CHAPTER 7

Fiona's POV

"She said let her go. Are you deaf?"

The voice cut through the air like a blade—calm, controlled, and laced with a deadly promise.

The man behind me froze.

I twisted my head—and my stomach dropped.

Adrian Morreti.

He stood just a few feet away, one hand in his pocket, the other casually swirling a glass of whiskey. But his eyes? Ice-cold and razor-sharp, locked onto the man gripping me.

The stranger stiffened. "Alpha—"

"You must be either drunk or incredibly stupid," Adrian mused, setting his drink down with an infuriatingly slow, deliberate motion. He took a step forward, his presence alone suffocating. "Because I know—" he tilted his head, smirking, "—that you wouldn't willingly be this idiotic."

The man instantly released me, stumbling back. "S-Sorry, I didn't know she was—"

"She's not yours to touch."

Adrian's voice dipped into something lethal.

His gaze flicked to me, assessing. "Come."

A command, not a request.

For once, I didn't argue.

I stepped toward him, brushing past the trembling excuse of a man.

"I didn't mean any harm," the guy stammered.

Adrian arched a brow. "Then why are you still talking?"

Silence.

Then, like the coward he was, the man turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Adrian exhaled, shaking his head. "You always attract trouble, or is today just special?"

I rolled my eyes, still trying to slow my racing heart. "I had it under control."

He chuckled—low, amused. "Oh, clearly."

Then, without another word, he placed a firm hand on the small of my back and guided me toward the VIP section.

I didn't resist.

And that?

That was dangerous.

Fiona's POV

The moment we entered the VIP room, the world outside faded. The heavy bass of the club dulled to a distant hum, replaced by something quieter—charged, intense.

And I was alone with him.

Adrian Morreti.

The boy I was supposed to get close to. The boy who wasn't supposed to be watching me like this—sharp, assessing, like he could see straight through the lies I wrapped myself in.

"Are you okay?" His voice was smooth, deceptively gentle, but there was something unreadable in his gaze.

"I'm fine." A lie. And we both knew it.

Adrian leaned back, still studying me like I was a puzzle missing pieces.

"You can sit." A simple invitation, but his tone made it feel like an order.

I hesitated—because sitting meant staying, staying meant talking, and talking meant risking everything.

But somehow, my body moved before my mind could argue. I sat.

Instantly, I regretted it.

His eyes never left me, their intensity pressing against my skin, unraveling me. My fingers curled into my lap as I forced myself to meet his gaze.

"Why are you staring?" I asked, my voice softer than I wanted it to be.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips, like he enjoyed my discomfort.

"What's your name?"

My pulse spiked.

For one stupid second, I hesitated.

"Fiona."

Idiot. Reckless. Stupid.

Adrian's fingers tapped against his glass, his smirk widening. "Fiona," he echoed, like he was testing how it felt on his tongue.

I forced a casual shrug. "What about you? Why are you here?"

He chuckled. "Dragged by a friend."

I raised a brow. "Somehow, I doubt anyone can drag you anywhere."

His smirk didn't fade. "Mmm. He's my friend."

Something about the way he said it—solemn, unguarded—made me pause.

I stood abruptly. "I hope I'm not bothering you."

"You're not." Adrian's voice was lazy, but his gaze was razor-sharp. "If anything, you saved me from an incredibly dull night."

I hesitated. And then, against my better judgment, I sat back down.

The silence stretched, thick with something unspoken.

Then—

"I noticed you were staring at me earlier," Adrian said suddenly, tilting his head. "Do you know me?"

My heart stopped.