Page 70 of The Beast's Broken Angel
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 aperverse 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 totake 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.
“My mother's piano,” he said, voice softer than I'd ever heard it. “I had it moved here after... after the fire. The only thing I saved from the music room.” His fingers traced the edgeof the keys without pressing them. “I haven't played in years. Couldn't bear to touch it for the longest time.”