Chapter 2

Aurora did not sleep.

She spent the entire night curled in an armchair in her bedroom, staring at the door. Every time the old wood of the estate creaked, she flinched, expecting the handle to turn. Adrian’s words looped in her mind like a fever dream.

Your husband doesn't want you. He’s at a hotel with his mistress.

And worse, the terrifying look in Adrian's eyes when he had trapped her against the banister. It wasn't the look of a younger brother-in-law. It was the look of a man who had been starving in the dark, watching her from the shadows for a very long time.

By the time the pale morning light filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, Aurora’s exhaustion had morphed into a quiet, burning resolve. She couldn't stay in this room, hiding like a coward.

She bathed, dressed in a simple cream-colored knit dress, and headed downstairs. The mansion was quiet, the servants moving like ghosts in the background. As she approached the sunlit breakfast parlor, she heard the crisp rustle of a newspaper and the clink of a silver spoon against porcelain.

Her heart skipped a beat. She assumed it would be empty, or perhaps that Damian had returned to face her.

Instead, it was Adrian.

He sat at the head of the long table, dressed in a flawless navy-blue three-piece suit. His dark hair was styled back, not a single strand out of place. He was looking over a tablet, his face completely expressionless as his eyes scanned financial columns. He looked like the formidable, cold CEO the media loved to write about—untouchable, ruthless, and entirely in control.

Aurora hesitated at the threshold. She wanted to turn back, but her pride wouldn't let her. She swallowed her fear, squared her shoulders, and walked into the room.

"Good morning," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

Adrian didn't look up from his tablet. He didn't even pause his reading. He simply reached for his black coffee, taking a slow, quiet sip. The cold shoulder was back in full force, as if the explosive, suffocating tension of the previous night had never happened.

"Where is Damian?" she asked, sitting at the opposite end of the long table, putting as much physical distance between them as possible.

"I told you where he was last night," Adrian said flatly, his voice smooth and devoid of any emotion. "He hasn't returned. He went straight to the corporate office from his hotel."

The clinical, unbothered way he spoke about her husband's infidelity made Aurora's hands clench into fists on her lap. "And you're just okay with that? He is your brother, Adrian. This is our marriage."

At that, Adrian slowly lowered his tablet. He tilted his head, his dark, piercing eyes locking onto hers across the expanse of the mahogany table. The temperature in the room seemed to drop instantly.

"I don't care about Damian's morals," Adrian said coldly. "And I certainly don't care about his marriage."

"Then why did you tell me?" Aurora challenged, leaning forward. "If you don't care, why throw it in my face? Why make sure I knew he was with someone else?"

Adrian’s gaze darkened. He set his coffee cup down with a sharp clack against the saucer. "Because you were pathetic, Aurora."

Aurora gasped as if she had been slapped.

"You sit in this house like a martyr, waiting for a man who treats you like an unwanted obligation," Adrian continued, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register that vibrated through the quiet room. "You wear the dresses he buys, you cook the meals he ignores, and you play the sweet, submissive wife. It’s disgusting to watch."

"I am trying to make my marriage work!" Aurora cried, her voice cracking with a sudden rush of emotion. "What do you know about it? You're twenty-four, Adrian! You've never loved anyone, you've never committed to anyone. You just run your companies and look down on everyone else!"

Adrian’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked violently. Slowly, deliberately, he stood up from the table.

Aurora’s breath hitched. Even from across the room, his presence was overwhelming. He didn't walk around the table; he walked directly down the center of it, his eyes never leaving hers. He stopped right beside her chair, towering over her. The scent of his expensive cedarwood cologne enveloped her, thick and intoxicating.

"I've never loved anyone?" Adrian whispered, leaning down. He placed both hands on the armrests of her chair, trapping her completely. His face was inches from hers, so close she could see the golden flecks in his pitch-black eyes. "You think you know me because you met me when I was a teenager, Aurora? You think because you have a couple of years on me, you can patronize me?"

"Adrian, stop," she whispered, her hands instinctively coming up to rest against his chest to keep him from leaning closer. "This is inappropriate. I am your brother's wife."

"He doesn't want you," Adrian hissed, his voice raspy with a sudden, wild possessiveness that made her blood run hot. He didn't pull away from her touch; instead, he leaned into her palms, forcing her to feel the heavy, rapid thud of his heartbeat. "He has never looked at you the way a man should look at a woman. He doesn't know the texture of your skin. He doesn't know how you look when you're angry, or how your voice sounds when you're begging. He doesn't deserve to even breathe the same air as you."

"And you do?" she breathed, terrified of the wild, chaotic feelings swirling in her own chest.

"I would burn this city to the ground before I let anyone else touch you," Adrian said, the raw, terrifying confession slipping out like venom. His gaze dropped to her lips, his breath hitching. His eyes were wild, completely consumed by an obsession he had kept locked away in the dark for years. "I have wanted you since the first day you walked into this house. I have watched you, Aurora. Every single day. I forced myself to ignore you. I gave you the cold shoulder because I knew that if I spoke to you, if I let myself get too close, I would never let you go back to his room."

Aurora stared at him, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. The truth was out, and it was far more dangerous than she could have ever imagined. Her junior brother didn't just want to protect her. He wanted to consume her. He wanted to own her body, her mind, and her soul.

"You're crazy," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"I am," Adrian agreed, his hand suddenly moving from the armrest to cup her jaw. His thumb was warm, brushing over her soft skin with a possessive, territorial grip that left no room for escape. "But I'm the only one in this house who is real. Damian is a shadow. I am the one who is here, Aurora. I am the one who sees you."

Before she could respond, the sound of the grand foyer doors opening echoed through the mansion.

"Aurora!" Damian’s voice called out, cold, arrogant, and impatient.

Adrian didn't flinch. He didn't look toward the door. He kept his eyes locked on Aurora, his thumb tracing her lower lip with a slow, agonizing pressure.

"Your husband is home," Adrian whispered, a dark, dangerous smirk playing on his lips. "Are you going to run to him, Aurora? Or are you finally going to admit that you belong to me?"