The penthouse was too quiet.
Elena stood near the massive windows, her palms flat against the glass. The city sprawled beneath her like a glittering map, golden veins of traffic threading through the dark. From this height, it should have felt beautiful—breathtaking, even. But to Elena, it felt like a prison tower, and she was the princess who wasn't free, but caged.
Behind her, Adrian had disappeared into another room after their fight. The echo of his words still clung to the silence like smoke.
Fear keeps you close.
Her chest constricted. It should have repulsed her completely, but it didn't. And that was what terrified her the most. Part of her wanted to recoil, but another part curled around those words like they were… safe.
Safe, when they shouldn't be.
Her reflection in the glass looked pale, her wide eyes shadowed by confusion. She barely recognized herself.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She jumped, fumbling to pull it out. When she saw the name on the screen, her throat tightened.
Damian.
The phone buzzed again, before falling silent. Then, a message appeared.
> Are you safe? If he hurts you, tell me. I'll come.
Her chest ached. Damian—always the same. Always steady, always protective. Her mind slipped back to school days, memories blooming uninvited.
She remembered the time she had been running late for class, her bag tearing open in the hallway. Books scattered everywhere, pages fluttering like wings. She had been close to tears when a hand reached down. Damian had gathered her papers without a word, stacking them neatly before handing them back with that easy smile.
"Careful," he'd said, brushing dust from his uniform. "If you break down this easily, the world's going to eat you alive."
She had laughed then, embarrassed, but she'd remembered his words.
Another memory surfaced—an afternoon on the school rooftop. She had been crying quietly after failing an exam, thinking no one would notice. But Damian had found her. He hadn't scolded, hadn't lectured. He'd simply sat beside her, pulled out a packet of candy from his pocket, and offered it with a grin.
"No problem's too big if you've got sugar," he'd teased, and somehow, the tears had stopped.
Her fingers trembled over her phone. That same boy—the one who'd always picked her up, always shielded her—was still offering to catch her now.
But then… Adrian.
Even when she thought of Damian, she felt Adrian's presence pressing down on her, suffocating but inescapable.
"Elena."
Her breath caught. She turned slowly.
Adrian stood in the doorway, tall, shadows clinging to him like armor. His shirt was undone at the collar, exposing the strong line of his throat. His crimson eyes glowed faintly under the low lights, dangerous and magnetic.
Her phone slipped from her hand, landing on the carpet with a dull thud.
Adrian's gaze flicked to it. He didn't have to ask—he already knew.
"Damian," he said softly, his voice like velvet dipped in poison. "Of course. He dares to call. He dares to text."
Her throat tightened. "He's just worried—"
Adrian moved before she finished. Three long strides, and he was in front of her, one hand braced against the glass by her head. The city lights blurred behind him.
"Worried?" His breath fanned against her cheek. "Or reminding you of what you think you're missing?"
Her pulse thundered. "You don't own me, Adrian."
His eyes narrowed, fire sparking within their crimson depths. "Don't I?"
The words seared through her. He leaned closer, and for a terrifying second, she thought he might kiss her—wild, consuming, the kind of kiss that would burn Damian from her memory.
Her body betrayed her, swaying ever so slightly toward him.
But then, suddenly, Adrian pulled back. His hand dropped, curling into a fist at his side.
"You confuse me," he admitted, voice low, rough. "I want to protect you. Keep you safe. But when I see him near you…" His jaw tightened, his chest heaving. "I want to burn the world down."
Her lips parted, and for the first time, she saw something beyond the devil mask—fear.
"You scare me," she whispered, her voice shaking.
Adrian stilled. Then, slowly, his hand lifted, brushing a strand of her hair back. His thumb lingered at her jaw, tender in a way that contradicted everything else.
"Then let me be the kind of fear you can trust."
Her knees weakened. Every part of her screamed to run, but her heart… her heart was betraying her.
And yet, Damian's message glowed in her mind. If he hurts you, tell me. I'll come.
"Elena." Adrian's voice softened, though his gaze still burned. "Choose wisely. Because I won't let him win."
She couldn't breathe. Her chest pulled in two directions—sunlight and storm, freedom and chains.
She turned away, staring at the glittering city. She didn't answer. She couldn't.
Adrian's shadow lingered, silent, before he stepped back. Without another word, he disappeared into his study, leaving her alone.
Elena collapsed onto the couch, her hands trembling.
She thought being caught between two men would be romantic, like the dramas she used to sneak-watch late at night. But this wasn't sweet. This was suffocating, terrifying, intoxicating.
She glanced at her phone on the carpet. Damian's message still glowed on the screen.
I'll come.
She pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart beat wildly—too fast, too uneven. She was being torn apart, and she didn't know how much longer she could stand in the middle.
Hours later, when she tried to sleep in the guest room, she tossed endlessly. Every time she closed her eyes, Damian's sunlight and Adrian's shadows warred inside her. She dreamed of Adrian's crimson eyes and Damian's steady hands.
When she woke in the middle of the night, the penthouse was still and dark. But she swore she heard footsteps—Adrian's—lingering outside her door.
Watching. Protecting. Claiming.
She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, and whispered into the silence:
"What am I supposed to do?"
The night gave her no answer.