Chapter 2

Adrien Cross didn’t flinch. Not when the glass wall exploded in a storm of shards. Not even when the bullet flew past his ear. Not even when the screams ripped the air open and turned the gala into a war zone.

Adrien didn’t move. He couldn’t. His heart was beating so fast like it was going to explode.

Around him the crowd broke apart. The crowd became chaotic. Rich men and women crawling under the tables to seek cover and protection. Their dresses are tearing and their jewellery flashing under the light. Glasses broken and champagne spilling on the floor.

His empire. His fortress. Was split wide open for the world to see. He was supposed to be untouchable. Now he was a target.

Security swarmed in, their voices cracking over the roar, herding bodies toward the exits. Adrien touched his ear, his fingers coming away wet. He felt blood. Just a graze though, but it was close enough to feel death’s breath scrape against his skin.

He dragged it across his sleeve, his jaw clenched. No one could see him bleed. Not ever.

“Adrien!” Isabella Torres’s voice sliced through the chaos, it was loud, the kind of tone that made people stop without meaning to. Her heels clicking on marble making all those quirky sounds. Her face was pale, but her eyes were as sharp as steel. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” He snapped harsher than he meant. “Get them out. All of them.”

She nodded once, already on her phone, firing orders like bullets. 

Adrien’s eyes dragged across the wreckage and fixed on the only man who hadn’t so much as flinched Damien Wolfe.

The ex-soldier stood by the shattered wall, shoulders tight, gaze pinned to the skyline as if the sniper was still up there, waiting. How did he manage to stay composed with all this chaos Adrien thought.

His suit fitted perfectly and snug over the kind of body that had been built, not pampered. His stare was dark, merciless. No panic, no fear. Just focus sharp enough to wound. It lit Adrien’s nerves raw. He did need a savior.

“Mr. Cross.” Damien’s voice came low, rough, like gravel under boots. He cut through the chaos in three strides and stopped close, too steady. “We need to move. Now.”

Adrien’s lip curled. “I don’t take orders.”

Damien didn’t even blink. “You do tonight.”

Adrien’s comeback was caught up in his throat when Damien’s hand clamped around his arm, Damien's hold on his arm was solid and steady, not gentle but not rough either. He guided him toward the side exit like someone who’d walked too close to death before and remembered every step.

The grip seared through Adrien’s sleeve, too firm, too sure, lighting something in him he shoved down fast. He tore his arm back, breath uneven, glare cutting sharp at Damien.

“Don’t touch me.”

Damien narrowed his eyes, but his hands came up slow, a half-surrender. He gave only an inch. “Your call. But the next shot might not miss.”

Adrien hated him for it for the calm, the control, for being right.

He followed. Not out of fear. Out of calculation. 

The hallway lay half-dark, emergency lights flickering in weak bursts. Behind them, the gala’s noise quieted. Isabella's heels caught up quick, phone pressed hard to her ear, her words clipped and sharp, carrying that edge of command she never had to force.

“Police inbound. PR is already working on a statement. We’ll control this.”

“Control?” Adrien’s laugh was sharp, bitter, shards of glass on his tongue. “Someone tried to kill me, Isabella. That’s not something you spin.”

She didn’t waver. “We’ll handle it. You focus on breathing.”

The private elevator sighed open, steel doors parting. Damien slipped in first, scanning corners with military precision before giving Adrien a single nod. The space tightened the moment Adrien stepped inside, silence swelling thick around them.

Adrien rested beside the mirrored wall, his arms were folded, and his eyes on Damien. His knuckles were etched with old scars, a thin line dragging down his jaw. He was built for war.

Adrien didn’t trust him. But his body betrayed him, a flicker sparking low at how easily Damien filled the space.

“Who sent you?” Adrien asked, his voice cutting sharp.

Damien’s gaze locked, heavy, unreadable. “Your board. After the threats.”

“Bullshit. I didn’t sign off.”

“You didn’t need to.” His tone was flat, but his eyes carried something else challenge, maybe hunger. “I’m here to keep you breathing. That’s all.”

Adrien clenched his jaw. He didn’t like being managed. Didn’t like the way Damien’s voice rolled over his skin, sparking heat he refused to name. The elevator chimed, and then they went into his penthouse office. Glass walls framed the city, glittering calm against the storm clawing inside his chest.

Damien swept the room in seconds, movements sharp, methodical. Adrien watched, hating how safe it made him feel.

“Clear,” Damien said, holstering a gun Adrien hadn’t even noticed until now. “You stay here until I say otherwise.”

Adrien ignored him, stalking to the decanter on his desk. His fingers trembled as he poured, the slight shake twisting his rage tighter. He swallowed the scotch in one hit, fire searing down. “You don’t give me orders. I’m not your prisoner.”

Damien closed the space between them, a calm shadow never breaking. “You’re not. But you’re also not immortal.”

Adrien’s gaze snapped to him. Heat sparked in the narrow gap, wild and dangerous. He wanted to shove him back, fire him, erase him. Instead, he poured another drink, his throat tight.

 “Get out.”

Damien didn’t move. “Not happening.”

Before Adrien could lash out at him, his phone buzzed. Unknown number. 

His stomach twisted into a knot the moment he opened the message.

Nice speech, Adrien. Shame about the glass. Next time, I won’t miss. – L

Ice ran through his veins. Lucian. Lucian Vega. 

The only man who could meet him step for step, outplay him with a grin, turn promises into blades. Adrien hadn’t seen him tonight, but the message was taunting, too close felt like his voice coiled around his throat.

“Who is it?” Damien asked, catching the flicker in Adrien’s face.

“Not your concern,” Adrien snapped, sliding the phone into his pocket. His mind spun. Lucian always knew too much. Was he behind the bullet? Or was Evelyn finally showing her hand?

Isabella stormed back in, her face carved with tension. “Adrien, we have got a problem. Security found a burner in the hall. Loaded with your movements. Your routines. Someone inside is feeding them.”

The glass nearly broke in Adrien’s grip, his knuckles turning white. Betrayal again. Marcus’s face flashed—ghost from the past. But Marcus was gone. Wasn’t he? His voice came out low, lethal. “Find them. Now.”

Isabella nodded once, already dialing as she vanished down the hall. Damien stayed. Watching him. Reading him. Cutting through every layer Adrien fought to keep sealed. Adrien felt it, and he hated it. Hated him. Hated the way his chest pulled every time those eyes stayed too long.

“Stop staring,” Adrien bit out, stepping into Damien’s space, daring him to blink first.

Damien didn’t move. “Stop pretending you’re fine.”

The words slammed harder than the bullet had.

 Adrien’s breath hitched, anger knotting up with something heavier, hotter. He opened his mouth… but his phone buzzed again.

It was the same number. Same taunt.

Sleep well, Adrien. I’m watching.

His grip slackened. The glass slipped, smashing on the marble. The sound tore through the quiet, sharp enough to make him flinch.