Adrian’s POV

Her head drops forward before I even register the moment her knees give out.

One second she’s fighting the sedative with those wide, terrified eyes… the next, her body folds and lands against me like she’s been waiting for someone to catch her— her whole damn life.

Her forehead hits my chest with a soft, broken thud.

For a split second—just one—I freeze.

She’s warm.

Small.

Fragile in a way that shouldn’t exist in a world as fucked up as ours.

Then I look down and the breath leaves my lungs anyway.

Tears stain her cheeks—fresh ones, not the kind that dry quick.

Her nose is flushed red, lashes clumped, her skin blotchy from how hard she must’ve cried.

She looks like she’s been fighting a war all alone and losing every day.

My thumb lifts before I realize I’m moving.

It brushes her cheekbone, slow… gentle… wiping away the tear track glowing under the hallway’s dying light.

I snatch my hand back.

What the hell am I doing?

She's not mine to touch.

“Fast, dude—the cameras are gonna start working soon,” Marcus’s voice cracks through my earbud, sharp, urgent.

Right.

Focus.

I swallow the strange tightness in my chest, hook my arm under her legs, and lift her.

She weighs nothing.

Like a bundle of bones wrapped in soft skin—too light, far too light.

She feels wrong in my arms, not because she’s unfamiliar, but because something about her makes my brain go quiet.

Blank.

Dangerous.

I clear my throat, grip her tighter, and push out of the hospital room.

Cold night air slams into me the moment we exit the side door—damp, metallic, heavy with the stench of disinfectant that still clings to her clothes.

The parking lot is empty except for our tinted SUV idling against the curb, headlights low.

Marcus lowers the window and jerks his chin.

Move.

I open the back door and lay her across the seat, but her head immediately drops sideways.

Onto my thigh.

Of course it does.

Perfect.

I slide in beside her, jaw tight enough to crack bone.

The second I shut the door, Marcus speeds away, tires silent on the pavement.

The interior goes dark except for the dashboard lights.

Her face looks even smaller in the shadows.

I force myself to stare out the window instead.

I shouldn’t look at her.

I definitely shouldn’t care why she was crying.

She’s a tool.

A pawn.

A means to destroy William Hayes from the inside out.

That’s it.

That’s all she is.

A throat clears loudly.

Unfortunately, it’s her.

Elizabeth Grey—Lizz—twists around from the front passenger seat, red lips curling into a predatory smile as she drags her gaze down Elara’s body.

“A pretty face and a fragile little thing,” she purrs, delighted. “Can’t wait to play with her.”

I feel the air shift.

I don’t remember moving, but suddenly my glare is burning holes into her skull.

“Try touching her and you’re losing a hand,” I say, voice level, controlled.

Deadly soft.

Lizz’s smirk falters for one heartbeat—but only one.

She rolls her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Oh relax, King Inferno. I’m not gonna break your toy. Yet.”

“She’s not a toy,” I snap before I can stop myself.

Silence slams into the car.

Marcus’s eyes flick up to the rear-view mirror, brows raised in amusement he doesn’t bother hiding.

Lizz’s smirk widens like she just found a new way to annoy me. “Oh? She’s special then?”

I grind my molars until my jaw aches. “I’m taking her for a reason. Not for your stupid entertainment.”

“My entertainment,” she corrects, tapping her nails on the leather seat. “Not stupid.”

“Debatable,” Marcus mutters.

She whips around to swat his arm. “Shut up.”

While they bicker, my hand drifts—subconsciously—to Elara’s shoulder, steadying her from sliding further.

Her breathing is slow, shallow, like she’s exhausted past human limits.

Each inhale trembles.

Her clothes are loose, hanging off her like they belong to someone heavier.

There’s a faint scent of sterilized sheets and blood on her.

Dried blood.

Faint but unmistakable.

My stomach knots.

I don’t like that.

I don’t like any of this.

“Alright,” Marcus says, clearing his throat, “anyone wanna explain why the daughter of William Hayes—richest bastard in the city, paranoid as hell—is sneaking into hospitals alone? No guards. No driver. No nothing.”

Lizz leans back against her seat, crossing her legs. “Maybe Daddy Dearest doesn’t care enough to send guards.”

I look at Elara again.

Her wrists peek out from her sleeves when the car bumps over a pothole.

Bruises.

Purple.

Old and new.

My vision goes sharp. The kind of sharp that leads to violence.

Marcus whistles under his breath when he sees it. “Damn. Someone worked her over good.”

Lizz shrugs, unimpressed. “Rich people play rough.”

“No,” I say quietly. “This isn’t rough. This is systematic.”

She raises a brow. “You an expert now?”

I ignore her.

I shouldn’t care.

I really shouldn’t.

But something about the bruises… the way she curled up against the wall when I walked in… the terror in her eyes.....

Something is wrong with this girl.

More wrong than I anticipated.

And I hate the way that thought sits in my chest—heavy, hot, like a burn that won’t fade.

Marcus glances again at the girl sleeping half across my lap. “You think Hayes hits her?”

“He’s capable of worse,” I say, voice flat. “But I don’t know.”

Lizz scoffs. “Who cares? We got what we came for. She’s leverage, Adrian. Don’t complicate it.”

I clench my fists.

She’s right.

This is business.

War.

Revenge.

Elara Hayes is the key to burning her father’s empire to the ground.

So why the hell does her silent, trembling breathing feel like someone squeezing my heart in their fist?

“Earth to Adrian?” Lizz waves a hand obnoxiously in front of me. “Are we having feelings or is this just indigestion?”

“Lizz,” I warn.

“I’m just saying—”

“Elizabeth,” Marcus snaps gently this time, “drop it.”

She huffs and turns back around, muttering something about men and their moods.

Good.

Silence.

The engine hums.

Streetlights smear across the window as we speed through the city.

Somewhere far away, sirens wail.

The world keeps moving—but inside the car, time feels frozen.

My gaze drifts again.

Her face, relaxed now, is heartbreakingly peaceful—like she hasn’t slept this deeply in years.

There’s still a faint shimmer of tears on her lashes.

Her lips part slightly when she breathes.

Her hair, long and tangled, is falling over her cheek.

My hand moves before I can stop it.

I brush the strand aside.

Gently.

She stirs, curling unconsciously closer.

Her head shifts more firmly against my thigh.

My chest tightens painfully.

No.

No.

No.

This is not what we’re doing.

I lean back, stare at the roof of the car, and force my voice steady.

“She’s Hayes’s daughter. That’s all that matters.”

Marcus hums. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Sure,” he says, smirking. “Just checking.”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Don’t start.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” he lies effortlessly.

Lizz snorts. “Oh, please. He’s already started. He’s been waiting to tease you since you picked her up like a groom carrying a bride.”

Marcus grins. “He did carry her romantically. Very bridal.”

“I will throw both of you out of this moving car,” I deadpan.

That shuts them up—for about eight seconds.

Then Marcus asks, “So… where are you taking her? Safehouse or the mansion?”

“The mansion,” I reply.

Lizz whistles. “Ooooh. Straight to your lair. Bold move.”

I glare at her reflection in the window. “She needs medical attention.”

“And we don’t have a private medical wing?” she challenges.

“Yes. But I want her close.”

Silence again.

Even Marcus doesn’t comment this time.

Because they both heard something in my voice.

Something I didn’t mean to let out.

Something dangerous.

I swallow hard.

“She’s not special,” I say quickly, almost harshly. “She’s a pawn. A tool. A step toward Hayes.”

“Uh-huh,” Marcus mutters.

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

He laughs under his breath.

Lizz leans back, smirking. “If this girl ruins our operation because you get all soft and heroic, I’m stabbing you.”

I roll my eyes. “You can try.”

“Might.”

“You won’t.”

“Watch me.”

Marcus chuckles. “Kids, please, Dad is driving.”

Lizz and I both flip him off at the same time.

The car fills with a strange mix of tension and… something else. Something I don’t want to name.

The city blurs by.

Elara’s breathing stays slow, calm, fragile.

And as the mansion gates appear in the distance, stretching tall and black like some kind of fortress…

I look down at the girl unconscious on my

lap.

Her bruised wrist.

Her tear-stained cheek.

Her small, trembling breaths.

And something cold settles inside me.

Hayes did this.

Haye