Chapter 3

SCARLETT

“Don’t scare the young girl.”

The voice cut through the tension like a blade.

I turned.

Adrian Moretti.

He moved like he owned the air itself—measured, calm, but laced with quiet warning. His black suit was crisp, collar open like he didn’t give a damn about protocol, only power.

Vincent sighed, then raised his hand lazily, fingers twitching toward his guard. I caught the motion. A silent signal to draw a weapon. Kill me.

Right there. In front of everyone.

But Adrian stepped between us before the trigger could even be teased.

“Vincent,” he said smoothly, not raising his voice, “people are watching. And let’s not forget, this gala is for everyone. Don’t spill blood on the velvet.”

Vincent’s eyes lingered on mine. Cold. Calculating.

Then he turned without a word and walked away, his entourage dissolving into the shadows behind him. Like wolves slinking off to wait for the next opening.

Just like that, the gala resumed.

Fake smiles returned. Champagne clinked. Someone laughed too loud.

But the air? Still poisoned with what almost happened.

I exhaled—barely.

“Thank you,” I said.

Lucas stepped forward too quickly. “Dad, she’s my—”

Adrian cut him off, eyes never leaving mine. “Can you excuse me, son?”

Lucas clenched his jaw. “Sure.” He shot me a look sharp enough to slit skin and stalked off into the crowd.

Adrian’s attention flicked back to me. “I saved you.”

I nodded. “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t.” He said. “I didn’t do it for you. That article you published? You helped me more than you’ll ever understand.”

I lifted a brow. “I hurt Vincent. You benefited. Doesn’t make us allies.”

“No,” Adrian said. “But it makes you useful.”

I smiled sweetly. Don’t get too comfortable. I’ll ruin you too.

He didn’t flinch. “We’ve met before.”

I blinked. “Have we?”

A smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth. “Hmm. No… I don’t think we have.”

Right. So we were both going to lie now.

Fine.

Just as I opened my mouth to play along, a server stumbled toward us with a tray full of drinks. I took half a step back to avoid a spill, but Adrian was faster. He gripped my waist and pulled me into him like it was muscle memory.

Our eyes locked.

Everything stilled.

His hand lingered too long. My heart beat too fast.

Lucas watched from a distance, jaw clenched, fists tighter.

This was my moment.

This was my job.

This was my revenge.

So I didn’t hesitate.

I leaned up, brushed my lips against Adrian’s—just a second longer than a tease. Not too deep. Not too fast.

Just enough to be seen.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Phones tilted. Flashes sparked.

Adrian didn’t pull back. He didn’t freeze either. He kissed me back—possessively. A hand at the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair like he had every right to touch me that way.

When we broke apart, the silence was louder than the music.

“Now they think we’re together,” he murmured.

“That was the point,” I whispered back. 

“Fine.” 

“Take me home.”

I said it quietly, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like I hadn’t just stepped into a war I didn’t fully understand. My voice was steady, but my heart was pacing.

Adrian looked at me. Just looked. No smirk, no flirt. Just this unreadable expression like he was already ten steps ahead and I’d finally caught up to the first one.

“You sure?” he asked. His tone was calm. Almost casual. But there was something sharp underneath it. Like he was testing me.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t move for a second. Then he tapped the driver’s window. “Let’s go.”

My eyes kept searching for Lucas but i didn’t see him.

——

The ride was silent. Tense in a way that stretched, like elastic on the edge of snapping. I sat beside him in the back of a sleek black car that probably cost more than my apartment. My leg brushed his once—he didn’t move. Neither did I.

I glanced out the window, the city blurring past in golden streaks of streetlights and secrets. “You live far?”

“No,” he said. “But I don’t take women home.”

I arched my brow. “But you’re taking me.”

“I’m making an exception.”

I grinned. “You say that, like I should feel special.”

“Aren’t you scared of me?” He asked.

I smiled, “I am not.” 

Another silence. Thicker this time.

I could feel the danger rolling off him in waves, but I leaned in anyway. This was the plan. Get close. Get what I need. Burn him the way his son burned me.

But as we pulled into the underground garage of his high-rise, something cold slithered up my spine.

His penthouse was dark, sleek, masculine. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. A bar with crystal decanters. No signs of personal life. No family photos. No warmth. Just power, dressed in black marble and silence.

He loosened his tie, then turned to me, eyes raking over my body like he was trying to figure out where to start.

“You’re not going to offer me a drink first?” I teased.

“I’m not interested in small talk, I like to fuck first and then have a deep conversation later”

I shrugged off my coat, letting it slide down my arms. “That sounds good.”

In two steps, he was in front of me. His hand slipped behind my neck, pulling me in. His lips crushed mine without hesitation, no prelude—just heat.

His kiss was possessive, unforgiving. One that told stories of dominance and warning. 

I don’t know when the pleasure turned into something else. Something deeper. 

He unzipped his pants, cock already hard, thick, and demanding attention. But he didn’t give me time to stare. He yanked me forward by the ankle, pulling me to the edge of the couch. My dress rode up my thighs.

“You wore this for me?” he asked, fingertips grazing the lace of my panties.

“No,” I whispered.

He slapped the inside of my thigh—just enough to sting. “Lie again.”

I gasped, breath catching, the sting bleeding straight into arousal. “Fine. Yes.”

He bent down, voice brushing against my ear. “I like you better when you’re honest.”

Then he slid my panties to the side and buried two fingers inside me—deep, slow, unrelenting. My hips jerked, breath hitching at the sudden fullness.

“So wet,” he murmured. “For someone who claims not to be scared.”

I gripped the couch cushions. “Fear has nothing to do with it.”

“No,” he agreed. “But obedience does.”

I arched a brow, about to challenge him, but he pulled his fingers out and brought them to my lips.

“Suck.”

I hesitated—just enough to be defiant. He stepped closer, cock brushing my inner thigh.

“I won’t ask again.”

My lips parted, and I tasted myself off his fingers. He watched me like a predator, every flick of my tongue feeding something darker inside him.

When he pulled away, he turned me over without warning. Bent over the arm of the couch, dress bunched around my waist, exposed. Vulnerable. Ready.

“I don’t do soft,” he said.

“I don’t want soft.”

He pushed inside me in one deep, punishing thrust. My gasp echoed off the walls.

His hands gripped my hips hard enough to leave bruises, setting a rhythm that was brutal, addictive, perfect. Every thrust hit something deep, something I didn’t even know was waiting to be touched.

“Say my name,” he ordered.

“Adrian,” I moaned.

“Louder.”

“Adrian—fuck—”

He pulled out suddenly and flipped me onto my back. Lifted one leg over his shoulder, driving back into me with a growl that made my whole body clench around him.

I was close. So close. But he wasn’t going to let me come that easy.

He slowed down, pace taunting. “Beg for it.”

“No.”

His thumb found my clit, circling it just enough to make me squirm.

“Beg,” he repeated.

“I don’t beg.”

He pinched my nipple, hard. I cried out. He leaned down, teeth grazing my throat.

“Then don’t come.”

It was torture. Pleasure and pain perfectly mixed until I couldn’t tell which was which. And when I did beg—because I did, eventually—it wasn’t just for release.

It was for more.

For all of it.

For him.

And when I finally came, it wasn’t quiet. It was a surrender. A threat. A promise.

He followed with a groan that sounded like a curse, body pressed to mine, heat sinking deep into my bones.

We stayed like that for a minute—breathing each other in. The room silent again, but this time charged.

“You are mine now.” He muttered, his voice barely above a whisper and before I could respond, I heard Lucas's voice downstairs.

I turned toward the door, clutching my bag.

“I should go—”

His hand slammed against the door before I could touch the handle. Hard. Final.

I froze.

His breath brushed my ear.

“You think you can fuck me and run?”

“You’re mine now, Scarlett.”

“You don’t leave until I say so.”

A click echoed—he locked the door.

“And I don’t plan on saying so.”