The First Strike
1055 Words
The car ride should have been smooth, but the tension between them was anything but.
Adrian’s fingers flexed against the steering wheel, his knuckles taut. His body was still buzzing from the taste of her, the heat of her. But it wasn’t just the kiss—it was everything. The way she defied Demian. The way she stood her ground. The way she looked tonight, dripping in power, wearing confidence like a second skin.
And now, she was sitting beside him, lips slightly swollen, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
"You’re quiet," she murmured, watching him.
Adrian scoffed. "Trying not to crash the damn car, sweetheart."
Elysia smirked, tilting her head as she studied him. She liked this version of Adrian. The one who wasn’t just controlled and composed—but the one who wanted her enough to lose himself.
She parted her lips to tease him again—
And then the car jerked.
Adrian cursed, gripping the wheel as the tires skidded against the asphalt. The sleek black car swerved to the side, missing a collision by mere inches.
"What the hell—?"
Elysia’s pulse pounded. Her grip tightened on the seat as Adrian fought to steady the vehicle. A second later, a black SUV sped past them, nearly grazing their front bumper.
A warning.
Her breath caught. No.
Adrian’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering toward the SUV. But before he could do anything—before he could chase or react—his phone buzzed.
And when he glanced at the screen, his expression darkened.
He handed the phone to Elysia without a word.
Her stomach twisted.
The message was short, but the meaning was clear.
📩 Unknown Number: Nice show tonight. You look stunning. Too bad I prefer you on your knees.
Her grip on the phone tightened.
Demian.
Adrian’s hands were back on the wheel, his voice deadly calm. "Where do you want me to go?"
Elysia inhaled sharply, her heartbeat roaring in her ears. She knew what Demian was doing. He was reminding her that no matter how much she fought—no matter how high she climbed—he was still watching.
Still waiting for her to fall.
"Not home," she whispered.
Adrian nodded. He understood. Demian knew where she lived.
And tonight, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of feeling in control.
"Then we go to mine." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.
She didn’t hesitate.
Tonight, she wasn’t going to hide.
She was going to strike back.
~~~~~
Adrian’s penthouse was nothing like she expected.
It was sleek, modern—cold. Every inch of it screamed efficiency, from the spotless glass walls to the minimalist furniture. The kind of place meant for business, not comfort.
But right now, with the city lights glowing behind them and the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, Elysia wasn’t thinking about the decor.
She was thinking about him.
Adrian had barely said a word since they arrived, his body tense as he tossed his jacket onto the couch and ran a hand through his hair. His silence wasn’t comforting—it was dangerous.
"Adrian." Her voice was softer now, lacking the sharpness she usually carried when speaking to men like him.
He turned, eyes dark with something unreadable.
"You should rest." His voice was firm, but the roughness in it sent a different kind of shiver down her spine.
Elysia exhaled, stepping closer. "You’re not seriously expecting me to sleep after that, are you?"
A muscle ticked in his jaw. He took a step toward her, closing the distance between them in seconds. Too close. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, the quiet storm beneath his controlled exterior.
"You need to be sharp, Elysia," he murmured, low and dangerous. "Demian is playing a game, and if you’re not careful, you’ll fall right into his hands again."
Her chin lifted, defiant. "I’m not the same woman who let him ruin me, Adrian."
He studied her for a long moment, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her lips. Then, slowly, his fingers reached out.
Not to touch her—but to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Gentle. Careful.
"I know." His voice was barely above a whisper now.
The warmth of his fingertips lingered, making her pulse spike. For a man who fought with his fists, who had just nearly wrecked his car because of her—his touch was achingly soft.
Elysia swallowed. She wasn’t supposed to let her guard down. Not now. Not when the war was just beginning.
But damn it, when Adrian looked at her like that—like she was something he would burn the world for—
She felt safe.
"Elysia." His voice was lower now, rougher.
She inhaled sharply. One step forward, and she would be lost.
But maybe she already was.
BZZT.
The sharp vibration of her phone shattered the moment.
Adrian’s jaw clenched as he glanced down at the screen in her hand. Another message.
📩 Unknown Number: You think he can protect you? Cute.
Her stomach twisted.
Adrian’s eyes darkened. "That son of a—"
Elysia exhaled slowly, her fingers gripping the phone so tight her knuckles turned white.
Enough.
She looked up at Adrian, fire in her gaze. "I don’t want protection, Adrian."
His brows furrowed, but before he could respond, she continued.
"I want revenge."
Adrian’s lips curled into something wicked.
"Then let’s give him hell."
But before she could respond—
CRASH.
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the penthouse.
Adrian moved instantly, pushing Elysia behind him as his other hand reached for the concealed weapon at his waist.
Her heart pounded. The window—one of the massive glass panes overlooking the city—was now fractured. A jagged hole in the middle where something had been thrown.
Adrian’s expression was lethal as he crouched, picking up the object. His fingers curled around it, his grip so tight his knuckles turned white.
It was a bullet.
Wrapped in a small slip of paper.
Adrian unfolded it, his sharp eyes scanning the message. One sentence.
📩 "Go ahead, darling. But remember—I always take back what’s mine."
Elysia’s blood ran cold.
Demian wasn’t just watching.
He was warning her.
And he had just declared war.
- Writer
