You're arrogant.”

“I'm accurate.” His hand came up to trace the line of my jaw, the touch gentle despite the possession in his eyes. “And you're scared because last night proved I was right.”

I caught his wrist, not to pull away but to hold him there, to maintain that connection while I figured out how to voice what was clawing at my chest. “What if you're wrong? What if this is just... trauma response? Stockholm syndrome?”

“Then you're the most convincing victim I've ever encountered,” Adrian said with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. “But I don't think that's what this is, Noah. I think you're terrified because you want this as much as I do.”

He was right. Despite everything logical and moral and sane, I wanted him. Wanted this. Wanted to surrender to the pull between us and stop fighting the inevitable.

“This is insane,” I whispered.

“Completely,” he agreed, thumb brushing across my lower lip with devastating tenderness. “The question is whether you're brave enough to be insane with me. ”

I stared into those mismatched eyes, seeing past the cold calculation to something raw and vulnerable underneath. Something that looked suspiciously like hope.

“What would that mean?” I asked. “Being insane with you?”

“It means acknowledging that this isn't going away. That what happened last night is going to happen again, because neither of us can resist it.” His other hand settled on my hip, a casual claim that sent shivers through my nervous system.

“It means accepting that you belong to me now, and I don't share what's mine.”

I knew I should have pulled back at the possessiveness in his voice. But it only made me want more. “And what’s your offer?”

“Everything.” The word was a promise and a threat wrapped in silk. “My protection. My resources. My complete and undivided attention.” His voice dropped lower, more intimate. “And the best sex of your life, whenever you want it.”

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me, surprised by the dark humor in the middle of such serious territory. “Is that your sales pitch?”

“It's the truth,” Adrian said, but there was amusement in his eyes now, a lighter edge that made him look younger, more human. “Though I could add other incentives if you need more convincing.”

“Such as?”

“Your sister's career. Guaranteed. Not just financial support, but connections, opportunities, recognition.” His thumb continued its maddening path across my lip. “A life where you never have to worry about money or safety or bureaucrats deciding who lives and dies.”

The offer was seductive, painting a picture of security I'd never thought possible. But underneath the practical benefits lay something more dangerous—the promise of belonging somewhere, of being valued not just for what I could provide but for who I was.

“And if I say no?” I asked, testing the boundaries.

“Then nothing changes,” Adrian said, echoing his words from the night before. “You continue your work, your sister receives her treatment, and we pretend last night never happened.”

“But?”

“But we both know that's impossible.” His hand tightened on my hip, not painful but possessive. “Because you've tasted what it's like to be mine, and I've felt what it's like to own you completely. Neither of us can forget that.”

He was right, and we both knew it. Last night had shattered something between us that couldn't be rebuilt. The careful distance, the professional boundaries, the pretense that this was just a business arrangement—all of it gone in the space of a few devastating hours.

“I need to know something,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Last night, when you said you wanted me to choose you. Did you mean that?”

“Every word.”

“Then I need you to choose me too.” I met his gaze directly, letting him see the vulnerability I usually kept hidden. “Not as a possession or an acquisition. As a partner. Someone whose opinion matters, whose autonomy you respect even when you don't agree with it.”

Adrian studied me for a long moment, something shifting behind his eyes. “You want equality in a relationship built on ownership.”

“I want balance,” I corrected. “I'm not asking you to change who you are. I know what you do, what you're capable of. But if this is going to work, if I'm going to survive being yours, I need to know that my voice matters.”

The silence stretched between us, loaded with the weight of negotiation. I could see him considering my terms, weighing them against his need for control, his instinct to dominate every aspect of his world.

“You drive a hard bargain for someone in your position,” he said finally.

“I learned from the best,” I replied, surprising myself with the flirtation in my voice.

His smile was sharp, predatory, but there was genuine warmth underneath it. “Partnership, then. With clearly defined roles and expectations.”

“Such as?”

“You belong to me,” Adrian said, stepping closer until there was no space left between us. “Completely, exclusively, without reservation. In return, I protect what's mine with everything I have. Your sister, your safety, your happiness—all of it becomes my responsibility.”

The promise was intoxicating, painting a picture of security I'd never thought possible. But I needed to understand the full scope of what I was agreeing to.

“And professionally?”

“You continue your medical work, but exclusively for the family. Your insights, your observations, your expertise—all of it becomes part of how we operate.” His hand moved to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair.

“And when I need you to get your hands dirty, you get them dirty. No moral objections, no ethical hand-wringing.”

The condition sent a chill through me, but not the kind I expected. Because the truth was that I'd already crossed that line. I'd stood and watched Adrian torture Hayes, had felt a perverse satisfaction when the man broke. Had actively participated in identifying Harrison's deception.

“I can live with that,” I said, surprised by how easily the words came.

“Can you?” Adrian's eyes searched mine, looking for doubt or hesitation. “Because once you agree, there's no taking it back. No changing your mind when things get ugly.”

“I know.”

“Say it,” he commanded, voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone that made my knees weak. “Say you're mine.”

The words stuck in my throat for a moment, the weight of surrender heavier than I'd expected. But looking into those mismatched eyes, seeing the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide, I found the courage to let go.

“I'm yours,” I whispered, the words feeling like both ending and beginning. “Completely.”

Adrian's kiss was fierce, claiming, a seal on the bargain we'd just struck. When he pulled away, we were both breathing hard, electricity crackling between us like a live wire.

“Good,” he said, voice rough with satisfaction. “Because I've been thinking about you all morning. About last night. About what I want to do to you next.”

Heat flooded through me at the promise in his voice, erasing any lingering doubts about the choice I'd just made. “What did you have in mind?”

“Everything,” Adrian said, already moving closer, his hands settling on my hips with familiar possession. “But first, I want you in my bed. Properly. Where you belong.”

The words sent electricity racing through my nervous system, need overtaking rational thought. “Adrian...”

“Say yes,” he commanded, voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone that made my knees weak. “Say you want me to take you to my bed and remind you exactly what being mine means.”

Looking into those mismatched eyes, seeing the hunger and vulnerability he tried so hard to hide, I found myself nodding before conscious thought could interfere. “Yes.”

His kiss was fierce, claiming, a seal on something that felt bigger than the bargain we'd just struck. When he pulled away, we were both breathing hard, the air between us charged with electricity.

“Come,” he said, taking my hand with surprising gentleness. “Let me show you where you really belong.”

Adrian led me through corridors I'd never seen, past his study and into the private wing of Ravenswood that felt like stepping into a different world entirely.

His quarters were vast, all dark wood and rich fabrics, but he didn't stop at the obvious bedroom.

Instead, he guided me to what looked like a blank wall beside an ornate bookshelf.

“There's something I want to share with you first,” he said quietly, pressing his palm against a hidden panel. The wall swung inward with silent precision, revealing a room I never could have imagined.

It was small, intimate, lit by soft golden light that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. And there, in the center like a sleeping giant, sat a grand piano. Not just any piano—a Steinway that gleamed like black silk, its surface so polished I could see our reflection in it.

“Adrian,” I breathed, stepping inside. The acoustics were perfect, the room clearly designed for this single purpose. Sheet music sat on the stand, yellowed with age but carefully preserved.