The ride home was quiet, but not the kind of silence that felt empty. It was heavy, full of words unsaid, full of thoughts they both carried from the dinner table. Lila sat by the window, the faint reflection of her face on the glass illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights. Her mind was still tangled in what had happened upstairs in Adrian's old room—the way he had held her without realizing it, the way his lips had brushed hers before she could even prepare herself.
Her chest tightened at the memory. She had tried to convince herself it was an accident, that he had acted without thought. But when she remembered the intensity in his eyes afterward, she knew it wasn't that simple. Adrian Wolfe didn't do things without reason.
Beside her, Adrian sat with one arm stretched lazily across the back of the seat, his head tilted slightly as though he were relaxed. But he wasn't. His entire body was alert, wired, consumed with a single thought that refused to leave him. He had slept—really slept—in her presence. It hadn't happened in years, and now it had happened twice in one evening. His mind was sharp, calculating, but beneath that calculation was a hunger he couldn't name.
"Why are you so quiet?" he finally asked, his voice breaking through the hush of the car.
Lila turned her head slowly, meeting his gaze. The darkness of his eyes seemed deeper under the dim interior light. "I'm just… tired."
A small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Tired," he repeated, as though tasting the word. "Or overwhelmed?"
Her heartbeat stumbled. "Does it matter?"
"Yes," Adrian said, leaning a little closer. "Because overwhelmed means I'm getting to you. Tired means I'm not."
Lila scoffed and looked away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. "You always have to win, don't you?"
"Always," he admitted easily. "And with you, I intend to win every time."
Her breath caught, but she pressed her lips together, refusing to answer.
When the car finally rolled to a stop in front of their mansion, Adrian didn't immediately move. He watched her instead, his eyes tracing her profile as though trying to memorize every curve, every flicker of emotion across her face. She reached for the door handle, but before she could open it, his hand closed around her wrist.
"Lila."
The sound of her name from his lips always felt heavier, deeper, like it carried weight beyond the simple syllables. She turned, hesitating.
Adrian's eyes locked on hers, unwavering. "You make me sleep." His words were quiet, almost a whisper, but they struck her like thunder. "No one else has ever done that. Not doctors, not silence, not a thousand nights alone. Only you."
Her chest rose and fell unevenly. "Adrian…"
"I need to know if it's real," he continued, his voice lower now, rough with conviction. "If it's you. And I don't care how long it takes, I'll confirm it again and again."
The honesty in his tone unsettled her. It wasn't the polished arrogance she was used to from him; it was something raw, something she didn't know how to defend against.
Slowly, he released her wrist, as if giving her a choice. "Come inside," he said, though it was less a request and more a command softened by the way his gaze lingered on her.
Inside the house, everything was still. The faint hum of the air conditioning and the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway were the only sounds that filled the space. Lila walked ahead, her steps echoing softly against the polished floor, but she could feel Adrian's presence at her back like a shadow she couldn't escape.
Upstairs, she pushed open the door to their bedroom and slipped inside. She needed space, needed to breathe. She moved toward the dresser, pretending to busy herself with the small things—removing her earrings, smoothing her dress. But when she looked up, she saw him in the mirror.
Adrian stood just inside the doorway, his jacket discarded, his tie loosened, watching her with a gaze that made her skin prickle. He didn't move closer, not yet. He simply observed her, the silence between them thick with unspoken words.
"You don't have to stare," she murmured, focusing on her reflection instead of him.
"Don't I?" His voice was low, deliberate. "You're my wife. I can look at you as much as I want."
Her hands stilled on the dresser. She wanted to argue, to remind him that theirs wasn't a marriage born of love, but the words caught in her throat. Something about the way he said it—possessive, certain—made her chest tighten.
She turned around to face him directly. "Adrian, what do you want from me?"
For a long moment, he didn't answer. He simply studied her, his jaw tightening as though he was holding something back. Finally, he stepped forward, slow, controlled, until he was standing just a breath away.
"What I want…" He reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, his fingers grazing her skin. "…is the truth. Why does my body quiet when you're near? Why do my demons stop clawing at me when I hold you? You think I don't notice, but I do. And I won't stop until I understand it."
Her lips parted, but no words came out. The intensity of his confession left her shaken.
Adrian's hand dropped to his side, but his eyes never wavered. "Tonight," he said, his tone final. "We'll sleep in the same bed again. And I'll know."
Before she could protest, he turned, walking toward the bathroom to change, leaving her standing there with her heart in chaos.
Lila pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady the pounding. How can he say these things so easily? Doesn't he realize what he's doing to me?
That night, when they finally lay in bed, the space between them felt like a battlefield. Lila faced away from him, her body tense, while Adrian lay on his back, eyes open, watching the ceiling. He didn't move to touch her, not yet. He simply waited, listening to the rhythm of her breathing as it slowly steadied into sleep.
Minutes passed. Then, almost without realizing it, Adrian shifted closer. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her gently against him. His body relaxed at the contact, the storm in his mind beginning to fade.
And then, just like before, his eyes grew heavy. Within moments, Adrian Wolfe—the man who hadn't known true rest in years—was asleep.
Lila stirred slightly in her slumber, sensing the warmth of his embrace, but she didn't wake. A small sigh escaped her lips as she settled deeper into the pillow.
The night held them both, quiet and still.
But in the morning, when Adrian woke with the soft light streaming through the curtains, he knew with absolute certainty: it wasn't coincidence. It was her.
And now that he had proof, there was no way he was letting her go.