chapter 5
1334 Words
Adrian stood and moved toward the door with caution written in every line of his body. I followed, my bare feet quiet against the marble as I trailed behind him, unsure why my heart suddenly picked up its pace. I don’t get scared, it is not in my blood. For my fifth birthday, my father told me he was sending me to an obedience camp for girls with free spirits.
He opened the door.
And there he was.
Allen.
In all his tanned, towering, sculpted glory. Just as obnoxiously model handsome as I remembered and just as empty behind the eyes as I remembered.
His face lit up the moment he saw me.
“Lyra!” He said, stretching out my name like a sweet lemon sherbet he wanted to suck on again. “You have been avoiding me, princess.” The name sounded meaningless on his tongue.
Adrian said nothing. He didn’t need to. The way his shoulders squared and his jaw clenched was enough to turn the air glacial and icy.
I stepped forward with a smile that was all teeth. “Allen. I see your ability to read the room is as refined as ever.”
His smirk didn’t falter. “You left me hanging. No messages. No calls. No explanation. After everything we...”
“Oh, come now.” I laughed, resting a hand on my hip. “Don’t embarrass yourself. You were a diversion a distraction. A very flexible, very photogenic one, but a toy nonetheless.”
His smile dropped painfully low.
“Did you think I cried over you?” I added, voice dripping with mockery. “That I paced the halls in my blue silk robes, whispering your name to the moonlight, oh please?”
Adrian stayed silent beside me, but I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat. The way he was looking at Allen was measured and dangerous. But not yet explosive.
“You used me?” Allen hissed, stepping forward.
“You used my credit cards, so I’d say we’re even.” I clicked my tongue. “How is that Milan townhouse, by the way? Or did your next mistress evict you from it too, nice credit card baby, but when u pull out the debit card it's just debt, this luxury finally catching up to you?”
His face flushed with humiliation. That ugly shade of red that always blooms when fragile egos crack. Then his eyes snapped to Adrian.
“You must be the next in line!” He said with a sneer. “Let me guess, she told you she loved you too?”
Adrian tilted his head, deadpan. “She told me I was contractually obligated not to bore her.”
I smirked despite myself.
But Allen wasn’t done.
“She’ll discard you!” He spat. “Just like she did with me. Like she’s done with everyone, she’s incapable of loyalty, she’s a narcissist.”
“Is that so?” I said sweetly. “Tell me, Allen did loyalty come into play when you were sleeping with two of my stylists behind my back?”
He flinched. I grinned wider. “Yes, I know. Marisol cried on my shoulder for weeks. You’re not even good enough to be a scandal. Just a cliché in a cheap cologne, not even a good one at that.”
Something in him snapped. I know.
He lunged forward with a snarl, hand raised, fingers curled.
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t move. I’d seen worse. I’d survived worse.
But Adrian moved faster than my breath could catch.
CRACK.
Allen’s head snapped to the side. Adrian’s fist was still half-raised in the space between them. The punch landed with such clean finality that it almost echoed.
Allen stumbled, clutching his jaw, eyes wild.
“You touch her again,” Adrian said, his voice low, lethal, “and you won’t be walking away.”
“Is this your knight now, Lyra?” Allen spat blood onto the floor. “Another rich little fool you’ll break apart and leave to rot?”
But even he could hear the tremor in his voice now.
And then, footsteps.
Sharp. Heavy. Confident.
I turned toward the sound of the voice, and Alan's gaze shifted, and he froze. His face darkened to a pale color.
A man approached, all sharp suits and sharper eyes.
Allen took a step back.
“No,” he muttered. “Not him. Not him.”
He turned and bolted down the corridor, cursing as he went.
I blinked. “Dramatic as ever.”
Adrian’s breathing was still heavy beside me. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the place where Allen had stood.
I turned to the man now standing before us.
“James,” I said, lifting my chin. “How timely.”
His eyes, gray and unreadable, locked onto mine, then drifted to Adrian. “I heard shouting.”
“And came running to watch the show, how noble.” I asked.
James didn’t smile. “I came because your father sent me. But now I’m curious. Why is he here?”
“Of course you are.” I stepped closer to Adrian and linked my arm through his with deliberate ease. “James, this is Adrian Vincenti. My fiancé.”
James looked at Adrian like a man assessing a chessboard and his opponent across it. And Adrian met his gaze without blinking.
“Vincenti,” James said slowly. “You’re braver than you look.”
“And you’re shorter than your shadow.” Adrian replied coolly. I bit back a laugh. Not the time. But God, that was a good line.
James stepped forward, his voice smooth and poisonous. “You don’t know what you’ve gotten into.”
“Oh, I’m beginning to.” Adrian said. “And it’s looking like fun, real fun.”
James’s eyes flicked to me. “You’ve always had a taste for chaos, Lyra.”
“I was raised on it that and whiskey.” I replied, flashing him a dead smile. “And now I’m marrying it.”
James turned back to Adrian. “This won’t end well.”
“Then it’ll end memorably.” Adrian said.
Silence stretched between them. Two wolves are circling. The air was thick with things unsaid.
I finally cleared my throat. “Well, this has been a deeply fulfilling display of masculine angst lovely really. But if you’re both done comparing the sizes of your family fortunes, I have a wedding playlist to finalize.”
James’s eyes lingered a second longer on Adrian before he gave a clipped nod. “Tell your father I stopped by.” Then he left without another word.
When the echo of his footsteps finally faded, I turned to Adrian. His jaw was still tight.
“Are you alright?” I asked quietly.
He looked down at his knuckles, split and red, and then up at me. “You let men like that near you?”
“I used to be very bored,” I said with a shrug. His mouth twitched.
“And now?” He asked.
I tilted my head. “Now I’m contractually obligated to be less self-destructive.”
He gave me that look again, the one that flickered between disdain and fascination. “And Allen?”
“Allen,” I sighed, “was a mirror I wanted to break. Over and over again. Until I saw something else.”
Adrian said nothing. He didn’t have to. He reached for my hand again, just lightly this time.
And I let him.
Later that night, the guest list was finalized. The playlist was set. The bruises were iced. But the real tension hadn’t yet broken. Because behind every choice we made, every cake sample, flower arrangement, and orchestral swell, there were shadows watching.
James.
My father.
And whoever else thought this wedding was a battlefield with lace.
But the war hadn’t begun yet, and I had a fiancé who punched like a promise.
- Writer
