Chapter 6
The rain had started before dusk, a steady tapping against Elena’s window as she got ready. She wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to meet Adrian at his apartment instead of the usual café or restaurant. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the way his text had read—“There’s something I want to tell you. Come tonight.”
Her stomach knotted as she stepped into the cab.
When Adrian opened the door, he wasn’t his usual polished self. His hair was damp, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. He looked less like the immaculate charmer she knew and more…human.
“You’re here,” he said softly, relief flickering across his face.
“Of course,” she replied, trying to ignore the tremor in her voice. “You sounded serious.”
“I am. Come in.”
His apartment was surprisingly simple. No grand piano, no art-deco furniture. Just clean lines, a leather couch, shelves stacked with books. A single photograph rested on the mantelpiece—a girl, maybe twelve, with a mischievous smile.
Elena lingered on it. “Who’s that?”
Adrian’s expression shifted. “My sister.”
“You never told me you had a sister.”
“I don’t,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.”
They sat on the couch. Adrian poured them both glasses of red wine, his movements slower than usual, deliberate.
“You asked me before,” he said, staring into his glass. “About my past. About the scars. I brushed it off.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he interrupted gently. “You deserve to know who you’re with.”
Elena folded her hands together. “Okay.”
He took a long breath. “Her name was Claire. She was…everything to me. The kind of sister who made life worth living. We grew up in a house that was more battlefield than home. Our father drank. Our mother…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Let’s just say she looked the other way. Claire was the one who kept me alive. She used to sneak into my room when the shouting started, hold my hand, tell me it would be better someday.”
Elena’s chest tightened.
“But one night,” Adrian continued, his voice rough, “she went out with friends. She didn’t come home. They found her body in an alley the next morning.”
Elena gasped.
“The police called it a mugging. A robbery gone wrong. But I know it wasn’t. The way she was left…” His jaw tightened. “Someone took her from me. And they never caught him. Never even tried. I was eighteen. I’ve been carrying her ghost ever since.”
Elena touched his hand. “Adrian… I’m so sorry.”
He gave a hollow laugh. “Sorry doesn’t change the fact that I couldn’t protect her. I swore I’d never let anyone that close again. And then…you walked into that café.”
She blinked. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” His eyes locked on hers, intense and searching. “You reminded me of her strength. That spark. The way you laugh, like you’re fighting to keep hope alive. I knew I couldn’t walk away.”
Elena’s throat went dry. “That’s…a lot to put on someone you’ve just met.”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But it’s the truth. I don’t want to scare you. I just want you to understand why I get…protective.”
She stared at him, caught between the warmth flooding her chest and the echo of Marisa’s warning: sometimes the wrong people wear the right mask.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asked.
“Because pain doesn’t come out on the first date,” he said simply. “Because every time I’ve shared it, people either pity me or run away. And because with you, Elena, I don’t want pity. I want…connection.”
The word hung in the air like a promise.
For a long moment, silence stretched. The rain tapped harder against the windows.
Finally, she whispered, “I don’t think you’re weak, Adrian. Not for surviving that. Not for caring about your sister. It makes sense, the way you are. It makes sense now.”
His hand closed over hers, firm but trembling. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”
They sat close, the air heavy with unsaid things. Elena felt her doubts soften, her fear slip away under the weight of his vulnerability.
“Can I tell you something?” she asked.
“Anything.”
“I was starting to wonder if I didn’t know you at all. You’re charming, yes. But sometimes, you feel…out of reach. Like you’re hiding.”
Adrian’s gaze sharpened. “And now?”
“Now…” She exhaled. “Now I feel like I see you. Really see you.”
He leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers. “Then promise me something, Elena. Promise me you won’t give up on me. Even if people try to pull you away. Even if they say things. You have to trust me.”
Her heart stuttered. “Adrian…”
“Promise.”
She swallowed hard. “I promise.”
His lips brushed hers, slow and lingering, like a seal to the vow. Elena melted into it, into the warmth and ache of a man who carried ghosts but still chose her.
When he pulled back, his smile was faint. “You’re the only good thing I’ve had in years. Don’t let me lose you.”
Elena touched his cheek, whispering, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Later, as she curled into him on the couch, the rain still falling, Elena thought about the photograph on the mantel. About Claire. About the broken boy Adrian must have been.
For the first time, she wondered if his protectiveness wasn’t possession at all—but fear of losing someone again.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, a sliver of unease remained.
If Claire had been killed, if the police had failed him… then why did Adrian’s story sound so much like the headlines screaming through the city now?
