The Devil’s invitation
494 Words
Adrian refuses to let me leave the penthouse.
For the first time since I met him, his control cracks completely.
“You’re not going,” he says for the fifth time.
His voice is low, tight with anger.
“Marcus will die if I don’t,” I reply.
“Viktor is manipulating you.”
“Yes,” I say calmly. “And it’s working.”
Adrian runs a hand through his hair, pacing the room like a caged animal.
The war room is silent around us. Everyone else has left after the call with Viktor, but the tension remains thick in the air.
“He wants you isolated,” Adrian says. “That’s why he asked for you specifically.”
“I know.”
“And you still want to go?”
I meet his gaze.
“I have to.”
Adrian stops pacing.
His eyes search mine like he’s trying to see something deeper.
“You don’t know what he’ll do.”
“I do.”
His jaw tightens.
“You don’t.”
I take a step closer.
“Adrian, I lived with that man for seventeen years. I know exactly what he’s capable of.”
Silence stretches between us.
The truth hangs heavy.
“You could die,” Adrian says quietly.
“So could Marcus.”
His eyes close briefly.
When he opens them again, something inside him has shifted.
“Then you won’t go alone.”
“No.”
That answer comes too quickly.
His gaze sharpens.
“Elena.”
“If you show up, he’ll kill Marcus immediately.”
“And if I let you go, I might lose you.”
My chest tightens.
“Why does that matter so much to you?”
The question slips out before I can stop it.
Adrian freezes.
For a moment, neither of us breathes.
Then he looks away.
“Because you’re important to the plan,” he says coldly.
The words sting more than they should.
“Right,” I whisper.
Just the plan.
Nothing more.
“Fine,” I continue. “Then think of it strategically.”
He says nothing.
“I’ll go. I’ll keep him talking. You track the location.”
Adrian studies me for a long moment.
Finally he exhales slowly.
“You’re reckless.”
“I’m practical.””
He walks to the desk and picks up a small device.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“A tracker.”
He steps closer and gently attaches it to the inside of my jacket.
His fingers brush my shoulder.
The contact sends an unexpected warmth through my chest.
“If anything feels wrong,” he says quietly, “you leave immediately.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
His voice is firm.
For the first time, I see something else in his eyes.
Not strategy.
Not control.
Fear.
“You’re worried,” I say softly.
He doesn’t answer.
But the silence says everything.
- Writer
