Chapter 5: What He Calls Home

Adriana's POV

Hunter opened a door at the end of the hall and stepped aside, motioning for me to enter.

I hesitated, then stepped inside and immediately froze.

The room was massive, like the rest of the house, but it didn’t feel lived in. The walls were a deep gray, the furniture sharp-edged and expensive. A king-sized bed dominated the center, dressed in black sheets that matched the heavy curtains drawn tight across the windows. A single dim lamp glowed in the corner, casting long shadows.

It looked like something out of a movie. Cold. Luxurious. Lifeless.

“This is…” I trailed off, unsure what to say.

“Our bedroom,” Hunter said simply, brushing past me. He threw his jacket onto a leather chair and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. “Get used to it.”

I stood near the doorway, arms wrapped around the present like a shield. “Do you always decorate like you’re trying to intimidate someone?”

That earned me a glance. Not a smile. Just a glance.

He leaned back slightly, expression unreadable. “I like order. Clean lines. Simplicity.”

I stared at him, something twisting in my chest. “You never smile.”

He didn’t look at me. Didn’t blink.

“I’m not a clown,” he muttered.

“That’s not what I meant,” I said quickly. “I just… you have all this. Money. Power. A mansion. But not even a fake smile?”

Silence stretched. Then he stood, walked to the window, and pulled the curtain back just a few inches. Moonlight spilled across his face, softening it for a heartbeat.

“My father smiled right before he blew his brains out,” he said flatly. “So no, I don’t smile. Not for anyone.”

My breath caught in my throat. “I… I didn’t know.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” he replied, dropping the curtain again. “Next time, think before you ask something stupid.”

He turned and walked into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

I sank down onto the edge of the bed, trying to breathe. My hands were shaking again. Why did he say that? Why did he tell me that? There was pain in his voice, real pain but buried so deep it came out like a weapon.

I looked down at the present still sitting in my lap.

Maybe I shouldn’t open it.

Or maybe I should.

He was still in the shower. The low sound of running water gave me a moment. A private moment.

I slid the ribbon off carefully, then peeled away the wrapping paper, trying not to rip it. My hands trembled.

Inside was a box. Plain, wooden, with a tiny silver latch.

I flipped it open.

And gasped.

It was a necklace. A delicate silver chain, with a single charm at the center a small sapphire teardrop. Underneath it was a folded note in my dad’s handwriting.

Forgive me. Please.

 

I slammed the lid shut, heart racing. What the hell does that mean?

 

The bathroom door opened. I scrambled to rewrap the present and shoved it under a pillow just as Hunter stepped out, shirtless and drying his hair with a towel.

He looked at me but didn’t say a word.

I stood up quickly. “I’m going to change.”

He didn’t respond, just dropped onto the bed and picked up his phone. I grabbed a nightshirt from the closet and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

I stared at myself in the mirror.

“Why doesn’t he smile?” I whispered to my reflection.

Maybe the better question was what happened to him to make him this way?

I came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed in an oversized nightshirt, my hair loosely tied back. Hunter was no longer on the bed. The room felt quiet, still. Almost too still.

A soft knock on the bedroom door made me jump.

It creaked open, and a woman in a neat black-and-white uniform entered, pushing a tray. A maid.

“Dinner, Miss,” she said with a small, polite smile. She rolled the cart beside the bed and lifted the silver lids one by one. Steak. Roasted vegetables. Warm bread. Even dessert.

I stared at it like it was some kind of trick.

“Thank you,” I said, and the maid nodded before slipping out without another word.

I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until that moment. I sat down and ate slowly, trying not to rush, but exhaustion was creeping in with every bite. My body felt heavy, like it was begging for sleep.

By the time I finished, I barely managed to set the tray aside before curling up on the bed, the soft sheets swallowing me whole. I didn’t even pull the covers up. I just… passed out.

I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep. The room was dim, silent until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Adriana,” Hunter’s voice was low, firm, almost too close.

My eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the low light. He stood over me, shirtless. But this time, he wasn’t fresh out of the shower; no towel, no distance. Just bare skin and raw heat. Every inch of his body looked carved from stone, shadows tracing over his chest, down to the v-line disappearing beneath loose, hanging sweats. His blueish-gray eyes locked on mine, sharp and hungry.

“Get up,” he said quietly, the command in his tone making my pulse spike. “You need to shower.”

I sat up slowly, suddenly aware of how hot my skin felt under the thin nightshirt. His gaze dragged over me, slow and deliberate, like he was claiming every inch with his eyes. I looked away, but not before mine slipped down his body.

Mistake.

His smirk deepened. “Don’t look unless you’re ready to deal with what that stare gets you, baby.”

“I wasn’t—”

He moved in an instant.

One knee on the bed. Then both.

He caged me in without touching me, his presence enough to steal the breath from my lungs. “You think I don’t see how you look at me?” he whispered, eyes dark and burning. “Like you want to hate me… but your body betrays you every time.”

“Hunter—”

He silenced me with his hand gripping my jaw, not rough… but firm enough to remind me who was in control. His thumb brushed the edge of my lips.

"You're mine now," he growled. “You sleep in my bed. You breathe my air. You look at me like that, and I’ll make sure you never forget who owns that pretty mouth.”

His hand slid down, slow and deliberate, his fingers brushing against the curve of my breast. There was no rush, just the weight of his touch, as if he wanted to memorize the feel of me. His palm flattened against my breast, the warmth of it seeping through the fabric.

I tried to breathe, but it felt like my lungs had forgotten how. His gaze never left mine, and with every inch of contact, it was like he was carving his claim deeper into me.

I swallowed, my pulse hammering in my throat as the air between us thickened, heated.

"You feel that?" His voice was low, almost a whisper. "That heartbeat? That's mine now. Just like the rest of you."

My thighs clenched involuntarily, and of course, he noticed.

“You’re wet,” he said, like it was a fact. His hand drifted lower, over the curve of my waist, and I whimpered when his fingers brushed the inside of my thigh.

“No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else gets to hear those sounds. Say it.”

I couldn’t speak. I was trembling.

“Say it,” he repeated, voice harder. “Who do you belong to?”

“You,” I whispered, the word barely making it out.

“That’s right,” he murmured, brushing his lips against my ear. “You’re mine, Adriana. My property. My possession. And I don’t share.”

He lingered a second longer, his hand still on my body, breath teasing my skin, before pulling back like he hadn’t just wrecked me without even undressing me.

“Go shower,” he ordered, standing tall and cold once again. “You’re not getting in my bed smelling like sleep and innocence.”

He tossed me a towel, his smirk returning slower this time. Darker.

“Ten minutes. Don’t make me come in there and remind you again who you belong to.”

And then he left, shutting the door behind him, leaving me breathless, aching, and soaking wet in every sense of the word.