Chapter 2

Adrian’s presence didn’t just enter a room.

It claimed it.

He walked toward me through the crowd like the world was obligated to step aside. Men moved. Women froze. Even the DJ’s hands stuttered on the controls like he could feel death standing near the booth.

Adrian stopped two feet away.

Close enough that I caught the scent of him—clean, expensive cologne layered over something metallic. Control. Violence. Power held in a fist.

His eyes dropped to my dress.

Then to my bare legs.

Then back to my face.

“Is this how you represent the woman who will carry my name?” he asked softly.

I laughed once. “You mean Chloe?”

A flicker—barely visible—crossed his expression.

Like a crack forming in ice.

Then his voice went even lower. “Don’t play games.”

“I’m not playing,” I said, tipping my glass. “I’m celebrating my escape.”

Behind him, one of his men shifted. I saw the outline of a gun beneath a jacket.

Adrian didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. The room already belonged to him.

“Come with me,” he said.

“No.”

His gaze sharpened. “That wasn’t a request.”

I leaned in, smiling like I had nothing left to lose. “In my last life, you controlled where I went, what I wore, who I spoke to, how I breathed. You made rules like they were religion.”

His eyes narrowed at the words last life, but I kept going before he could interrupt.

“This time,” I said, “you don’t get to decide anything for me.”

Adrian’s jaw tensed once.

Then his hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist.

Not rough enough to leave bruises—yet.

But firm enough to remind me he could.

The club owner scrambled over, pale. “Mr. Moretti, sir, please—”

Adrian didn’t glance at him. “Clear the room.”

The owner snapped his fingers. The models, the dancers, the drunk rich kids—all of them scattered like prey sensing a predator.

I tried to yank free.

Adrian didn’t budge.

“Let go,” I hissed.

He leaned closer, voice a blade at my ear. “You’re wearing a dress that says you want attention.”

“I’m wearing a dress that says I have legs,” I shot back. “And I’m not hiding them for you.”

A heartbeat.

Then he did something worse than shouting.

He smiled.

It wasn’t warmth.

It was calculation.

“I remember you,” he murmured.

I went still.

Because in my last life, Adrian rarely admitted memory. He treated feelings like weakness.

He tightened his grip, steering me toward the back exit.

I dug in my heels. “Adrian—”

He lifted me.

Just—lifted me like I weighed nothing.

I slammed my fists against his shoulders. “Put me down, you psychopath!”

His men formed a moving shield around us as he carried me out.

Outside, a black armored sedan waited with the engine running.

Adrian shoved me into the backseat and slid in beside me.

The door locked with a heavy click.

He didn’t touch me again immediately.

He didn’t need to.

The car itself was a cage.

“Drive,” he told the driver.

The city blurred past tinted glass.

I reached for the handle anyway.

It didn’t move.

Adrian watched me try with an expression that belonged on a statue.

“Bulletproof windows,” he said. “Reinforced locks. You’re not getting out.”

“You can’t kidnap me,” I snapped.

His gaze drifted to my mouth. “I can do whatever keeps my family stable.”

“And what does your family have to do with me?”

He pulled a folder from beside him.

The contract.

He opened it and tapped a line with a gloved finger.

“You signed,” he said.

I stared at the signature line.

Chloe Hart.

Not mine.

My pulse tripped.

Adrian’s eyes lifted, reading my face like he was decoding a threat.

“You’re terrified,” he observed.

“Of you?” I scoffed, lying too fast.

He leaned closer. “Tell me what you’re planning, Lena.”

I swallowed the taste of panic.

If he knew I swapped the bride…

If he knew I’d already bought my exit…

He’d never let me reach the airport alive.

So I forced my face into calm.

“I’m not planning anything,” I said. “I’m just not your obedient doll.”

Adrian sat back, jaw tightening.

“You will learn,” he said quietly. “Or you will break.”

The car rolled to a stop at my father’s mansion.

Through the window, I saw Chloe stepping outside in white—perfect hair, perfect posture, perfect performance.

Adrian’s gaze followed mine.

Something dark moved behind his eyes.

Then Chloe smiled sweetly and waved.

“Adrian,” she said, voice gentle as prayer. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

And for the first time, I saw it:

This wasn’t just an arranged marriage.

This was a trap with teeth.