
The silence in the room was heavy, the kind that only existed in the dead of night—thick, absolute,
broken only by the subtle sound of the curtains rustling with the wind and the distant hum of a city that
never truly slept. A sliver of moonlight cut across the room like a blade, painting silver lines over the
bedding, catching the edge of the dresser, the corner of the mirror, and the silhouette of the man lying
motionless in bed, eyes wide open.
Adrian wasn’t asleep.
He never truly was—not at night, not when the darkness brought memories crawling out from their
corners, whispering in his ear, dragging him back to places he didn’t want to go. Sleep was a stranger
that visited only in moments of exhaustion, fleeting and cruel. His body was still, but inside, he churned.
It was sometime past three when he gave up pretending. He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking toward the
clock on the nightstand. 3:12 a.m.
His jaw clenched as he shifted slightly on the mattress, trying not to disturb the sleeping woman beside
him. It was strange—this arrangement. This quiet war between them wrapped in silk sheets and
societal expectation. Kaira hadn’t spoken much after the wedding reception. She hadn’t needed to. The
distance she placed between them in bed had said everything.
Or so he’d thought.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to glance toward her—only to freeze when he realized she
wasn’t where she had been hours ago. She was closer. Much closer.
Her face was tucked into the crook of his neck, lips barely parted, her breath warm against his
collarbone. One arm lay limply across his abdomen, the other curled tightly between them, as though
she’d instinctively sought warmth or safety in her sleep. The rise and fall of her chest was gentle, her
brows relaxed, completely unaware of the storm she had stirred just by being there.
Adrian’s entire body tensed.
His instinct screamed at him to pull away. To shove her off, to reclaim his space, to restore the cold,
necessary distance he had so carefully maintained between them. This wasn't part of the plan. She
wasn’t supposed to reach for him—not even unconsciously.
And yet…
He didn’t move.
His fingers twitched. He stared at her, jaw tight, pulse rising—not from desire, but confusion.
Annoyance. Something unnamed and far more dangerous than either.
But still, he didn’t push her.
Instead, with a quiet breath through his nose, Adrian reached down and pulled the blanket over her
bare shoulder. Gently. Almost… protectively.
The moment felt fragile. Like glass.
He didn’t understand why he let it happen—why he allowed her to stay nestled against him like some
delicate thing that needed shielding. Maybe it was the way her fingers had curled unconsciously into
the fabric of his shirt. Or maybe it was the fact that, despite all the hatred he claimed to feel, she didn’t
seem afraid of him in this moment.