The first time Adrian showed me his world, it was not so much an invitation as an edict.
Of course, I shouldn't have given in. Instead, I should have stayed put within the padded safety of my apartment, its old couch, and familiar shadows. But he wasn't asking, and I didn't know how to say no.
The car that fetched me was sleek, black, and dead silent with darkened windows. The driver never so much as glanced my way, not even through the rearview mirror. The moment I slid into the seat, they snatched away my phone and left me here, just me and my reflection, with the question I couldn't stop: What in the hell am I doing?
Then the lights of the city disappeared, and, suddenly, I realized that we were headed toward the docks. The air there tasted like salt and rust and something darker; it tasted like secrets steeped in blood.
Adrian was waiting at the shore at the end of the pier. The wind pulled darkly at his coat, his silhouette sharp enough to cut into the night itself.
"You came," he said, and the twitch of his lips meant not quite a smile but more of an agreement on his part that it was undeniable.
"I didn't really have a choice," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
"There's always a choice, angel," he said, looking cold and unreadable as his eyes caught the light from that far-off harbor. "But you chose me.
I didn't answer. Maybe because it was true.
The warehouse stood looming, and its metallic walls bowed feebly against the wind. Within it, the atmosphere was dense with tension, prickling against the skin. Men dressed in black suits stood as statues along the walls, their guns holstered but their hands twitching somewhere on their bodies.
In the middle, two men knelt on cold concrete with their hands tied, one bleeding from his temple as Adrian's men circled them like predatory shadows.
"This is business," Adrian whispered to me, stepping forward. "You'll stand beside me and see what that means."
One of the kneeling men spat on his shoes. "You aren't any better than the devils you fight, Vassilis."
Adrian's expression didn't alter, but the atmosphere around him thickened and darkened. He crouched down, speaking in a low, measured tone. "I don't fight devils, Petrov. I am the devil. You made the mistake that you could steal from me and tell me about it."
The guy recoiled, but Adrian did not hit him. Instead, he straightened up and motioned for his right-hand man.
"Make it quick."
That gunshot resonated like thunder inside my skull, but I didn't divert my gaze, even if my stomach twisted.
The second man—the younger one—was shaking, eyes darting to me."Please, I've got a family. I didn't-
"Your family will be taken care of," Adrian said, his tone almost gentle. He leaned in closer, crouched again, and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "But you made your choice when you sided against me. Choices have consequences."
Another gunshot. Another body on the floor.
I realized that this was Adrian's world—not merely dealing in skyscraper offices and whispering threats in dark alleyways, but a kingdom of feasts built on fear and blood.
Yet, somehow, as I walked out with him, his hand brushed against mine, warm, steady.
"And now, do you understand?" he spoke softly.
"I see," I whispered. "I see exactly what you are."
His lips curled dangerously into that nearly-smile again. "Good. Because now you understand that there's no turning back, Elena. Not for you. Not for me."
Some part of me wanted to run, to escape before his shadow swallowed me whole.
But another part—the reckless, treacherous part—wanted to stay.
Because maybe, just maybe, the devil wasn't here to destroy me.
Maybe he was here to claim me.