Chapter 15 Chapter 15

Chapter 15 Chapter 15
THIRD PERSON POV 

Adrian and Lydia continue moving through the crowd, stopping whenever someone approaches them with a smile or a question. Small talk flows easily on the surface. Lydia comments on the venue, on the music, on people she barely remembers meeting before. Adrian responds when addressed, his voice calm, polite, controlled.

Yet his attention never truly leaves her.

He watches the way she shifts her weight when conversations linger too long, the way her smile tightens when someone mentions their future together as if it is already sealed. He notices how she subtly steps half a pace away from him, only to correct herself when she realizes eyes are watching.

Someone laughs at something Adrian says. He nods, barely hearing it.

His father’s voice cuts through the hum of the room.

“Adrian.”

The music lowers. Conversations falter. Heads turn.

Adrian feels Lydia stiffen beside him.

He turns toward the stage, already knowing what is coming, and places a steady hand at her back. “Come,” he murmurs, leaving no room for refusal.

They walk forward together, the crowd parting easily, applause beginning even before they reach the steps. Lydia’s face remains composed, but Adrian feels the tension radiating from her body as they step onto the stage.

His father takes the microphone, smiling broadly, the kind of smile that belongs to a man who always gets what he wants.

“Thank you all for being here tonight,” he says. “This evening is special to our family for many reasons, but most importantly, because we are proud to announce the engagement of my son, Adrian, and Lydia.”

For a split second, the room is silent.

Then applause erupts.

Cheers. Smiles. Glasses clinking. Cameras flashing.

Adrian keeps his expression perfectly controlled, his hand resting lightly at Lydia’s waist. To the world, he looks pleased. Confidence. Certain. He glances at Lydia just once, watching her accept congratulations with practiced grace, watching her nod as if this is not the moment her life has been rerouted without permission.

When the applause finally fades and people surge forward again, eager to congratulate them personally, Lydia slips away.

Adrian notices immediately.

She moves quietly, weaving through the crowd with careful efficiency, until she disappears through a set of glass doors leading to the balcony. Adrian excuses himself without explanation and follows.

The night air is cool and sharp, a stark contrast to the heat inside. Lydia stands with her hands braced against the railing, her back to him, breathing in deeply as if the air itself might save her.

“Lydia,” he starts.

She laughs softly, without humor, and turns to face him. “Congratulations,” she says coolly. “You got exactly what you wanted.”

“That is not fair,” Adrian replies calmly.

She scoffs. “Fair?” Her eyes harden. “Let us be realistic. We will play house for a year, maybe less. Smile for the cameras. Attend events. Then we will divorce quietly, like civilized people.”

He says nothing.

“That is how this works, right?” she continues, her voice sharp now. “Strategic alliance. Mutual benefit. Temporary sacrifice.”

Still, Adrian remains silent.

Her words grow bolder when he does not interrupt. “So let us not pretend this is anything more than a contract. You can have your image, your control. I will endure it. Then we will be done.”

Something in him snaps.

In one swift movement, Adrian steps forward, backing her against the wall. His hands plant themselves on either side of her head, caging her in completely. The space between them vanishes, his presence overwhelming, unyielding.

Her breath catches.

“Do not talk about divorce like it is inevitable,” he says quietly.

She lifts her chin, trying to hide the flicker of fear in her eyes. “Why not? It is the truth.”

“No,” Adrian replies, his voice low, dangerous. “It is what you tell yourself to survive this.”

His gaze darkens, something sinister flickering beneath the polished surface. “You are mine now, Lydia. From this moment on.”

Her heart pounds violently. “You cannot say things like that.”

“I can,” he says. “And I will.”

Her eyes search his face, suddenly uncertain. “This was not your choice,” she insists. “Your father arranged this.”

Adrian smiles then, slow and unsettling.

“You are wrong,” he says softly. “This was my plan.”

She freezes.

“I wanted you,” he continues, his voice calm, almost gentle. “I have always wanted you. Since we were young. Since you did not even realize I was watching.”

Her fear becomes real now, sharp and undeniable.

“You think this happened to you,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “But you were always mine, Lydia. You just took longer to accept it.”

Her breath trembles as she presses herself against the wall, trapped between stone and certainty.

For the first time tonight, the cold composure shatters.

And Lydia realizes she is not standing beside a man forced into an engagement.

She is standing in front of someone who has been waiting for this moment all his life.

ADRIAN VALE 

I watch her before I follow her.

The way she slips away from the crowd like she has done a thousand times before. Quiet. Controlled. Always choosing distance over confrontation. Lydia has always been good at disappearing when things get too loud, too close, too real.

I let her go.

For a few seconds.

Because I want her to think she has space.

I want her to believe she still has choices.

The balcony door closes behind me with a soft click, and the night air hits my face. She is standing at the railing, her back straight, her hands gripping cold metal like it is the only thing keeping her upright. The city lights stretch behind her, but she does not look at them. She looks nowhere. Like she is bracing herself.

I almost laughed.

She thinks this is where she gets to breathe.

She is wrong.

I have wanted Lydia for as long as I can remember. Long before she learned how to sharpen her tongue. Long before she learned how to look at me like I was something she despised. Long before hatred became our language.

I let her believe it.

That was the easiest part.

Hatred is a shield. It kept her close without suspicion. Arguments gave me access. Tension gave me excuses. I could watch her, study her, know every flicker of emotion she tried to hide. She thought I despised her presence. She never realized how much effort it took to pretend I did not crave it.

Every glare. Every fight. Every moment she challenged me.

Mine.

I step closer when she starts speaking, her voice cold, calculated, throwing words like weapons. Divorce. Contracts. A year. Clean and simple. She talks like she has already survived this, like she is already free on the other side of it.

I say nothing.

I let her talk because she needs to hear herself lie.

The longer I stay silent, the braver she gets. That has always been her mistake. She fills silence with assumptions, and I have never corrected her.

Until now.

Something in me snaps when she says it will end. When she talks about walking away like this is temporary. Like I did not build this carefully, patiently, piece by piece.

I move before she can finish another sentence.

I backed her against the wall and cage her there, my hands braced on either side of her head. Her breath stutters, and I feel it like a pulse under my skin. Fear finally cracks through her composure, and it satisfies something dark inside me.

I lean closer, lowering my voice. 

She has always listened better when I do that.

She tells me this was not my choice. That my father arranged it.

I almost smile.

She has no idea how wrong she is.

This was always mine.

Every step. Every conversation. Every push in the right direction. I nudged my father when I needed to. I let him believe it was strategy, legacy, power. He never questioned why Lydia’s name was the one I never rejected.

She has always been the only name.

I wanted her when we were young, when she laughed without restraint and did not yet know how to hide. When she looked at me like I was just another boy instead of an enemy. Losing that version of her felt like punishment, but I accepted it.

Because obsession does not fade. It adapts.

I became the man she could hate instead of the one she could want. That way, she never stopped looking at me. Never stopped reacting to me. Never stopped feeling something.

Love and hate are closer than people like to admit.

I tell her the truth finally. That this was my plan. That I wanted her. That I always have.

Her fear sharpens, real now, no longer theoretical. Her pulse jumps under my hands. Her eyes search my face like she is seeing me for the first time.

Good.

I want her to see me.

“You were mine long before tonight,” I tell her quietly. “You just did not know it yet.”

I straighten slowly, giving her just enough space to breathe but not enough to escape. I want her to understand something very clearly.

This is not a cage she walked into by accident.

This is the end of the illusion that she was ever outside my reach.

And whether she hates me for it or not, she is here now.

With me.