The following days unfolded like a twisted game of chess, every move calculated, every silence louder than words.Lucas didn’t accuse me anymore. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t question where I went, or why my phone lingered too long in my hands. Instead, he began to notice.I found my jewelry box slightly shifted one morning, as if someone had been counting the time it took me to return. My phone charger unplugged, but neatly coiled. My perfume bottle tilted just a fraction to the left, the kind of detail only someone desperate for answers would notice.He was tracking me without saying it. Waiting for me to slip.And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.Adrian, on the other hand, was no longer content with stolen hours.He summoned me to his private chambers more frequently, his messages short, commanding: Come. Now.The man was fire and storm combined, and every time I tried to resist, he pulled me in deeper.
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