Morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, glinting faintly off the glass table and the silver cutlery. The penthouse was wrapped in soft warmth quiet, elegant, untouchable.
Adrian stepped out of his room, his damp hair brushed neatly back. A black shirt hugged his frame, layered beneath a tailored vest and suit jacket so sharp it could cut glass. At his wrists, diamond cufflinks caught the light subtle, understated luxury, yet impossible to ignore.
He adjusted his sleeve, then his tie, his reflection in the mirror calm and controlled. Only his eyes betrayed the faint exhaustion beneath.
He walked to the dining area, where Leonard had already set breakfast — fruit, eggs, croissants, and steaming coffee. "You can go," Adrian said quietly. "I'll wait for her."
Leonard nodded and left silently.
The penthouse fell still again. Adrian sat at the head of the table, tapping one finger absently against his coffee cup. His thoughts were elsewhere on the girl asleep in the next room, who'd trembled like a child in his arms last night, clutching his shirt like she was afraid the world would disappear if she let go.
A faint sound of water came from the bathroom. His gaze flickered briefly toward the hallway, then back down. He didn't move.
Inside, Valeria stood beneath the shower, warm water washing down her shoulders. Her breath trembled against the rising steam.
Her mind wandered the nightmare, her screams, his voice calming her, the way he'd stayed beside her through the night.
Then realization hit like a spark.
He had bathed her.
Her face went red instantly. "Oh my god…" she whispered under her breath, hiding her face in her hands.
He had been gentle professional not a single lingering touch, not a trace of disrespect. But the thought alone made her heart race and her stomach twist with embarrassment.
"He didn't even look at me like that," she muttered, half to herself. "And still…"
She exhaled slowly, pulling on soft gray pajamas. Her damp hair framed her face, and she hesitated for a long moment before stepping out.
Adrian was already seated, his suit immaculate, dark eyes unreadable. The faint sparkle of his diamond cufflinks caught her attention before she quickly looked away.
"Morning," he said simply, his tone calm, low but somehow grounding.
"Morning…" she replied softly, avoiding his gaze.
He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit. You need to eat."
She nodded and took her seat, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. The scent of roasted coffee drifted between them, curling into the quiet air.
For a few minutes, neither spoke. The clink of cutlery was the only sound.
Then Adrian's voice broke the silence low, careful.
"Valeria."
She looked up. "Yes?"
He studied her for a moment, his gaze calm but piercing not interrogating, but deeply observant. "I want to ask you something," he said.
Her pulse quickened. "What is it?"
His fingers brushed the rim of his cup before he spoke. "Do you want to talk to a psychiatrist?"
Her hand froze mid-air. The spoon trembled slightly against the saucer.
He continued, gently, "It's not a command. Just a question. For your nightmares. For what happened."
Valeria's lips pressed together. Her throat tightened. "…No."
"Why not?" His tone wasn't cold it was too quiet to be anything but concerned.
She looked down, voice barely above a whisper. "Because I don't want anyone to know what happened. I don't want them to look at me with pity."
Her eyes glistened faintly, but she blinked fast, forcing the tears back. "I'll be fine. I just… need some time. I'll get back to normal."
Then, softer, she added, her voice trembling like fragile glass, "I'm sorry… for troubling you. For taking care of me like this. I'll be back to normal soon. Please don't delay your work because of me."
Adrian froze.
For a moment, he couldn't even breathe.
That tone so quiet, so apologetic, so used to surviving alone clawed at something raw inside him. The way she spoke, as if care was a debt she had to repay, as if existing softly was a burden it made his chest ache.
He'd seen arrogance, pride, cruelty… but never this kind of strength. The kind that came from enduring without ever asking for help.
His jaw tightened, the faintest pain flickering through his eyes before he hid it behind calm control.
He reached forward, sliding her cup closer to her hand, his fingers brushing hers lightly steady, grounding.
"Then we'll do it your way," he said finally, voice quiet but firm.
Her eyes flicked up, startled.
"But," he added, "if the nightmares get worse… you tell me. You don't deal with it alone. Understood?"
Valeria hesitated, then nodded faintly. "…Alright."
A small smile curved at the corner of his lips. "Good."
He rose from his chair, buttoning his jacket, the diamonds on his cuffs catching the morning light. "Finish your breakfast. Then change into something warm. We're going out."
She blinked. "Where?"
He gave a faint, knowing smirk. "To start paying back Chesla for what she did."
Her breath stilled.
The warmth of breakfast vanished replaced by the quiet fire that always burned behind his calm.
Adrian De Vere Leone wasn't just a man anymore. He was a storm waiting for direction. And this time, that storm was going to destroy anyone who dared touch her again.