A STORM BARELY CONTAINED

Adrian POV

The house was too quiet when I got home. No cheers, no relief, just a hollow silence that made the walls close in around me. The shares were back. The company was mine again. But inside, I was a storm barely contained.

The phone call had come from someone unknown, a voice clipped and cold with a plan that had saved me. Sell what didn’t matter, buy back what counted. The pieces had moved silently, and before anyone knew, control was back in my hands.

But the victory felt like ashes in my mouth.

Charlotte was in the kitchen when I walked in. She didn’t turn to greet me, just leaned against the counter, scrolling through her phone, jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line.

“You’re late,” she said flatly.

“Meeting ran long,” I replied, trying to sound casual, but the exhaustion leaked into my voice.

She snorted without humor. “You got the shares back. Big deal. What else did you screw up today?”

The bitterness in her tone cut deeper than I expected. I closed the distance between us, leaning on the counter opposite her. “Char, it’s ours again. The company, the power, everything.”

She finally looked up, eyes cold. “I know. You told me twice already.”

The silence that followed was heavy. I hated it. I hated how distant she’d become, how sharp her words were when they used to be soft with me.

“You’re still mad,” I said quietly.

Her eyes flashed. “I’m beyond mad, Adrian. You cheated on me. You humiliated me. And you think some phone calls and a few smart moves would make that okay?”

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” I said, reaching for her hand, but she pulled away.

She crossed her arms, her posture rigid. “Don’t touch me.”

Frustration burned inside me, raw and ugly. I wanted to scream, to beg, to fix this, but the anger overwhelmed me. “Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you just say something?”

“Because what’s there to say?” she spat. “You broke everything.”

The tension snapped. I grabbed her arm roughly, too hard. Her breath hitched. “Don’t you dare walk away from me?”

She struggled to pull free, eyes wide with shock and hurt. “Let go!”

But I wasn’t thinking. I was blinded by my pain and need for control. I slammed her against the counter. The sound echoed in the empty kitchen.

“Stop this,” she said, voice trembling but firm.

I shook my head. “No. You’re not walking away this time.”

I didn’t see the tears that welled in her eyes until she slammed her fist into my chest, pushing me back. But the damage was done.

The night spiraled into a desperate, broken mess. I handcuffed her and tore her clothes, making her cry for help, but I wasn’t listening. All I wanted was to be inside her; it wasn’t love. It was control. It was anger. It was fear disguised as desire.

Elena POV

“Huh?” I blinked, caught off guard. The words hit me like a punch I wasn’t prepared for.

He actually said it.

He apologized.

Damien Steele, the man who had crushed my throat not even a week ago, was standing in front of me apologizing.

“Don’t take it to heart,” he said, his voice low, almost casual, but with an edge that made it clear he meant every word. “I still stand on my words. Three weeks. Or you’re going back to jail.”

I nodded. Of course. What else could I do? This was Damien, nothing was ever simple with him. His apology was just another weapon in a game I hadn’t signed up for, and his threat reminded me how little room I had to breathe.

I watched him walk away, every step heavy with the weight of unspoken things between us. The sting in my throat wasn’t from the strangling anymore, it was the sheer impossibility of this twisted dance.

Back in my room, the silence wrapped around me like a shield. It felt strange to be here again, not hidden away in the cramped, suffocating appliance room where I’d spent the last week, drowning in my thoughts and frustration.

I sank onto the bed, closing my eyes and letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Finally, I was out.

The appliance room had been a prison disguised as a refuge. The stale air, the hum of ancient machines, and the lingering smell of rust and detergent had seeped into my bones. Each night, I’d lie there with my back pressed to the cold wall, clutching my notebook filled with half-baked theories and dead-end clues.

Now, in my room, the air was different, cleaner, softer, and somehow full of possibility. I could breathe again.

It wasn’t just the physical space. It was the mental shift.

Out there, hidden and silent, I’d been stuck frozen between fear and fury.

Here, I could move forward.

I pulled my laptop onto my lap and flipped through the files I’d managed to collect, piecing together fragments of information. Nothing solid yet, but the fog was starting to clear. I had leads little threads pulling at the seams of lies woven between Adrian, Charlotte, and Lucas.

I hated that I had no idea who to trust anymore.

I closed the laptop and stood up. There was work to be done. I couldn’t waste time wallowing in anger, no matter how justified.

After a moment, I grabbed my coat and headed out.

I needed something something only Damien had.

The key to Lucas’s mansion.

It was the last place I hadn’t searched, the final piece of this puzzle that might expose everything.

I walked down the quiet hallways, my heart pounding not from fear, but from a mix of determination and defiance.

Outside Damien’s door, I hesitated a second, then knocked firmly.

The door swung open before I could even think twice.

Damien stood there, arms crossed, that familiar cold look in his eyes. I met his gaze without flinching.

“I need the key to Lucas’s house,” I said.