The elevator doors slid shut, sealing me inside a box with silence. My reflection stared back - pale, tired, and nothing like the girl I used to be. I hated how small I looked, how the shadows under my eyes had become permanent, how every breath carried the weight of that damned video.
Adrian's voice still echoed somewhere inside my chest.
Go home, Lana.
He'd said it like an order, not a suggestion - but with that deep, measured tone that didn't invite argument. It left a taste in my mouth I couldn't name - part resentment, part something far too dangerous to admit.
As the elevator descended, I tried to steady my hands, but they wouldn't stop trembling. I could still feel the ghost of his presence, the scent of cedar and spice clinging to me like a second skin. Even the sound of the elevator felt too close, too intimate, like I was trapped inside a memory I hadn't meant to keep.
When the elevator's door opened at the lobby, I was hit by the harsh brightness of the lobby with all the glass and polished floors, and the sharp click of heels echoing in a rhythm that made me flinch.
People passed by, pretending not to stare and whisper.
They knew. Of course they did.
The scandal had spread faster than a virus. Every corner of the city had seen my face, my body, my pussy. And now, no matter how quietly I walked, it felt like every light was trained on me.
I pulled my coat tighter and lowered my head, hoping to make it to the exit before anyone….
"Unbelievable," a man's voice said from my right. Sharp, mocking. "I knew I recognized that face."
My stomach dropped.
"Didn't think the internet's favorite girl would show up here," he added, stepping into my path. He was tall, with a crisp suit and the kind of smirk that lived on cruelty. "Guess you're looking for your next sponsor, huh?"
I froze. "Excuse me?"
He tilted his head. "Come on. You can drop the act. Everyone's seen what you do for money."
The air in my throat turned solid. I tried to step around him, but he moved with me deliberately, blocking my way.
"Let me pass," I said quietly.
He chuckled. "Do you charge by the hour or by the night?"
The words hit like a slap, but I didn't flinch. Not this time.
"I said, move."
He leaned closer, his cologne burning the space between us. "You look better in person, you know that? All that noise about shame but I bet you enjoyed the attention."
Anger flared so fast it stole my breath. "Don't talk to me like that."
"Or what?" He grinned. "You'll cry? Or maybe you'll…"
His hand came up, reaching toward my arm.
But it felt like everything paused immediately.
A voice cut through the lobby - deep, cold, and lethal in its calm.
"Don't lay a finger on her."
The man froze. Everyone did.
That voice carried weight. Louder than any speaker, a weight that didn't need to rise to be heard. My heart stuttered, because I already knew who it belonged to.
Adrian.
He was standing several paces away, his presence impossible to ignore. He wasn't shouting, wasn't rushing - just there with the poster of a Greek god ready to unleash. Composed. Dangerous. Like a storm disguised in a suit.
The man's hand fell instantly, his smirk vanishing. "Sir, I…."
"Step away," Adrian said quietly.
"I didn't…."
"Now."
It wasn't loud. But it was enough. The man stumbled back.
Adrian walked toward us, each step slow, deliberate and measured - the kind that made people make space for him without needing to ask. The lobby had gone silent; even the security guards at the far end stopped moving.
"I believe you know me?" Adrian asked, stopping inches away from the man.
"Y…yes, Mr. Que, I….."
"Then you should know that when I say step away, I mean disappear." He didn't blink. "Security."
Two men in dark suits appeared almost instantly.
"Escort him out," Adrian said without looking away. "Make sure he doesn't come back."
"Sir….." the man started, but one sharp glance shut him up. He was grabbed by the arms and dragged toward the exit, his protests echoing through the vast space.
I only get pity for the man. Rumours of how cruel his bodyguards were speard beyond the city to anyone who listened to his stories.
Adrian didn't move until the sound faded.
Then he turned to me.
The air shifted.
He didn't say a word at first. His gaze searched my face like he was confirming something - anger, fear, maybe shame. I couldn't tell. I only knew that under that stare, every nerve in me stood to attention.
"You shouldn't walk alone," he said finally, his voice quiet but cutting through the silence like a blade.
"I didn't think I'd need a guard to use an elevator," I muttered, my throat dry.
His brow lifted slightly. "You think people forget that easily?"
My pulse thudded in my ears. "What do you mean?"
He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the trace of his cologne again. "They see what they want to see, Lana. Weakness. Scandal. Entertainment. But when they see you, they'll learn something else."
"And what's that?" I asked, breathless.
"That you're not for them to touch."
Something in the way he said it made it feel so certain, so final - made my skin prickle. His tone wasn't soft; it was possession dressed in protection, an unspoken claim I didn't know how to answer.
"I didn't ask you to protect me," I said, though my voice betrayed me.
"No," he said. "You didn't. But you'll learn I don't need permission to protect what's mine."
My heartbeat stumbled. "I'm not yours."
His eyes darkened, the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. "Not yet."
He turned, gesturing toward the door. "Come."
"I can go home on my own," I said quickly.
"You won't," he replied, without looking back. "You'll come with me."
And even though I wanted to argue, to tell him I wasn't something to command - I still followed. Because somehow, his words didn't feel like orders anymore. They felt like gravity.
The world outside blurred into streaks of light as the car cut through the road like we were being chased. City towers loomed behind the tinted glass, fading into shadows the farther we went. The silence between us was thick and too alive to be called quiet.
Adrian sat beside me, his eyes looking stern on the dashboard. The line of his jaw was sharp, motionless; his fingers rested on the steering wheel with a control that made even the smallest movements deliberate.
He hadn't spoken since we left the building.
Neither had I.
The hum of the engine filled the space where words should've been, but it wasn't enough to drown the echo of what he'd said back there.
"You'll learn I don't need permission to protect what's mine."
Each alphabet is still clinging to me, heavy, dangerous, confusing. Every time I replayed them, something inside me twisted, caught between outrage and something that felt alarmingly like safety.
"I don't think I can do it." I finally said, my voice small in the hum of the car.