Adrian didn't rush.
That was the first mistake Riven made — assuming urgency meant interest.
Instead, days passed with nothing but silence. No messages. No calls. No reminders that the meeting had even happened. Adrian let the space breathe, let Riven's thoughts circle back on themselves, sharpening into irritation and something dangerously close to anticipation.
Riven hated that.
He hated how often he checked his phone. Hated the relief when nothing was there. Hated the disappointment that followed immediately after.
Lucien still hadn't appeared.
The city felt too big again.
When Adrian finally reached out, it was mundane.
Are you eating?
Riven stared at the message for a long time.
Why do you care? he typed.
The reply came minutes later.
Because neglect looks dramatic until it kills you.
Riven scoffed — but he ate.
That was how it started. Not with control. With attention.
⸻
Adrian began inserting himself into Riven's life quietly, methodically, like a man rearranging furniture while pretending not to touch anything.
A grocery delivery arrived at the apartment one afternoon — paid for, balanced, thoughtful. His mother assumed it was charity from work. Riven knew better.
A text followed that evening.
You don't need to thank me.
Riven didn't respond.
The next day, the school counselor called about an alternative academic program. Flexible attendance. Private tutors. A path forward that didn't involve suspension hearings or hallways full of eyes.
Riven slammed his phone down.
He called Adrian for the first time.
"You're interfering," Riven snapped the moment the line connected.
Adrian's voice was calm, faintly amused. "I'm investing."
"I didn't agree to anything."
"No," Adrian said gently. "But you didn't refuse."
Riven's pulse spiked. "You don't get to decide things for me."
Adrian paused. "Then decide," he said. "Tell me to stop."
Silence stretched.
Riven's jaw clenched.
Adrian exhaled slowly. "That's what I thought."
The call ended.
Riven threw his phone across the room.
It landed on the bed.
⸻
The drugs became harder to access.
Not unavailable — just inconvenient. Contacts stopped responding. Parties dried up. Dealers vanished or suddenly wanted payment upfront. Riven knew better than to believe in coincidence.
He confronted Adrian again, this time in person.
They met in a private gym after hours — all steel and mirrors and silence. Adrian was in workout clothes, sleeves rolled up, skin unmarked. He looked untouched by excess in a way that felt intentional.
"You're cutting me off," Riven accused.
"I'm narrowing your options," Adrian corrected, toweling sweat from his hands. "You were killing yourself inefficiently."
Riven laughed harshly. "So you decide how I destroy myself now?"
Adrian stepped closer. Not threatening. Just present. "I decide how you survive."
Riven glared up at him. "You don't own me."
Adrian studied his face — the defiance, the exhaustion, the fury coiled tight beneath the surface. "Not yet," he said softly.
The words slid under Riven's skin.
⸻
Adrian introduced rules without calling them rules.
Sleep schedules framed as concern. Check-ins disguised as curiosity. Boundaries presented as mutual respect.
"You disappear when you feel abandoned," Adrian said one evening over dinner Riven hadn't paid for. "That makes you predictable."
Riven bristled. "You don't know me."
"I know patterns," Adrian replied. "And I know Lucien Crowe taught you that love is something you earn through damage."
Riven's hand tightened around his glass. "Don't talk about him."
Adrian nodded. "You see? Even now."
Riven stood abruptly. "I'm leaving."
Adrian didn't stop him.
That was worse.
⸻
Lucien noticed the changes immediately.
Riven wasn't erratic anymore. He was controlled. Cleaner. Quieter. His anger sharpened instead of exploding. His eyes were clearer — and colder.
Someone else was holding the leash.
Lucien hated that more than the drugs.
⸻
Adrian waited until Riven was stable enough to feel trapped.
"You don't need him," Adrian said one night as they sat in a high-rise overlooking the city. "You never did."
Riven stared out at the lights. "You're wrong."
Adrian's voice softened. "Then why hasn't he come for you?"
The question landed like a blade.
Riven swallowed. "He will."
"When?" Adrian pressed. "Before or after you're dead?"
Riven didn't answer.
Adrian leaned in slightly. "I would have."
That was the moment.
Not the gifts. Not the protection. Not the isolation.
That sentence.
Riven felt something inside him twist — gratitude curdling into something heavier, something dangerous. He hated Adrian for knowing exactly where to press. He hated himself more for responding.
"You're manipulating me," Riven said quietly.
"Yes," Adrian agreed. "But I'm honest about it."
Riven laughed weakly. "That's supposed to make it better?"
"No," Adrian said. "It's supposed to make it clear."
⸻
The first time Adrian touched him, it was incidental.
A hand at Riven's shoulder, steadying him on a stairwell. Fingers warm. Grip firm. Gone immediately.
Riven didn't pull away.
That night, Lucien dreamed of blood on marble floors and woke with Riven's name on his tongue.
⸻
By the end of the month, Adrian controlled three things completely:
• Riven's access
• Riven's schedule
• Riven's sense of being watched
Lucien controlled none of them.
And that imbalance was about to become fatal.