CH.6

ADRIAN

The elevator doors slid shut to finally sever my view of Verity stranded on her kitchen counter.

My blood was practically boiling in my veins.

I spent the entire descent to the ground floor adjusting my cuffs and forcing my breathing to level out, fighting the violent urge to hit the emergency stop button and go back up to finish what I'd started.

I was losing my grip. I'd spent two years avoiding her and now that she was finally under my roof, my famed self-control was disintegrating.

I stepped out of the lobby and slid into the back of my waiting car just as my phone vibrated against the leather console.

It was Philip. He was my vice president, my oldest friend, and the only man arrogant enough to call me outside of business hours just to hear himself talk.

"Tell me the rumors aren't true," Philip drawled the second I answered the call. "Tell me the ice king hasn't officially entered his sugar daddy era."

"I don't have the patience for you tonight, Philip."

"Oh, but I've got plenty of patience for this," he laughed. "You know, I saw the expense reports for the forty-second floor. You bought a luxury apartment and moved an intern into it. You're a walking cliché, Adrian."

"Where are you?" I asked, completely ignoring his commentary.

"The usual. Come let me mock you in person."

I disconnected the call and gave the driver a brief nod to head toward our destination.

Ten minutes later, the car pulled into a discreet, unmarked alleyway in the financial district.

There were no signs and no bouncers visible from the street, just a solid steel door monitored by biometric scanners.

I owned the club, though my name appeared nowhere on the paperwork. It was a subterranean fortress designed exclusively for the city’s elite, featuring soundproof private rooms for top-tier members.

The security was absolute, the non-disclosure agreements were ironclad, and the staff was trained to look the other way.

A platinum member could commit murder in one of those back rooms and the cleanup crew would have the space spotless before the ice melted in their scotch.

I bypassed the main floor and headed straight for my designated private suite in the back.

Philip was lounging on a semicircular velvet sofa, sandwiched between two stunning women who were practically draped over his shoulders.

He possessed a boyish, effortless charm that made him a magnet for the socialites who frequented the club, and he used it to his full advantage.

He patted the empty leather seat across from him as I approached. "Ladies, give us a moment. The boss is in a foul mood."

The women pouted but obediently slipped out of the room.

I sat down and poured myself a glass of scotch from the crystal decanter on the table, drinking it neat.

"You look like a man who just walked away from a winning hand," Philip observed while leaning back and studying me with sharp, amused eyes. "Trouble in paradise already?"

"Mind your business."

"It's my business when my CEO starts acting like a stalker," Philip countered, dropping his playful smirk and leaning forward. "And a celibate one, at that. You haven't touched a woman since Verity walked into our building for her interview last week.

For a notorious playboy and a chronic addict who usually can't survive forty-eight hours without a fix, this sudden abstinence is practically a medical miracle."

I took another slow sip of my scotch, fully aware of exactly what I'd done.

"You overrode HR to hire her," Philip continued relentlessly. "They were going to reject her for candidates with Ivy League degrees and a decade of experience, but you forced their hand.

Did seeing her that morning rekindle the fire you've spent the last two years trying to douse?"

He was entirely correct. From the moment I saw her in that dire situation two years ago, bruised and exhausted but fighting with a quiet, desperate fire, I'd been consumed.

I created an entire corporate sponsorship program just to quietly funnel money to her without raising suspicion. I wasn’t even sure she knew it was me that night. She thought our first meeting was when I visited her college and I know she’d been obsessed with me since then.

I tried to stay away and let her live her life, but the moment I saw her sitting in my waiting room with fresh marks on her face, my restraint permanently snapped.

"She's exactly where she belongs now," I stated coldly.

Before Philip could press the issue further, the heavy door of our private suite clicked open.

A woman glided inside. She was a high-profile runway model who'd spent the last three months making her availability painfully obvious to me ever since our one-night stand.

She wore a dress that left nothing to the imagination and a sultry smile that usually worked on any man she targeted.

She slid onto the sofa right beside me, her manicured hand coming to rest boldly on my thigh. "Adrian. I was wondering if you were going to show up tonight."

Philip watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow, clearly waiting to see if the sex-addicted playboy would finally cave and revert to his old habits.

I looked down at the model's hand on my leg, and my body reacted with a violent, instinctive jolt.

The physical ache of my addiction flared to life instantly, demanding the easy, mindless relief she was offering.

It had been over a week since my last fix, and the craving clawed at the inside of my skull.

My muscles went rigid as I fought a brutal internal war.

I wanted the release. I desperately needed it. But the moment I pictured taking her to the back room, my mind was entirely consumed by the memory of Verity's wide, frightened eyes and the soft, breathless way she'd surrendered to me on the marble counter.

The thought of replacing Verity's heat with this hollow transaction suddenly made my stomach turn.

My obsession with the girl in my apartment was completely overriding my physical urges with a dark, possessive fury.

"Remove your hand!" I growled with the sheer effort of restraining myself. "And don't approach me again."

The model flinched as if I'd struck her. Her confident smile shattered into humiliation and shock before she quickly pulled her hand back, stood up without a word, and fled the room.

Philip let out a low, disbelieving whistle.

"I never thought I'd see the day," he murmured while shaking his head. "The most ruthless addict in the city turning away a sure thing for a bruised little girl from the slums."

"Watch how you speak about her!"

"I'm not insulting her, Adrian. I'm pitying her." Philip lost the last trace of his usual sarcasm, his expression turning grim and serious. "You don't know how to be gentle. You collect things, you control them, and you break them when they stop amusing you. You're going to completely destroy that girl."

I stared into my glass and watched the amber liquid catch the dim lighting of the room.

Philip was right. I was a monster who operated entirely on possession and control. I knew I was going to drag Verity into my darkness, and I knew I'd likely ruin her in the end.

But sitting here in the dim, pulsing heat of the club, surrounded by willing bodies and the easy fixes I'd relied on for years, was suddenly a dangerous mistake.

The temptation was clawing at the edges of my sanity. If I stayed another minute, I'd either drag a stranger into the back room to burn off the adrenaline or, worse, I'd order my driver back to the forty-second floor and tear Verity apart before she was ready.

I stood up abruptly and set the heavy glass down on the table with a sharp clink.

I adjusted my jacket, forcing my expression into a bored indifference.

"I have work to finish," I lied smoothly, though my muscles were coiled tight enough to snap.

Philip didn't buy a single word of it.

I turned and strode out of the private suite, practically fleeing the only sanctuary I'd ever known while his low, mocking whistle followed me all the way down the hall.