Saturday mornings should have been lazy, peaceful. The kind where I could linger in bed with a cup of coffee, the sun streaming gently through the curtains. But peace had been a stranger ever since Adrian’s shadow had loomed over my life. My phone buzzed, jolting me awake, and the screen immediately told me who it was.

Unknown Caller.

A shiver ran down my spine. I knew. There was no mistake.

“Hello?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it betrayed the anticipation simmering in my chest.

“Sophie,” Adrian’s voice was smooth, low, a velvet command that made my pulse skip. “Are you free? Now.”

My stomach clenched. “Adrian… it’s Saturday. Can’t this wait?”

“No,” he said, clipped, iron in his tone. “I need to see you. Alone. At my house. Your apartment… it’s not an option. Cleo is… not a fan of me being around.”

I exhaled slowly, knowing he was right. Cleo’s hatred for Adrian was no secret, and I didn’t want her interfering tonight—not with whatever was about to happen. My pulse raced, heat blooming low in anticipation. “Okay… I’ll come.”

“Good. Don’t be late.”

He hung up before I could protest or ask a single question. My body tingled, nervous and aroused at the thought of being alone with him, feeling the tension and desire we had cultivated over months, now threatened by jealousy and the unknown.

By the time I reached his house, the sky had turned a soft, warm gold. I parked in the driveway, my chest tight, my pulse hammering. Adrian met me at the door almost immediately, as if he had been waiting. He was dressed simply—a crisp black shirt and slacks—but the presence he radiated was immense. Dominant. Dangerous. My stomach fluttered with nerves and something darker, something forbidden.

“Come in,” he said, voice low and commanding. The kind of voice that made my knees weak without even touching me.

I stepped inside. The house was immaculate, minimalistic, almost sterile in its perfection. But it didn’t matter. All I could focus on was him. The dark storm in his eyes, the rigid line of his jaw, and the almost palpable heat he radiated.

“You know why I called you,” he said without preamble, his gaze boring into me. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Sophie.”

My pulse jumped. “Adrian… it’s not—”

“It is,” he interrupted, snapping a photograph onto the glass coffee table between us. The image made my stomach drop: Cassian’s face, mine, lips pressed together in that stolen kiss from yesterday. My mind went immediately to the heat of the moment, the teasing, the hands sliding briefly over my waist.

“I… Adrian, it’s not what it looks like—” I stammered, panic rising.

“Not what it looks like?” His voice was low, dangerous, but trembling just slightly. “You kissed him. And you thought I wouldn’t find out?” His dark eyes flared with jealousy, the raw, possessive heat I had only glimpsed in rare, controlled flashes before.

My pulse raced, my stomach flipping. I wanted to apologize, to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. I could feel the magnetic pull between us, the tension thick, almost tangible. “I… I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean?” he snapped, taking a step closer, the air around him electrifying. “Sophie… you knew exactly what you were doing.”

My hands trembled at my sides. The desire, the fear, the guilt—it all collided. My chest rose and fell rapidly, my body responding to the surge of jealousy and possessiveness emanating from him. “I… I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I whispered, voice shaking.

He laughed then—a dark, sharp sound, not quite humor but not quite a growl. “Hurt me? No, Sophie… you ignite something in me I cannot contain. That’s what hurts. That’s what makes me want… to claim you. Right here. Right now.”

“You belong to me,” he whispered against my lips, teeth grazing my jaw. “Do you understand what jealousy does to me? What you do to me?”

“Yes,” he growled, gripping my hips, pressing me flush against him. “You feel it too, don’t you? The way my possessiveness, my jealousy, makes your body respond?”

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