~The Reaction~
The days blurred together inside that glass-walled room, a strange cage that looked more like freedom but carried the same weight of chains. It was quiet most of the time—quiet enough that I could hear my own heart, quiet enough that I could feel the echo of the basement pressing against me even when I wasn't there.
But the silence broke that night.
I was asleep, curled into the warmth of the heavy blanket he had given me. For once, I wasn't dreaming of escape or punishment—I was drifting somewhere in between, in that fragile space where the world almost feels safe. Until I felt a weight near me.
A shadow knelt down by the side of my bed. His presence was unmistakable; it wasn't just the faint scent of his cologne that followed him everywhere, but the heaviness of his aura, like he could bend the air around him. His hand reached for mine, careful, cautious, unlike the man I had come to know. He lifted my wrist, turning it slowly, studying the red, raw marks left by the basement chains. His thumb brushed over the bruised skin, and I stirred slightly but didn't open my eyes.
For a moment, I let him think I was still sleeping.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small tube of medicine. He squeezed it onto his fingers and began gently applying it to the wounds, his touch firm but strangely tender. The coolness of the cream burned against the irritation, and I almost hissed from the sting, but I bit my lip and stayed still.
What was he doing? Why was he doing this?
The man who had locked me underground was now kneeling beside my bed in the middle of the night, tending to my pain like he cared. My chest tightened, confusion rising like a wave.
My lips parted before I realized what I was doing. A soft, low murmur slipped out.
"…Adrian…"
His hands stilled. Slowly, his gaze lifted to my face. My eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, but enough to meet his stare. He looked at me like he was caught doing something forbidden, something he shouldn't admit to.
I let the corner of my lips curl in the faintest trace of a smile, then, with sudden courage, my hand shot up and grabbed hold of his tie. His body tensed instantly, but I didn't give myself time to think. I pulled him closer, closer, until I could feel his breath brushing against my lips. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would burst through my chest.
But just before the distance vanished, fear seized me.
My gaze dropped. My hand loosened. The tie slipped through my fingers like water, and I pushed him back slightly, shaking my head.
"I—"
Before I could speak, his hand cupped my face firmly, forcing me to look up into those cold, burning eyes.
"Every action," he said in a low voice that wrapped around me like smoke, "has a reaction."
Before I could even process it, he moved. His other hand seized my wrists, pinning them above my head against the pillow. My body stiffened, but his weight didn't crush me—he only leaned just enough to remind me that I was trapped. His lips hovered a breath away from mine, his gaze holding mine prisoner.
Then he kissed me.
It wasn't rough like I imagined, nor cruel like I feared—it was deep, unhurried, consuming. My lungs burned as I struggled to breathe, but I didn't want to pull away. The softness of his lips contrasted with the strength of his grip, and I could feel the heat of his chest pressed against mine, his heartbeat hammering as fast as my own.
The room disappeared. The faint ticking of the clock vanished. It was only the two of us, bound in something I didn't understand, something dangerous but impossible to resist.
When he finally pulled away, I gasped, air rushing back into me as though I had been underwater. His eyes searched mine, sharp but conflicted. His hand released my wrists slowly, almost reluctantly, and then he whispered words that made the world tilt.
"You won."
My breath caught.
He carefully lowered my arm onto the bed, setting it gently like I was fragile glass. He placed the tube of medicine beside me and rose to his feet with his usual composure.
"Apply it again after it absorbs," he said calmly, though his eyes betrayed something else—something raw.
And then he left. Just like that.
The door clicked shut.
I lay there frozen for a moment, my lips tingling, my chest rising and falling too fast. Then suddenly, like a child with a secret, I buried my face into the pillow, muffling a half-laugh, half-scream that threatened to spill out. My body trembled as though I had been struck by lightning.
"Why…" I whispered into the fabric. "Why did I enjoy that?"
My hands clutched the blanket, pulling it tightly against me, as though it could protect me from myself.
"Fuck off, Elena! You're just playing. You're just using him like he's using you. Don't be so stupid. Don't… don't be serious about him."
I turned my head, staring at my arm where the cream was already beginning to cool and soothe the redness. My fingers traced the faint outline of the wounds.
"But… why is he caring for these at all?"
I couldn't answer myself. My chest was too tight, my mind too loud.
Sleep didn't return easily that night. I lay awake, watching the faint silhouette of his desk through the glass wall, empty now. I wondered if he felt the same fire, or if I was just another piece in his twisted game.
But deep inside, beneath the fear, beneath the walls I tried to hold up—something dangerous bloomed.
Attraction.
The kind that could ruin me.
---
And as the days passed after that night, I caught myself watching him differently. When he spoke to his men with that voice that made them tremble, when his hands held a glass of whiskey with that careless elegance, when his gaze brushed over me in passing—it all felt heavier.
Maybe I was losing control.
Or maybe, for the first time, I was beginning to crave the chains.
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WHAT IF YOU WERE IN PLACE OF ELENA?
WHAT MAKE'S ADRIAN CARE FOR HER?
DO TELL ME IN COMMENTS :)
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