Chapter 14: Breaking the Silence

Back in Emily's apartment, the late afternoon settled like a heavy curtain. The sky, thick with swollen gray clouds, hung low ominous, pregnant with the threat of rain. A faint breeze stirred the curtains, casting restless shadows across the pale walls. Emily stood by the window, her figure tense, pacing the narrow space in front of the glass. One hand clutched a cold cup of tea she hadn't touched in nearly an hour. The warmth had long fled, replaced by a chill that seemed to seep from her bones.

She hated this.

The gnawing, bitter ache of not knowing. The quiet storm of worry twisting in her gut. The relentless, suffocating silence that filled the spaces Adrian once occupied.

She hated not knowing where he was, what he was doing, or if he was all right.

Her breath hitched as the faint sound of distant thunder rolled low, a soft warning buried in the deepening dusk. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and ozone, heavy and expectant.

Emily pressed her palm flat against the cool glass, watching as the first fat drops began to spatter against the pane. Her fingers trembled slightly, as if the storm outside echoed the tempest inside her.

She'd told herself not to care. Not to let him dominate her thoughts the way he did, weaving in and out of her life like a ghost she couldn't catch or release. That he was just a cold, distant professor a man who kept her at arm's length with cryptic glances and half-spoken warnings.

But it wasn't true.

He mattered.

More than she dared admit.

More than she even fully understood.

She remembered the way he looked at her those rare moments when his guarded mask slipped and something raw and honest flickered in his eyes. The way his voice would soften, almost imperceptibly, when he thought she wasn't paying attention. The moments when she saw the shadow of a man buried beneath the control.

Those moments haunted her.

Even now, they played on repeat in her mind, stirring something deep and wild.

She took a shaky breath and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, as if to contain the storm brewing inside.

You'll regret this, she told herself, the thought a bitter whisper.

But her feet had already moved, heading for the door. Her fingers locked the latch behind her with a decisive click.

Thirty minutes later.

Rain had begun to fall in earnest, not in violent torrents, but in a steady, silken curtain that blurred the edges of the world. The streetlights flickered gold through the mist, casting shimmering halos onto the slick pavement below. Each raindrop hit the stone with a faint hiss, like a whispered secret escaping the lips of the night. The air was cool, damp, and thick with scent—wet asphalt, aged brick, the faint trace of distant chimney smoke, and that sharp, metallic tang of coming thunder.

Emily stood motionless outside Adrian's building, the collar of her coat turned up against the drizzle, her fingers trembling ever so slightly where they clutched the strap of her bag. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uncertain breaths, condensation forming in soft puffs in front of her lips before vanishing into the evening fog.

The building loomed before her like a sentient thing—dark, tall, and silent. Its sharp edges seemed softened by the rain, but its presence remained undeniably imposing, as if it could sense her hesitation. The wrought iron gate groaned as she pushed through it, its moan echoing down the empty street behind her.

She paused at the base of the concrete steps. Water beaded on her lashes. Her boots made a soft squelch on the rain-slicked landing.

Was this insane?

Her breath fogged the air.

Probably.

Would he be furious?

Maybe.

But she couldn't bear the silence anymore. Couldn't stand another hour pacing her apartment, replaying his name in her mind like a scratched record. The ache in her chest, tight and persistent, had finally grown louder than her fear.

She climbed the stairs slowly, one cautious step at a time. The building smelled of old stone and rain-dampened wood, with a faint undercurrent of something deeper perhaps incense burned long ago, or the lingering trace of Adrian's presence that always seemed to hang in the air.

As she reached his floor, the hallway stretched before her like a corridor carved from shadow. The usual warmth that spilled from beneath his door faint light, the low hum of classical music or turning pages was gone. The silence was thick, muffled, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Her footsteps were barely more than whispers against the hardwood floor, yet they sounded deafening to her ears. The carpeted runner along the center absorbed some of the sound, but each movement felt invasive, every breath magnified.

She stood before his door, her hand hovering.

Cold brushed her skin cool metal beneath her fingertips, the breath of the storm curling in through the drafty windows.

Knock or walk away?

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, a wild, erratic rhythm that made it hard to breathe.

She knocked.

Once.

The sound cracked the silence like a pebble dropped in still water.

She knocked again twice this time, more urgent.

The echoes faded, leaving behind nothing but stillness. She bit her lip. Seconds dragged, painfully slow.

And then footsteps.

Heavy. Slow. Each one like a weighted drumbeat drawing closer from beyond the veil of the door.

The lock turned with a sharp, metallic snap.

The door creaked open, slowly, deliberately like the pages of an old book revealing a dangerous secret.

And then she saw him.

Adrian.

Barefoot. Shirtless.

His skin gleamed faintly in the dim hallway light, flushed and slick with sweat. Drops of moisture clung to his collarbones, to the curve of his throat, like condensation on a glass just pulled from the fire. His hair, usually so precisely kept, was tousled and damp, tumbling over his brow in dark, unruly waves.

His eyes; oh God, his eyes.

They weren't just looking at her. They consumed her.

Wild. Burning. Crimson flickering faintly in their depths, like embers barely hidden beneath ash. Pupils dilated, breathing shallow, every inch of him taut with a tension that hummed just beneath the surface of his skin. He looked like a man who had been wrestling with something primal. And losing.

The air between them thickened with heat.

Not physical warmth something deeper. The raw pull of something ancient and aching. It buzzed in her bones, made the hair on her arms stand on end.

And through it all he didn't say a word.

Neither did she.

Because what could be said?

What words could possibly wrap themselves around the chaos in the space between them?

Emily's senses were overwhelmed. The scent of him drifted forward earthy and dark, like rain-soaked cedar and burning spices. There was sweat, yes, but beneath it something… other. Something sharp and intoxicating, like iron and fever and desire. She inhaled, barely able to stop herself from leaning in.

Her heart raced, every beat a demand.

Her fingers curled instinctively around the edge of the doorframe, needing the stability, needing something to keep her from falling forward.

Because she would fall.

If he reached for her now if his hand so much as brushed hers she would fall, and she wouldn't come back the same.

Adrian's jaw clenched, his throat working as though swallowing back a hundred unsaid things. He looked like he was in pain real pain his muscles coiled tight like a predator holding himself back by sheer will alone.

His breath caught.

So did hers.

For a long moment, they just stared.

But something was wrong.

Emily's breath hitched as she took in the full picture his skin, usually golden and warm, now as pale as a sheet, almost translucent in the hallway light. His eyes red. Not bloodshot, but glowing, veins faintly pulsing like threads of fire through the whites. His jaw trembled, clenched too tight. Sweat beaded on his collarbone, yet the air was cool.

"Emily," he rasped, his voice rough and distant. "You need to go."

The words struck her like a slap. Her heart stuttered.

"What? Adrian what's going on? Are you are you sick?" Her voice faltered as she instinctively reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of the door.

"No. I mean yes. I don't know. Just please." His voice cracked like splintering glass. His hand shot out, gripping the frame, knuckles bone-white. "You have to leave."

But Emily didn't move. Didn't believe him.

She took a step forward.

The air that hit her from inside his apartment was hot. Heavy. Saturated with something she couldn't name. Something wild. Her pulse jumped.

Adrian took a step back not retreating, more like bracing. His breath came faster now, ragged and shallow, like each inhale was a fight. His pupils were too wide, swallowing almost all the red, but they still glowed faintly beneath the dark. His chest rose and fell like a man holding a storm at bay with every fiber of his being.

Emily, oblivious, moved closer.

"Adrian, you look like hell. Just let me"

She reached out, fingertips grazing the edge of his cheek.

And that was it.

A sound tore from Adrian's throat not a word, not even human a low, guttural growl like a chain snapping under pressure.

Before she could blink, he seized her wrist. Not rough, but urgent, trembling with restraint.

"Don't." His voice was pure fire, barely controlled. "Don't touch me."

Emily froze, her pulse roaring in her ears.

"I what's wrong with you?"

Adrian's jaw clenched again. His thumb involuntarily brushed the inside of her wrist, right over her pulse point and that was the last thread.

Her scent soap and rain and something uniquely hers hit him like a tidal wave, short-circuiting every last ounce of control.

He pulled her.

Fast.

In one smooth, desperate motion, he yanked her across the threshold, his grip unrelenting but careful, and the door slammed shut behind them with a heavy thud that echoed through the darkness like a warning shot.

Silence.

Just the sound of their breath. Hers: startled. His: ragged, barely human.

The hallway behind them gone.

The night swallowed whole.

And inside, the storm finally broke…