CHAPTER…FOUR
683 Words
CHAPTER FOUR
(Lina’s POV)
Dinner was served at seven.
Not in the dining room.
In his study.
Irina led me there without a word. The same door I wasn’t meant to enter stood open now, like a dare.
Adrian sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, dark hair slightly undone. Papers were stacked neatly beside him. A gun rested near his hand like decoration.
“Sit,” he said.
The table was small. Intimate. Two plates. One bottle of wine.
I sat carefully, folding my hands in my lap.
“You didn’t eat lunch,” he said.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Liar.”
I smiled weakly. “I was nervous.”
He poured wine into my glass.
“Irina thinks you’re dangerous,” he said.
“I think Irina hates me.”
“She hates questions.”
“I don’t ask questions,” I said softly. “I write them.”
He watched me over the rim of his glass.
“What would you write about me?”
I hesitated. “A man who built walls so high he had forgotten what the sky looked like.”
There was a brief silence
“You don’t know me,” he said.
“I know you like poetry,” I said. “And quiet rooms. And girls who don’t pretend to be strong.”
His eyes darkened.
“Who taught you that?”
“No one,” I whispered. “I just see things.”
He cut his steak slowly.
“You shouldn’t see me.”
“But you brought me here.”
“I brought you because you looked like you didn’t belong to anyone.”
“I still don’t.”
He stood suddenly and walked around the desk.
My breath caught.
“You belong to this house now,” he said. “And this house has rules.”
“What rules?”
“You don’t leave without me.”
“You don’t go where you’re not told.”
“And you don’t lie.”
“I don’t lie.”
He lifted my chin gently. “Say it again.”
“I don’t lie.”
His thumb brushed my lip.
“You’re afraid of me,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He stepped back and returned to his seat.
“You write poetry,” he said. “Show me.”
“I don’t have anything yet.”
“Then write now.”
He slid a notebook toward me.
My hands trembled as I took the pen.
I wrote slowly. Carefully.
He builds his throne from shadows,
Calls it safety, calls it fate.
But even kings bleed quietly
When someone learns to wait.
He read it once.
Then again.
Is this about me?”
“It’s about lonely men,” I said.
He leaned back.
“I don’t keep women for conversation.”
“I don’t stay for comfort.”
A pause.
“Then why are you here?” he asked.
I looked up at him.
“Because you asked me to stay.”
His jaw tightened.
“You should be afraid of wanting that.”
“I am.”
“But you still want it.”
“Yes.”
He stood again and came closer.
“You could leave,” he said quietly. “Right now.”
I didn’t move.
“Good,” he murmured. “Come here.”
I rose slowly.
He stopped inches from me.
“You will sleep in my room tonight,” he said.
My heart stuttered.
“I won’t touch you,” he added. “Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know what breaks first.”
“What?”
“Your innocence,” he said.
“Or my control.”
His fingers brushed my wrist.
Electric. Controlled.
“Go get your things.”
I nodded.
As I turned to leave, I felt it.
His gaze.
Heavy.
Possessive.
Confused.
And for the first time, I realized something dangerous:
He wasn’t just watching me.
He was already losing himself to me.
And I was supposed to be the one in control.
- Writer
