I KNOW WHO YOU ARE

CHAPTER 2: I KNOW WHO YOU ARE

ELENA:

As soon as my father made that statement, the silence in the room became heavy. It felt like a physical weight pressing down on my lungs, making every breath a struggle. I stood there on that dais, the rubies on my red dress feeling like drops of frozen blood against my skin.

I turned my head sharply, looking at my father. My eyes were wide, pleading for him to tell me this was some kind of twisted birthday prank. But Alpha Darius Thorne wouldn't even look at me. I saw a flicker of something like guilt cross his forehead, but it vanished in a blink, replaced by that cold, Alpha mask he wore when he was making "tough decisions."

"The marriage will be finalized at the next full moon," he announced, his voice booming through the hall like a death sentence.

My head was spinning. I wasn't stupid. I knew the history books. Back in the day, Alphas traded their daughters like cattle or bags of grain to keep the peace. But this was the modern age! We had councils. We had laws. We had rights! Apparently, none of that mattered when the "safety of the pack" was on the line.

"And now," my father’s voice interrupted my thoughts, "let us welcome the man who will help lead us into this new era. The future Alpha of the United Pack... Adrian Blackwood."

The massive oak doors at the end of the hall swung wide with a bang that echoed like a gunshot.

Then, he stepped in. Adrian Blackwood walked in like he owned the air in the room. He was young, probably late-twenties, but he carried a darkness that made him look a thousand years old. He was tall, built like a tank but moved with the grace of a jungle cat. He wore a black-on-black suit that probably cost more than a house, but it couldn't hide the raw, lethal power rolling off him in waves. His face was all sharp angles—a jawline that could cut glass and eyes that were a terrifying, icy blue. His aura was cold, suffocating, and tasted like ozone before a thunderstorm.

The crowd scrambled out of the way as he matched to the front. People were literally tripping over their own feet and stepping on each other's toes just to get out of his path. He was flanked by four guards who looked like they’d been pulled straight out of a nightmare, but compared to him, they were nothing.

As he got closer, my heart literally stopped.

My breath hitched, and a cold sweat broke out across my neck. I felt the color drain from my face until I was probably as white as a ghost.

*No. No fucking way,* I whispered, the words barely leaving my lips.

Because I knew that face. I didn't care if it had been three years. I didn't care that he was wearing a thousand-dollar suit instead of a rain-soaked hoodie. Those eyes... I’d seen them in my nightmares every single night since I was sixteen.

Standing right in front of me was Adrian Blackwood, the man who murdered Marcus.

The memory hit me like a physical blow, dragging me back to that rainy night three years ago. It was my sixteenth birthday. Marcus—my childhood sweetheart, my first everything—had taken me out. He was eighteen, goofy, and so incredibly lively. He’d saved up for months to take me to that fancy restaurant outside the pack territory.

On the way back, the sky had opened up. The rain was blurring the windshield when the car suddenly lurched. A flat tire.

"Stay in the car, El," Marcus had said, flashing me a reassuring grin as he stepped out of the driver's seat. "I'll be five minutes."

He’d stepped out into the mud, the jack in his hand. I was watching through the window when a shadow materialized from the darkness.

I saw him vividly. The stranger was younger then, but just as cold. He’d stepped up behind Marcus, a silver-plated gun glinting in the dark.

"Please," Marcus had gasped, his face going pale as he dropped the jack and held up his hands. "Please, I'm just a student. I don't have anything."

The stranger didn't say a word about money. He just pressed the barrel to Marcus's temple. "Game over, kid," he’d muttered. And “Bang!” he shot him.

The sound had been so loud it shattered my world. I watched Marcus’s body go limp, falling into a puddle that turned red instantly. The stranger had looked through the window, locked eyes with me for one second, and then vanished into the rain.

And now, that same ruthless killer was standing three feet away from me.

Adrian didn't look at my father. He didn't look at the elders. His eyes were locked on mine, and there was a flicker of recognition in them that told me he knew exactly who I was. He remembered that night. He remembered the girl in the car.

He reached out, his hand steady and large, and took mine in a firm grip. His skin was hot, but his touch felt like ice.

"Elena Thorne," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated in my bones. "It’s nice to meet you."

I couldn't breathe for a second. My hand was shaking in his, but I didn't pull away. I couldn't. I was paralyzed. I stared at him, my vision tunneling until it was just me and the man who destroyed my heart.

I bit my lower lip so hard I tasted copper. I leaned in, my voice a trembling whisper that only he could hear. "I know who you are. I watched you kill him."

The room was still cheering around us, oblivious to the fact that I was standing next to a murderer. Adrian didn't flinch. He didn't blink. A slow, dark smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—a look that said he enjoyed the fact that I knew.

He leaned down, his lips inches from my ear, his scent—cedarwood and gunpowder—filling my head.

"Then you know what I’m capable of," he whispered back, his voice dangerous and smooth. "Don't be the bird I have to put in a cage to keep the peace, Elena. It’s a lot harder to breathe when the cage is locked."

He pulled back, his icy blue eyes scanning my face like he was looking for a weakness. He squeezed my hand one last time, a warning, not a greeting, before turning to my father.