Adrian’s Pov

“Sabrina Bright.”

I repeated her name.

She froze, wide-eyed, like she’d seen a ghost.

“How—how do you know my name?” she stammered, clutching her bag like a shield.

I leaned against the doorframe, calm and unbothered, the way I always was when I had the upper hand. “I make it my business to know everything about the people who cross my path.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

I had tried to forget her since that night. I had slept with quite a few women to forget her face or how pretty she looked under me.

Nothing helped.

Somehow she lingered and slowly made me lose my mind over the raw craving I had for her.

A Stripper. A plaything. That’s all she was to me. Always.

Yet, she settled under my skin and then I gave in three day ago. Hired a private investigator.

Now I knew her full name, her address, her scholarship details, the part-time jobs that barely kept her afloat, and the debt she owed Smith.

She was desperately in need of money. Money I had in excess.

“Get out,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “I don’t know how you found me, but you have no right to-”

“Do you really want me to cause a scene, Angel?” I asked, deliberately using the name she hated. “Or should I start telling your neighbors how you dance for strangers at Club 99?”

Her breath hitched.

“You wouldn’t-”

“Wouldn’t I?” I took a step closer, and she backed up until her shoulder brushed the wall. “I don’t bluff, Sabrina. Let me in. Now.”

She hesitated, then unlocked the door with shaky fingers. I stepped inside, letting my gaze sweep over her apartment. Or what was left of it.

It was small. Too small. The ceiling was cracked, the floor scuffed, the peeling paint, the sofa looked several ages old and worn out. A stack of unopened bills sat on the counter, screaming of overdue payments.

This was how she lived?

It made something ugly curl inside me, anger.

She was wasting herself here, scraping by, when I could give her everything.

I turned to her, my expression unreadable. “You’re too smart, too beautiful, to live like this.”

Her chin lifted, defiant. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” I said smoothly. “I can change that.”

She blinked. “What?”

I slid my hands into my pockets, my stance deliberately casual, like we were discussing a business merger instead of what I was about to propose.

“Be mine.”

Her brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Be my mistress,” I said, my voice cold, decisive. “Exclusively. I’ll clear every debt you have. I’ll pay for your rent, and give you a weekly allowance. I’ll buy you a place that doesn’t smell like mold. You’ll have freedom. Comfort. Everything you’ve ever wanted.”

She stared at me like I’d grown horns. “You think you can buy me?”

I smiled faintly. “Everything has a price, Sabrina. What’s yours?”

Her jaw clenched, her eyes flashing. She pushed me, her voice trembling but fierce. “I’m not for sale.”

I stepped closer, until we were inches apart. “Really? Then why did you let me have you that night?”

“That was different,” she snapped, color flooding her cheeks.

“Was it?” My voice dropped, quiet but lethal. “You gave me your body for just three grand.”

She looked livid but I continued. “I’m offering three times that per week.”

“I just want you in my bed, whenever I want, on my terms.”

Her breath was shaky, but her glare didn’t falter. “You’re insane.”

“Insane?” I tilted my head. “Maybe. But you can’t ignore this.” I gestured at the bills on her table. “You’re drowning, Sabrina. I can fix that with one call. You wouldn’t have to strip, or wait tables, or struggle to survive another day. All you’d have to do…” I let my gaze sweep over her deliberately, “…is let me take care of you.”

She crossed her arms, hugging herself. “You want to own me.”

I shrugged. “I want what I want. And I always get it.”

“You have twenty-four hours to decide,” I said, pulling out my phone. “One call from me, and every debt you owe disappears. Or you can keep breaking your back for pennies. Your choice.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“You do,” I said softly, leaning in, “else you wouldn't have sold yourself in the first place.”

She sucked in a breath, and for a split second, I saw the crack in her armor before she looked away.

I walked to the door, pausing just long enough to deliver my final blow.

“You will call me, Sabrina. We both know you need me.”

—

The evening wind hit me like ice when I stepped outside. I slid behind the wheel of my car, gripping it harder than necessary, trying to breathe out the frustration clawing at my chest.

Most people crumble when I speak with half that tone. But Sabrina or Angel, whatever name she wanted to hide behind looked at me like she’d rather slam the door in my face.

She was stubborn, infuriatingly so. But that only made me want her more.

I started the engine and pulled onto the street, glancing once at the building as it grew smaller in my rear-view mirror.

As I drove, my mind wouldn’t shut up.

I kept seeing the café, her laughing with Ana and Chris, pretending to be at ease. The thought of anyone else looking at her, having her, made something sharp and dark twist in my gut.

Chris.

The image of my brother’s easy smile flashed through my mind. If he even suspected…

No.

I was not crossing a line.

She wasn’t Ana. She wasn’t his. And she sure as hell wasn’t for him or anyone else.

I hated this feeling, wanting someone who didn’t just fall at my feet.

And now? Now she wanted to vanish, hide behind her pride and that crappy apartment.

Tomorrow, I’d fix this. I’d make her see reason.