Page 69 of The Beast's Broken Angel
“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 practicalbenefits 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 ifthis is going to work, if I'm going to survive being yours, I need to know that my voice matters.”