Chapter 40

Adrik pov

I sat in the dim glow of my private study, the room reeking of cigar smoke and shadows. The only light came from the monitor in front of me, flickering with a grainy live feed from the hidden camera in our bedroom. I watched her, my wife, lay curled in the silk sheets I hand-selected for her. Not for her comfort, but because I liked how they clung to her skin. She looked peaceful, vulnerable. Mine.

Obsession doesn’t begin to describe what I feel for her. It’s deeper, more corrosive. It consumes every part of me—the way her lips twitch when she’s trying not to smile, how she strokes that damned rabbit’s fur with a tenderness she’s never shown me. Her presence haunts me, even when she’s not near. Especially when she’s not near.

She’s beautiful, yes—but it’s not just her beauty that binds me. It’s the fragility. That trembling fear she tries so hard to mask behind her defiance. The way she stands tall even when her knees are shaking. I see it all. I crave it. I love the strength in her silence, the fire she tries to hide beneath layers of obedience. She’s never truly submissive, not really. She thinks if she obeys enough, I’ll loosen the leash. But I won’t. That leash is wrapped around both our throats.

I love how she talks to that rabbit like it understands her. Like it could ever protect her from me. I’ve seen her whisper secrets to it while lying on her stomach, legs swaying in the air like a child. That innocence—it drives me mad. I wonder if she knows how easily I could shatter it. Maybe that’s why I haven’t. Yet.

she could ask me for the world, and I’d tear it from its orbit and drop it at her feet. But she never asks. She only dreams of running. Of escaping me. And still—I love her. In my own way. A darker way. A way that bleeds.

Or the way she tries foolishly to hide her moans when I’m buried deep inside her. As if biting her lip could mask the way her body arches for me, the way her breath catches, desperate and trembling. She thinks silence gives her power. She’s wrong. I see the truth in her eyes, in the way she clenches the sheets, in the way her control slips with every thrust. And God, I live for that moment—when her silence turns to broken gasps, when pride crumbles and all that’s left is me.

Elsa. The fucking rabbit. I thought it was a phase at first—maybe something she picked up to pass the time, like girls do with pets they plan to discard when they get bored. But no. That creature has embedded itself into her life like a parasite, always there, always watching her with those beady little eyes. It sleeps on my bed. Our bed. I can barely stand it.

Sometimes, I fantasize about snapping its neck just to see her cry. Just to remind her that everything she touches can be taken away. But then I picture her curled up in grief, her arms wrapped around herself instead of me. And I pause. Jealousy is a funny thing—it’s not always loud and cruel. Sometimes it waits. Watches. Whispers.

She’s still trying to escape, trying desperately to reach an agent. Sweet. Naïve. Foolish. She doesn’t know I intercepted that months ago. The agent she contacted? She screamed beautifully before she died. Her blood still stains my cuffs. I haven’t cleaned it. A part of me wants to wear the reminder—what I’m willing to do for her. Who I’ll destroy to keep her mine.

She thinks she’s free now that I’m away. She tiptoes around the house like a mouse dodging traps, whispering into the phone late at night, thinking I don’t hear her. But I do.

Even now, watching her through the screen, half-asleep with that damn rabbit curled beside her—I can feel the need clawing at my chest. My fingers twitch with the urge to touch her. Just to remind her. That she’s mine. That every breath she takes still belongs to me.

The urge to break her leg again slithered through my mind like a tempting whisper. I could still remember the last time—how fragile she looked bound to that wheelchair, how perfectly dependent she became. It thrilled me, watching her rely on me for everything. But my mother had berated me endlessly for it, said I was going too far. She didn’t understand—none of them did.

Speaking of her, she’s been flooding my phone with messages all week, eager to know if my wife is finally pregnant. The thought stirs something primal in me. The idea of her carrying my child, of marking her in the most permanent way—it should be a certainty by now. But of course, Joy decided to test me. She’s been slipping birth control behind my back, thinking I wouldn’t find out.

She really underestimates me.

Still looking at her, my brother grinned, a twisted amusement in his eyes. “Never thought I’d see the day when you finally found someone,” he said, casually flopping down beside me like he hadn’t just made the room feel colder. “I mean, I always figured you’d end up alone, talking to the walls—or worse, talking to me.” He chuckled, the sound oddly light for someone whose gaze was practically burning a hole through the air. “Guess I was wrong. You’ve found a victim,” he added with a wink, like it was all just a joke.

“How’s the shipment going? I don’t want any complications,” I asked, my voice betraying just a hint of concern. The last thing I needed was more chaos in the mix.

My brother leaned back in his chair with a careless smile, as if nothing ever rattled him. “It’ll go smoothly. Trust me,” he said, his voice dripping with confidence. He didn’t sound like someone who had ever had a problem in his life. His words hung in the air for a moment, and just as I was about to speak again, he slid a hand onto my shoulder, squeezing it with a firm grip. “Relax. I’ve got this under control.”

I could feel the unease creeping up my spine, and instinctively, I jerked my shoulder away from his touch. “Get your hands off me,” I said, my tone sharp, colder than I meant it to be.

He immediately pulled his hand back, but didn’t retreat. Instead, he fixed his gaze on me, like he was sizing me up, gauging whether or not I was about to snap. There was a slight tilt of his head, that calculating look he always got when he was about to say something that wasn’t quite what it seemed.

“Alright, alright. No need to get all edgy,” he said with a mock sigh, leaning forward again, resting his elbows on his knees. “But seriously, you need to trust me more. This shipment? It’s practically in the bag.”

I didn’t respond right away. I couldn’t. His words always had a way of sounding too rehearsed, too perfect. Too easy. I didn’t need things to be easy—I needed them to be done right. No mistakes.

“How sure are you?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. “I need specifics. What’s the route, what’s the timing, who’s handling it on their end? I don’t want any screw-ups.”

He straightened up, exhaling in that exaggerated way he did when he was pretending to be put out by my doubts. “I told you,” he said, a little too loudly, like he was trying to convince himself more than me. “It’s all locked down. Timing’s perfect. Route’s clean. Everything’s been double-checked.”

His confidence was almost suffocating.

“I don’t want your word,” I said, my voice low and firm, “I want the details. Every single one. I’m not asking for your reassurances. I’m asking for proof that you’ve covered every angle.”

He shifted slightly, visibly irritated now. “You think I’m an idiot? I know what I’m doing. If anyone screws this up, it’s on them. Not me. And trust me, you don’t want to be on their bad side.”

I stayed silent, feeling the weight of the tension building in the room. I wasn’t interested in his threats; I was interested in results.

“If anything goes wrong,” I said slowly, my eyes narrowing, “you’re the one who’ll answer for it.”

He gave a short laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “You really think I’d let something go wrong?” He stood up then, pacing slightly as though the conversation bored him. “I’ve handled bigger things than this. You don’t get to the position I’m in by making mistakes. This is already done. So stop worrying.”

“Done isn’t enough,” I shot back, my voice low and cutting. “Done means finished. I need it to be perfect.”

He stopped pacing, his face hardening. “And it will be,” he said with a chilling calmness, locking eyes with me. “If anything does go wrong, I’ll handle it. You just focus on keeping the rest of your mess together. Leave the details to me.”

There was a beat of silence, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something. But at this point, I had no choice but to take his word for it.

“Fine,” I said, my voice flat. “But if this goes south, I’ll be holding you responsible. Not just for the shipment, but for everything else tied to it.”

He gave a small, almost mocking bow. “You’ll be the first to know if anything goes wrong,” he said, a dark glint in his eyes.

I didn’t trust him. But for now, that would have to be enough.