139: Goodbye Trouble

139: Goodbye Trouble
ADRIAN

She looked exquisite tonight. My body was still burning, my lungs ragged from the fever tearing me apart. But the second I'd noticed she was out on a date of all things, my sickness turned into fuel.

Because she wasn't supposed to be smiling at anyone else.

She wasn't supposed to look unbothered.

She belonged to me.

The idiot across from her tried to puff his chest, muttering something about "respect" and "boundaries."

I didn't hear a word. My eye was on her. I saw the slight smirk she couldn't hide and the way her fingers curled around her wineglass as if she was restraining herself from reaching for me.

God, she loved this. Pretending she was unaffected.

I leaned down just enough for my voice to slither between them.

"Move. Before I make you."

The man stammered some incoherent words, color draining from his face. He glanced at her, hoping she might save him. She didn't. She just raised a brow, her lips twitching.

Good girl.

I slid into his abandoned chair as he scrambled away, not sparing him another glance. He was already erased. Forgotten.

All that existed was Rue.

"You're glowing," I murmured, ignoring the sweat prickling at the back of my neck. "Did you dress up like this for him or for me?"

Her gaze rested on my gloves lying on the table, then on my fever-bright eye. Then she took a lazy sip of wine.

"You're looking better," she said airily. "Didn't think corpses could walk."

I chuckled roughly. "Nothing will keep me away from you."

Her hand trembled on the stem of her glass, just barely, but I saw it. She masked it with a smirk.

"You're persistent. I'll give you that."

"Persistent?" I leaned closer. "That's one word for it. Obsessed is another."

Her lashes fluttered, her lips parting. I watched her fight herself, trying to build that wall of sarcasm brick by brick.

But her eyes betrayed her. They always did.

"You shouldn't be here," she finally whispered.

I brushed my knuckles against hers on the table. "Where else would I be?"

She drew back a fraction, but not all the way.

"You're insane."

"And you like it."

The corner of her mouth betrayed her, lifting just slightly.

"You can pretend all you want, Rue." I pulled back just enough to catch her stare head-on. "You're mine. And we both know it."

The waiter appeared again, setting a plate in front of me. I didn't remember ordering. Didn't care. The entire restaurant now felt like a stage, empty except for us.

I reached across the table, my fingers wrapping around her smaller hand before she could pull it back. Her knuckles were cool under my fevered skin. I stroked them slowly, basking in the contact.

"Eat," I murmured, sliding her plate closer.

She rolled her eyes, but the tiniest shiver ran through her. "You're bossy."

I smirked, my gaze locked on hers. "You call it bossy. I call it taking care of what's mine."

She arched a brow, daring me. "You're going to feed me now?"

"Yes," I said simply. "And you'll let me."

For one defiant second, she resisted. Then, with a roll of her eyes and a muttered curse, she leaned forward and closed her lips around the fork, which I held out.

My throat tightened, hunger flaring inside of me. Not for the food. For her.

"You probably belong in an asylum," she said once she had swallowed.

"And you're still sitting here," I countered softly, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. "Which one of us is worse?"

Her mask faltered. For the rest of the meal, she tried to hide behind sarcasm, but her eyes kept resting on my lips and lingering too long on my hand which was holding hers.

When the plates were cleared and the night drew quiet, I rose to my feet, tugging her gently up with me.

For a moment, we just stood there. Her face inches from mine, the air thick with electricity.

Then she leaned in, resting a hand on the back of my head, her fingers running through the strands of my hair.

She kissed me gently, her soft lips stroking mine in a maddeningly sweet kiss that left my stomach tingling.

Butterflies, perhaps?

"Goodbye, Trouble," she murmured, her breath warm against my skin.

And then, she slipped away from my grasp, walking away.

I stood frozen, the taste of her lips still clinging to me.

Goodbye?

No.

She could pretend that this was an ending. She could pretend she was unaffected. But the kiss told me the truth.

She was mine.

And after tonight, there was no universe in which I'd let her forget it.

...

The city blurred past in streaks of neon, but I barely registered it.

All I could feel was her lips on mine.

I'd been kissed before. None of it had ever mattered. But this...this sweet, mocking brush of her lips… It was destruction disguised as tenderness.

It was Rue sinking her claws into the last piece of me I thought untouchable.

By the time the car rolled to a stop in front of my father's house, my body felt like molten lead. Fever gnawed at me, but I clenched my jaw and shoved the door open anyway.

I should've gone straight to my penthouse, but my father had insisted that I have dinner with his family.

Marco, my father's butler, was the first person to greet me.

He cursed under his breath, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead like an exasperated mother hen. "Christ, Adrian. You're on fire. You should be in bed, not—" His gaze sharpened. "Wait. Where the hell were you?"

I ignored the question, pulling away and trudging up the stairs. Every step was agony, but my mind was too full of Rue to care.

"Ruined," I muttered, almost to myself.

Marco's brows knit. "Ruined?"

I barked a low laugh, pain shooting up my side. "She kissed me, Marco."

He froze halfway up the stairs behind me. "...She what?”

I glanced over my shoulder, smiling.

"She kissed me. And then she walked away like it meant nothing."

Marco just stared at me, his expression somewhere between disbelief and horror. "Adrian, you're delirious. You've got a fever spiking through the roof. You're not making sense."

But I was. For the first time in years, everything made perfect, terrible sense.

I leaned heavily on the wall, forcing my body forward. My hands shook, but my obsession drowned out the sickness.

"Find me every exit from her father's house," I rasped. "Every guard rotation. Every blind spot. She can say goodbye all she wants, Marco..."

My lips curled into a fevered grin.

"...but my Ruin isn't done with me. Not by a fucking mile."

...

A chandelier glittered above, its crystal prisms throwing fractured light over the table where my father sat at the head.

Claudia, his perfect porcelain wife was perched beside him, her jeweled fingers wrapped around a glass of wine. Landon lounged further down, smug as a cat fattened on cream. The seat across from him was mine.

Marco helped me into it, his grip firm until he was certain I wouldn't collapse. My fever made the room swim, but I masked it with a smile sharp enough to draw blood.

"Adrian," my father spoke, his voice heavy with disappointment. "I had a call from your uncle today. He tells me you refused to use the girl."

My chest tightened.

"Ruin," I said softly, almost to myself. My father's jaw tightened at the name.

"You will not call her that," he snapped. "You will not see her, speak to her, or so much as breathe her name again. Claudia and I have already chosen your fiancée. A respectable girl. A match that will strengthen the Romano name. You will marry her, and you will put an end to this obsession."

I was twenty-seven. Old enough to handle my own business. The fuck?

Claudia's painted lips curved with mockery disguised as sympathy. "It's for your own good, darling."

Landon smirked, swirling his wine. "And if you don't..." His eyes glinted, savoring every word. "...Father has agreed that the empire will be passed to me."

My fork froze halfway to my lips. Heat roared through me, fury boiling in my blood.

"You'd hand everything I've bled for over to him?" I rasped.

My father's gaze was unyielding. "If you cannot control yourself, Adrian...you are unfit to rule."

The food on my plate blurred before my vision. I shoved a bite into my mouth anyway, more out of spite than hunger. It burned the second it touched my tongue. My throat itched, my chest caving in.

And that's when it hit me. I was having an allergic reaction.

Shit.

My breathing grew jagged, but no one noticed.

No one ever did.

Claudia prattled on about society dinners. Landon smirked at my silence. My father sipped his wine, already convinced I'd bend to his will.

The edges of my vision dimmed, my pulse thundering in my ears.

And in that haze of sickness and fury, only one thought pierced through the fog clearly.

Rue would have noticed.

She'd have cursed me under her breath, touched my cheek, and forced me to breathe. She saw me. Not the heir. Not the weapon. Me.

But here, I could choke to death at this table, and not a single one of them would flinch.

My laugh came out broken and bitter. "You can strip me of the empire, Father. But you'll never take her from me."

Everyone froze.

And as my lungs seized and the whole place tilted, all I could think of was Rue's lips on mine.

My phone vibrated, and there was a message from her.

'Don't skip your meds, Trouble. Get some more rest.'

If only she knew that I was on the verge of death.

My body pitched sideways, and everything went black.