HEAT

ADRIAN

The car came to a stop outside the Vercelli estate.

I stayed inside for a moment, staring through the windshield.

The compound looked exactly the way I remembered it.

The same tall iron gates. The same stone walls. The same rows of dark trees lining the long driveway toward the mansion.

It was nighttime now, and the entire estate was almost completely dark.

I got out of the car and shut the door behind me when I drove down to the mansion.

For years, this place had been home.

I had spent countless days here when I was younger. I knew every corridor, every staircase, every room. I knew which windows overlooked the gardens and which doors creaked when they opened.

Yet standing here again felt strange.

I reminded myself why I had come.

I owed Cillian nothing.

Not an explanation.

Not forgiveness.

Not even my time.

I was here because I wanted to punish him.

That was all.

He needed to understand something he had clearly forgotten eight years ago.

I was no longer the boy who would let him decide everything for me.

I walked toward the mansion.

There was no one waiting outside.

No maids.

No guards.

No servants rushing toward the entrance.

Only the security stationed at the main gates.

I wasn't surprised.

Cillian had always valued his privacy. He hated people hovering around him, especially when he was dealing with something personal.

And tonight, apparently, I was the personal problem.

I entered the mansion without announcing myself.

The interior was just as familiar.

Dark wood. Marble floors. Muted lighting.

Everything was exactly where I remembered it.

I didn't need directions.

My feet carried me through the hallway and up the stairs before I even thought about where I was going.

The room.

Cillian had given me the key earlier.

As if eight years had changed nothing.

I reached the door and slipped the key into the lock.

The click sounded strangely loud.

I pushed the door open. The room was dark.

For a moment, I couldn't see anything.

Then I noticed the figure standing beside the French windows.

Cillian.

He was staring out at the gardens, his back toward me.

I closed the door behind me.

"You came." His voice was low.

I leaned against the door. "Yes."

He turned around.

The dim light from outside caught his face.

He looked exhausted.

More importantly, he looked like he was struggling to hold himself together.

His rut.

I could smell it beneath the suppressants.

Cillian walked toward me and stopped only a few feet away. "My rut is driving me crazy."

I said nothing.

His eyes stayed on mine. "Will you help?"

I almost laughed.

After all these years, after everything that had happened between us, this was what he wanted to ask me?

"That's the first thing you want from me?"

His jaw tightened. "Adrian."

"After eight years, the first thing you ask me for is sex?"

His expression shifted.

"I thought you wanted to talk."

"We can talk in many ways." He said and moved closer. “Plus, I can smell your heat too.”

I watched him carefully.

Another step.

Then another.

He was trying to intimidate me. Stake his claim and show me exactly why he is an Alpha.

Maybe once it would have worked. Not anymore.

I smirked. "Really?" There was something deliberate in my voice.

Something that made his breathing change.

Cillian stopped directly in front of me. "Yes."

I looked into his eyes.

The Alpha who had once broken my heart was standing in front of me, visibly struggling to keep himself under control.

And suddenly, I wanted to know how far that control would stretch.

I smiled. "Beg me."

His expression hardened. "Please."

I couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped me.

I clicked my tongue. "No."

His brows pulled together. "Adrian."

"Not like that."

I stepped closer. "Like you mean it."

His breathing grew heavier.

For the first time since I'd walked into the room, I could see the cracks in his composure.

His eyes moved over my face. Then he swallowed. "Please, Adrian." He breathed.

I said nothing.

The scent of my heat clung to the air like a thick, syrupy fog, and every breath Cillian drew seemed to pull it deeper into his lungs.

He stood too close, his chest rising and falling with a ragged urgency that made the muscles in his jaw tighten.

I could see the way his nostrils flared, the way his pupils swallowed the amber of his irises, leaving only thin rings of color as he stared at me, completely undone by an Omega’s perfume.

“Please, Adrian. I beg you,” he whispered, his voice a hoarse rasp that vibrated against the silence of the room.

I studied his face.

This was Cillian Vercelli.

The man who had once been the center of my entire world.

I let a slow, cruel smirk curl my lips. I didn’t move a muscle, simply looking down at him with a cold, commanding intensity.

“On your knees, Cillian.”

He didn’t hesitate. The heavy thud of his knees hitting the hardwood floor echoed in the dark room.

He looked up at me, his expression one of pure, unadulterated lust, his mouth slightly open.

He was bigger than me—broader shoulders, thicker muscles—but in this moment he was nothing more than a toy waiting to be used.

“Good boy.”