When His Love Was Revenge

Chapter 4: Lines Between Care and Revenge

Adrian’s POV – Office**

The office was quieter than usual. Only a few interns lingered, sorting files, while Elara sat across from her friend, chatting softly about a presentation she had just completed. Her laughter was light—a sound that should have been irrelevant—but for some reason, it caught me off guard.

I walked past their desks with the usual air of practiced indifference. Her head snapped up immediately, eyes wide, startled.

“Sir…” she murmured, straightening nervously.

Rylan, leaning casually against a nearby desk, smirked. “Elara, why don’t you call me your ‘brother’? Makes things simpler in the office, don’t you think?”

Elara froze, clearly confused. “B-brother… sir?”

“Just a title,” Rylan said lightly. “Keeps things friendly, approachable. You’ll get used to it.”

Rylan felt guilt—but he quickly masked it. She continued calling me “sir,” her respect and shyness intact. Yet every time she smiled or laughed, my chest tightened—a subtle, unwelcome reaction I scolded myself for.

The following days were deliberate. Brief exchanges, casual questions about her projects, guidance on office procedures—professional, yet designed to **keep her close while I maintained distance**.

I orchestrated a minor office “accident.” A file slipped from the top shelf near her desk. I was conveniently nearby to steady her.

“Careful, Elara,” I said, holding her steady. She froze, then accepted my hand, a faint trusting smile on her face. I felt a flicker of something I couldn’t afford—an awareness of how much she affected me, despite my intent to remain cold.

Later, I spoke quietly with Rylan. “She’s young, fragile… you sure about this?”

“She’s fine,” Rylan said. “Just… be careful. You’re letting her get under your skin already.”

“I know what I’m doing,” I replied sharply. But even as I said it, a small, unwelcome truth lingered: she affected me subtly, dangerously, and I had to maintain control.

**Elara’s POV

I pushed open the front door and was immediately greeted by the warmth of home—the faint aroma of food, the soft murmur of my family talking. My heart lifted.

“…and he actually asked for my opinion on the project!” I exclaimed, unable to hide my excitement. “I got to organize the team! Sir—he said it was impressive!”

My older brother, lounging lazily in the living room, grinned. “See? I told you he’d notice. You’re doing great, little sister.” He pulled me into a hug. I felt proud, a warmth spreading through me.

I ran upstairs to my room to call my best friend, still chattering happily about the day. Life felt lighter, brighter. For once, I could forget my struggles, even if just for a moment.

Adrian’s POV

Later that evening, I arrived at home under the pretense of casual check-ins. Mia, my younger sister, was in her room, head bowed, silence pressing down on her like a weight. Her depression had worsened after the incident with her classmate—the doctors’ words echoing in my mind:

*“She’s fragile, Adrian. If her mental state deteriorates, she could… harm her self"

The image of her fragile frame, curled in her bed, haunted me. My jaw tightened. This was personal now. The family’s pain wasn’t abstract—it was tangible. And the source of it, indirectly, was the family of the girl I planned to use in my scheme.

Every flicker of helplessness in Mia’s eyes, every quiet sigh she let slip, hardened my resolve. I would not let this injustice pass. I would make them pay.

That evening, I left under the guise of work but ended up at a nearby club. Music pulsed, lights flashed, people moved around me like a blur. I drank to dull the flutter in my chest—her laugh, her presence, her innocence—that had crept in despite my intentions.

A girl approached, purely transactional. By morning, I paid her off and left. She tried calling, clinging, but I ignored her. Feelings were dangerous. Attachment was forbidden. Elara was the only reason I played this carefully.

Even so, the memory of her eyes, her small gestures, her laugh—they lingered, unbidden, a quiet tension reminding me how human I was beneath the mask.

The following days merged professional closeness with careful observation. Elara still called me “sir,” Rylan’s suggestion about himself lingered in her mind but hadn’t changed her habits. She asked questions about the office, projects, and processes. I answered carefully, revealing only what she needed to know.

Every glance, every smile, every small act of trust reminded me that she affected me more than she should. She was supposed to be part of my revenge, a tool. And yet… she was real. Alive. Unaware of the storm I had planned around her.

I reminded myself constantly: revenge was the only goal. Her brother’s recklessness had caused pain, Elara herself was innocent—but her connection made her a part of the plan.

And yet… every laugh, every gesture, every spark of gratitude challenged my control. She was slowly unbalancing me, even as I maintained my cold exterior.

One misstep, one lapse of vigilance… and the plan could collapse—or I could lose myself to feelings I had no right to indulge.

But I couldn’t let it happen.

Feelings were irrelevant. Everything was for revenge.

Everything.