Eve knew she should have stayed home.
She should have ignored the invitation, thrown away the note, and locked every goddamn door in her apartment. She should have done anything—anything—except get into the car that had arrived for her at exactly eleven-thirty, sleek and black, its driver silent as a shadow.
And yet, here she was.
The ride had been smooth, the city lights flashing past in a blur, but she hadn’t paid attention to the streets, to the turns they took. She had been too busy trying to convince herself this wasn’t happening. That she wasn’t really on her way to him.
But the moment the car stopped, she knew—this was real.
Because the car didn’t stop at a hotel, or a restaurant, or some underground club where men with too much money played with things they shouldn’t.
It stopped at a mansion.
Not just any mansion. A fortress.
Sprawling, elegant, hidden away behind gates too high to climb and walls too thick to escape.
Eve swallowed hard as the driver stepped out, circling the car before opening her door.
“Through the main entrance,” he said. “He’s waiting for you.”
She should have said something. Should have asked where the hell she was, why Adrian lived in a place like this, what exactly he meant when he said seven nights.
But her throat was too dry, her body too tense.
She stepped out onto the marble driveway, her heels clicking against the smooth stone.
The house loomed before her, massive and old, its dark windows like watching eyes. The doors were already open, as if someone had been waiting for her, as if someone had known—of course she would come.
She should have turned back. Should have walked away.
But she didn’t.
Her feet carried her forward, through the grand entrance, into a world that felt dangerous and intoxicating all at once.
The inside was just as overwhelming as the exterior. Dark wood. Crystal chandeliers. The scent of leather and whiskey thick in the air. Everything was too perfect, too controlled. A house built for a man who knew how to wield power, how to bend the world to his will.
Adrian Cross.
Her pulse quickened. The silence pressed against her, heavy and thick.
She licked her lips. “Adrian?”
No answer.
Her heels clicked against the polished floor as she moved deeper inside, down a long corridor lined with bookshelves and paintings that looked expensive enough to make her dizzy.
And then—
She saw him.
Standing at the end of the hall, leaning against a doorway, watching her with a slow, lazy smirk.
Adrian Cross.
He looked exactly how she remembered—too sharp, too confident, too damn beautiful in a way that made her want to break something.
Dressed in black, as always. Black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the strong lines of his forearms, the veins beneath his skin. His slacks perfectly tailored, his belt slung low around his hips.
He looked like sin incarnate. Like the kind of man who didn’t just play with fire—he was the fire.
And he was looking at her like he already knew how this night would end.
Eve’s fingers curled into her palm. “You’re insane.”
His lips twitched. “You came.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“And yet—” He stepped forward, slow, unhurried, like a predator giving its prey a chance to run. “Here you are.”
She hated how right he was.
Adrian didn’t stop moving until he was too close, his body a whisper away from hers. Close enough for her to feel his heat, to smell the faint trace of cologne that clung to his skin—something dark, something expensive.
He lifted a hand, tracing a single fingertip along the inside of her wrist, featherlight.
Eve shuddered.
A smirk ghosted across his lips.
“Seven nights, little rabbit.” His voice was a low hum, dark and smooth. “Do you know what that means?”
She clenched her jaw. Refused to answer.
Adrian smiled, tilting his head like she had just amused him.
“It means,” he murmured, “that I get to take my time ruining you.”
Her breath hitched.
And then—
His fingers curled around her wrist, tugging her forward.
Not rough. Not violent. But firm. Unyielding.
Eve stumbled, her chest grazing against his, the sharp inhale she sucked in only making it worse.
Because now, she could feel everything.
The heat of his body. The hardness of his muscles. The way his breathing was too calm, too controlled, like he wasn’t affected at all, like he didn’t feel the same wildfire burning between them.
“Let go.”
Adrian hummed. “Why?”
Her teeth clenched. “Because I said so.”
“Mm.” He tilted his head. “See, that’s the thing.”
His free hand lifted—knuckles brushing against the side of her neck, the ghost of a touch.
“I don’t think you want me to.”
A shiver shot down her spine.
Because he was right.
And that was the most terrifying part of all.
