Adrian's Point Of View
The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on as I stormed down the hall, my footsteps reverberating like thunder against the wooden floors. I shoved the door to Emma's new room open with enough force to rattle the hinges. There she was, sitting on the edge of the tiny bed like she was the queen of the damned world. The sight of her, defiant and unbothered, ignited something primal in me.
She jumped, startled by my entrance, but her expression quickly hardened into that maddening mask of defiance. “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be in the damn kitchen making me breakfast?” I spat, my tone dripping with venom.
“If you want breakfast, ask your dear lovely Celia to make it. I’m not your maid,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.
