Sophie’s POV
I didn’t sleep.
Not even after I locked my door, not even after I pressed a chair against it like some flimsy shield. The house was quiet now, but the quiet wasn’t comforting—it was heavy, suffocating. Somewhere below me, screams rose and broke and died again, swallowed by walls that weren’t made to keep people safe. They were made to keep them silent.
I sat on the edge of my bed, arms wrapped around my knees, and tried not to hear them.
Adrian’s world wasn’t new to me—not really. I’d grown up with whispers, with men who wore pressed suits and carried guns in their waistbands, with deals made over dinner tables. But this—tonight—was different.
Because for the first time, I’d seen it with my own eyes.
The blood. The violence. The way Adrian didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate.
