Elena didn’t leave her room that night.

She locked the flimsy door, pushed the chair beneath the handle, and sat on the floor with her back pressed against the wall. Sleep refused to come. Every creak of the building sounded like footsteps. Every shadow stretched too long, as though waiting to swallow her whole.

By morning, her body was stiff with tension. She washed quickly in the cracked sink, tied her hair back, and told herself she would leave Blackthorne City today. She had to.

But when she stepped outside, the same black SUV was waiting at the curb.

Her stomach dropped.

The driver’s door opened, and Adrian Blackthorne emerged. This time, there was no glass between them.

The world seemed to pause. The market stalls across the street blurred, voices dimmed, and all she saw was him—towering, immaculately dressed, his presence swallowing the space between them. His scar caught the pale light, a sharp line against his strong jaw. His eyes pinned her where she stood, cold and consuming.

“Going somewhere?” His voice was silk over steel.

Elena lifted her chin, even though her knees threatened to buckle. “You don’t own me.”

For a moment, surprise flickered in his gaze. Then, to her shock, he smiled. Not a soft smile, not a kind one, but something darker—predatory, amused.

“There it is,” Adrian murmured, stepping closer. “The fire.”

She took a step back, only for his hand to shoot out, catching her wrist. His grip was firm, not bruising, but unyielding.

“You should be afraid of me,” he said quietly, his breath brushing her skin. “But instead, you fight. That’s why I can’t look away.”

Her pulse hammered beneath his touch. She wanted to pull free, but something inside her froze, caught between fear and something far more dangerous.

“Let me go,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened, flicking to her lips for the briefest second before snapping back to her gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he released her.

But his words burned hotter than his touch.

“You’ll come to me on your own. They always do. The difference is…” He leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper meant for her alone. “…you won’t survive trying to resist.”

Then he turned, climbed back into the SUV, and the car pulled away, leaving her trembling in the morning light.

Elena clutched her wrist where his hand had been, her skin tingling with the ghost of his touch. She hated the shiver that ran through her. Hated that some part of her wasn’t just afraid—she was alive.

And that terrified her most of all.