CHAPTER 6

Chapter 6

Adrien

I was starting to lose my mind.

The Moretti mansion was all glass. Everything was expensive, cold, dead. Like a really stylish coffin.

Day six, I think. Maybe eight. My phone had been taken the moment I was snatched. No signal. No Wi-Fi. No internet. No nothing.

And I was surrounded by men who looked like they could crush me with a stare.

Well, most of them. The guards weren’t exactly chatty, and none of them seemed interested in entertaining a kidnapped rich boy with a sarcastic streak. One glared at me for humming a Beyoncé song. Another threatened to break my fingers if I touched the piano in the east wing again. Naturally, I played two songs after that just to see if he’d follow through.

He didn’t. Coward.

I was going insane. No news, no distractions, no dopamine. Just me and my thoughts.

And the faint scent of Luca Moretti’s cologne in the halls.

Don’t think about him.

But I did. Constantly.

The first time I saw him, it was like getting hit with a storm. Cold, ruthless, and too damn beautiful for someone who’d just threatened me. Black shirt, sleeves rolled up, that sharp jawline like he’d been carved from ice. And those eyes.

Hungry.

I’d laughed. He didn’t.

That look still haunted me. I hated it. Hated that it thrilled me.

I threw myself onto the bed—silk sheets, of course—and groaned into the pillow. I couldn’t take another minute of this boredom. I needed to stir something up.

And I knew exactly how.

I pushed off the bed, wandered into the hall barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung sweatpants and a tank top I’d “borrowed” from one of the spare wardrobes. I didn’t knock when I passed rooms. I peeked into open doors. I made sure the guards saw me.

Let them report back.

Let him come to me.

I found one guard stationed near the kitchen door and flashed him my most innocent smile. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a croissant around here?”

The man blinked slowly. “Kitchen is off-limits.”

“Tragic.” I placed a hand dramatically over my heart. “What if I starve to death? You’ll have to explain that to your boss. Can you imagine his face? I think he'd cry.”

He didn’t laugh. Of course not.

I slipped past him anyway, and surprisingly, he didn’t stop me. Maybe they were getting tired of me too.

The kitchen was empty, quiet, way too clean. I rummaged through drawers, found a pear, took a bite. Crunchy. Cold. Not bad.

“Looking for something, princess?”

I froze.

His voice. Smooth. Dangerous.

I turned slowly, and there he was. Luca Moretti. Leaning against the doorway in all black, as usual. His arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes narrowed like I’d pissed him off by simply existing.

Probably had.

“Just a snack,” I said, raising the pear like a peace offering. “Want a bite?”

He didn’t move. “This part of the house is off-limits.”

“And yet,” I bit into the pear again with an exaggerated moan, “here I am.”

“Are you always this annoying?”

“Only when I’m being held against my will in a luxury prison with no internet.”

He stepped closer. I didn’t back away. He was taller up close. Sharper. That scent—subtle, masculine, expensive—wrapped around me like a threat.

“Why aren’t you scared?” he asked.

I tilted my head. “Why do you want me to be?”

Something flickered in his eyes. Frustration? Amusement? Lust? Hell if I knew.

“You’re walking a very thin line, Adrien.”

I rolled my eyes. “You sound like my father.”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t compare me to that man.”

“Well,” I grinned, “you did kidnap me because of him. Bit obsessed, don’t you think?”

His hand moved—fast—and suddenly the pear was knocked out of my hand, rolling across the marble floor. I stared at it, then back at him.

“Was that necessary?”

He stepped closer. “Don’t provoke me.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” I scoffed. “You won’t. You need me alive.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared, long and hard, like he was trying to read something buried deep in me. Something I didn’t even want to admit to myself.

I let the silence stretch, then smirked. “You look tense, Luca. Want a massage?”

His eye twitched. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told.” I leaned closer. “Do you always get this flustered when a guy flirts with you, or is it just me?”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re not my type.”

“Liar.”

He stepped back like I burned him. I smiled wider.

“Get out of the kitchen,” he said coldly.

“Make me.”

He pulled a gun from the back of his waistband and held it loosely in his hand. Not aimed. Just visible.

I raised a brow. “Kinky.”

He sighed sharply and turned, storming out of the room. I followed.

“What? No more threats? No monologue about how dangerous you are?”

He stopped in the hall and turned so fast I nearly ran into him.

“I don’t need to threaten you, Adrien. You’re already mine.”

The words shouldn’t have done what they did.

They shouldn’t have made my heart skip, or my breath catch, or my mind spiral.

But they did.

I swallowed. “So possessive. Is that a mafia thing, or just a Luca thing?”

He stared for a long moment. Then said flatly, “Go back to your room.”

“You gonna tuck me in?”

 “His expression shuttered. “I’m not playing with you.”

I took a step closer, close enough that I could feel the heat of him. My voice dropped. “Who said I’m playing?”

He looked down at me. His gaze lingered on my lips, then my throat, then my bare arms. I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. I wanted him to look.

He leaned in slightly, and I thought—just for a second—that he might kiss me.

But instead, he whispered, “Go.”

I blinked. 

He walked away without another word.

And I stood there, shaken. Not scared.

But something else entirely.

I wandered back toward my room, not really caring if the guards followed me. Not really caring about the consequences. I wanted to get under his skin, and I had.

So why did he get under mine?

When I entered my room, I collapsed on the bed, arms spread wide, heart thumping in my chest. Not from fear. From him.

I hated it. Hated that I wanted to see him angry. Hated that I noticed the way his black shirt clung to his chest. Hated that his voice, when it dropped low, did something dangerous to me.

The silence in the mansion was deafening. No phone. No sound. Just memories. Glimpses.

The way his eyes devoured me.

I turned to the side, pressing my face into the pillow, and groaned. “Get out of my head, Moretti…”