Chapter 7 ~ Bound By Fire
965 Words
The silence in the penthouse felt different the next morning. Heavier. Charged.
Elena knew why.
Last night, she had made a choice. A dangerous one.
And Adrian knew it too.
She could feel it in the way his eyes followed her when she entered the dining area, in the way his posture was too controlled as he sat at the head of the table, sipping black coffee.
Like he was waiting.
Like he was testing her.
She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of flinching.
Ignoring the tension coiling between them, she sat down at the other end of the table. A plate of breakfast was already set for her—fresh fruit, eggs, toast.
She hadn’t expected that.
She also hadn’t expected the way Adrian studied her reaction, as if waiting to see if she’d refuse his offering.
Instead, she picked up her fork and took a bite.
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “You’re full of surprises, princess.”
She glanced at him, raising a brow. “And you’re still calling me that.”
He took another sip of coffee, unfazed. “You agreed to my terms last night.”
Her grip on the fork tightened slightly.
“I agreed to take down my father,” she corrected. “Not to be your prisoner.”
Adrian set his mug down with a soft clink. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.
“Is that what you think this is?” His voice was quiet. Amused.
Elena forced herself to hold his gaze, but it was hard. His dark eyes were impossible to read, but she could feel something beneath them—something dangerous.
He was playing with her.
Testing her.
She wouldn’t give him the reaction he wanted.
“I don’t think anything, Adrian,” she said smoothly, setting her fork down. “I just know better than to trust men like you.”
A slow smirk curled his lips.
“Smart girl.”
Something about the way he said it—low, appreciative—made her skin prickle.
Before she could respond, he stood, grabbing his suit jacket from the chair.
“Come,” he said.
She frowned. “Where?”
Adrian’s gaze darkened slightly. “I gave you my protection, Elena. But that comes with expectations. You’re not going to just sit here, hiding in my penthouse.”
Her stomach twisted.
She had expected him to use her for information. To ask her about her father’s connections, his weaknesses.
She hadn’t expected this.
“You want me to—what? Train?” she guessed, crossing her arms.
Adrian tilted his head. “You want to be useful, don’t you?”
Something about the way he said it lit a fire inside her.
It was a challenge.
A test.
And she refused to fail.
She pushed back her chair and stood. “Fine.”
Adrian’s smirk deepened.
He held out a hand, gesturing for her to follow.
And against every instinct screaming at her to be careful, she did.
The Training Room
The air in the underground training room was thick with sweat, metal, and the faint scent of gunpowder.
Elena’s heart pounded as she took in the scene before her—rows of weapons mounted on the walls, a shooting range at the far end, and a sparring area in the center.
It was brutal. Efficient.
And she hated how much it fascinated her.
Adrian strolled toward the weapons rack and grabbed a sleek, black pistol, his fingers moving over it like it was an extension of himself.
“Elena,” he called, turning toward her.
She took a slow breath before stepping forward.
He held the gun out to her.
“Take it.”
Her fingers hesitated before wrapping around the cold metal.
It was heavier than she expected.
Adrian stepped behind her, his warmth pressing against her back. His scent—dark and intoxicating—wrapped around her as his hands came to rest over hers, adjusting her grip.
She went rigid.
She could feel his breath against the side of her face, the roughness of his fingertips guiding hers over the gun.
“You’ve held one before,” he murmured.
It wasn’t a question.
She swallowed hard.
“My father—” She cut herself off, tightening her jaw. “He made sure I could defend myself.”
Adrian hummed in approval. “Then you won’t embarrass me.”
The words were teasing, but there was something else underneath them.
A dark promise.
Her heart raced.
She didn’t know what was worse—the gun in her hands or the man behind her.
“Focus,” he murmured.
His fingers slid along her wrist, guiding her aim toward the target. His touch was firm, steady, but there was something possessive about it.
Something dangerous.
Her breath caught.
“Steady,” Adrian said, his voice like smoke curling against her skin.
She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus on the target, not the way his body felt pressed against hers.
She pulled the trigger.
The shot rang through the room, but she barely heard it over the pounding in her chest.
Adrian’s lips brushed against the shell of her ear as he whispered, “Good girl.”
A shiver ran through her.
And she hated that he felt it.
He stepped back, leaving her breathless and off balance.
But when she turned to face him, he was already walking toward the exit.
“Tomorrow,” he said, without looking back, “we start for real.”
Elena’s fingers tightened around the gun.
She had no idea what she had just gotten herself into.
But one thing was certain.
Adrian DeLuca was playing a dangerous game.
And somehow, she was letting him.
- Writer
