4

Chapter 4

"Serena, stop right there." Behind me came Adrian's voice, suppressed to the extreme, "Turn around right now and this ends here. Otherwise, you'll be dealt with as a traitor."

I knew all too well what "traitor" meant in the Moretti family.

Stripped, publicly humiliated, torn to pieces—they wouldn't even leave a body.

My knuckles turned white, but I didn't stop.

"Try it, Adrian." I said quietly, "See if you actually dare do that to me."

Without another pause, I pushed through the door and left Moretti territory without looking back.

I came to my safe house—one I'd prepared long ago. It wasn't registered on any Moretti system asset list, not even under the name "Serena De Luca."

Outside was an abandoned industrial area, far from downtown lights and street patrols. I'd personally modified the locks, cameras, and blast-proof walls.

Finally I could breathe in a place without him. My phone lay silently on the table.

Until a day later, the iron door of the safe house was kicked open, metal crashing against the wall with a deafening bang.

I shot up from bed. Before I could reach for the gun on the nightstand, a tall figure burst in, slamming the door behind him.

Adrian.

His eyes were so dark they looked murderous. The next second, he grabbed my waist and threw me back onto the bed.

The air was squeezed out, my back hit the mattress. Before I could react, his body pressed down on mine.

"You've lost your mind—" I'd just started cursing when he covered my lips.

It wasn't a gentle kiss—it was plunder, punishment, the only outlet left after reaching the peak of rage.

He gripped my chin with one hand, forcing my head up, crushing my lips. I was kissed breathless, my chest felt crushed, my heartbeat chaotic.

His breath was scalding, yet carried that familiar faint tobacco and cold metal scent—Adrian's scent, which I'd once been addicted to.

His hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my waist, trapping me between him and the bed with no room to escape.

"Do you know," his voice was low and hoarse, like scraped by sandpaper, "when I couldn't reach you for a day, I thought something happened to you."

I heard my own laughter, light and hoarse: "Isn't that what you wanted? If I died, you could love your fiancée wholeheartedly."

I raised my hand, pushing him away forcefully: "Get off, Adrian. You shouldn't be here."

"You shouldn't have left either." He cut me off coldly, black eyes full of gloom, "You think without me, you have anything? In this city, your name, your identity, your skills—all tied to the Moretti family. You're my person, Serena. You should stay by my side obediently. I'll treat you like before."

I scoffed: "You mean, let me watch you propose to another woman, tattoo her name on yourself, let her take everything I once had?"

He was silent.

I looked at him, a wave of absurd sorrow rising in my heart.

"I don't need you to be good to me, Adrian." I said quietly, "I just need you to let me go."

His jaw tightened: "Impossible."

He stood up, looking down at me, suppressed rage surging again:

"You must appear at tomorrow's wedding ceremony. That's an order."

With that, he turned and left, like a storm arriving and departing like its eye, leaving only chaos and my still-trembling hands.

I stared at the ceiling for a long time before reaching for my phone.

Turned it on.

The number of missed calls jumped out—all from him.

I didn't open any of them, just dialed that number that only appeared in the dead of night.

"Father."

The call connected quickly. Augusto De Luca's voice was deep and steady: "Sweetheart."

I stared at the gray-cold sky outside: "Tomorrow, come get me."