Chapter 5 - Blood and RedemptionCRASH.
The library door splintered inward as the heavy oak frame gave way under a second violent kick.
Before the gunman could step through the threshold and level his assault rifle, Adrian pulled the trigger twice with cold, mechanical precision.
Puff. Puff.
The assassin staggered backward, dropping his weapon with a heavy thud before collapsing onto the Persian rug in the hallway.
Silence descended on the estate once more, broken only by the howling wind outside and the ragged, heavy gasps of Adrian’s breathing.
I scrambled to my feet, locking the inner security shutter over the library windows, and rushed back to Adrian. He had slumped against the bookshelf, his face drained of all color, his lips tinged with a frightening blue pallor. The makeshift bandage was soaked through.
“We need to cauterize it,” I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to keep it steady.
Adrian looked up at me, a bitter, exhausted smile touching his pale lips. “Cauterize it with what? A fireplace poker?”
“Yes,” I said fiercely.
Adrian stared at me, realizing I wasn't joking.
Ten minutes later, inside the estate’s private medical annex—a sterile, locked room Adrian kept hidden behind a false panel in the library—I had a heavy iron poker heating in a portable propane burner.
Adrian sat on the examination table, shirtless, his jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth would crack.
“If I pass out,” Adrian muttered, his voice dangerously low, “the ledger in my office safe contains the codes to liquidate Morales’s offshore accounts. Take it. Use it to disappear. My men will protect you once the storm clears.”
“I don't want your ledger, Adrian,” I said, lifting the glowing red-hot tip of the iron poker from the flame. “I want you to stay awake.”
“God help me,” he whispered.
I didn't hesitate. I pressed the searing hot iron directly against the torn flesh of his shoulder.
The smell of burning tissue filled the small room. Adrian let out a brutal, animalistic roar of agony, his fingers digging so hard into the stainless-steel table that the metal groaned, but he didn't pass out. His eyes locked onto mine the entire time, burning with a searing, desperate fire that matched the iron.
Within seconds, the bleeding stopped, cauterized by the brutal heat.
As I dropped the poker into a basin of water with a loud hiss, Adrian slumped forward, resting his forehead against my shoulder, his heavy breathing hot against my neck.
“You’re insane,” he breathed against my skin.
“I’m pragmatic,” I replied softly, my hands resting tentatively against his bare back, feeling the trembling tension slowly drain from his massive frame.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The storm raged outside, burying the world in white, while inside the fortified medical room, the distance between the billionaire mafia boss and the plus-size maid dissolved entirely.
When Adrian finally lifted his head, his gray eyes were dark, intense, and stripped of every defense he had spent a decade building.
“When I looked at you on your first day,” Adrian whispered, his voice thick with a raw, agonizing remorse, “I saw someone who looked like the world had hurt her. And I thought... if I let anyone close, if I let myself care about someone soft and real... I’d end up burying them like Elena.”
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I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. “I am not Elena, Adrian.”
“No,” he murmured, lifting his right hand to gently touch my cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear I hadn't realized was falling. “You’re stronger than she ever was. And I was a blind, arrogant fool.”
