Chapter 5
615words
He stumbled back to the mansion, pacing the empty living room like a caged animal before finally pushing open the master bedroom door.
Ella lay curled on the bed, apparently asleep. Her brows furrowed, betraying distress even in dreams.
Adrian, courage fueled by whiskey, approached the bed and looked down at her.
He'd planned to wake her, to interrogate her harshly, to tear away her mask.
But seeing her paper-white face, his anger mysteriously evaporated, replaced by suffocating panic.
His hand trembled as he reached toward her cheek.
Suddenly, Ella's body convulsed in sleep, a pained moan escaping her lips.
"My head... hurts so much..."
Her voice was kitten-soft, barely audible.
Adrian froze. Rage, hatred, and alcohol gave way to pure instinct.
His body remembered what his thirty-one-year-old self would do when she had these headaches.
Without thinking, he sat on the bed's edge, gently lifted her, and cradled her against his chest. His hands—skilled as if from thousands of repetitions—found precise pressure points on her head and began massaging with gentle, firm touches.
Half-asleep, Ella sensed the familiar presence and touch. She sighed contentedly and nestled deeper into his embrace like a cat seeking warmth, her arms unconsciously circling his waist.
"Adrian," she murmured drowsily, "you're back..."
Her murmur struck like lightning, exploding in Adrian's mind.
His blood froze instantly.
He looked down at the woman in his arms—completely defenseless, utterly trusting. Her warm breath brushed his chest, carrying that familiar, cool scent that was uniquely hers.
Reason screamed at him to push her away, to tell her he wasn't the "Adrian" she was calling for.
Yet his body—acting on its own—tightened around her, drawing her closer.
A strange, overwhelming emotion swept through him—anger, jealousy, heartache, and something unnamed yet powerful enough to consume him: possession.
Why?
Why could she comfortably accept his care while speaking another "him's" name?
Why did that version of him receive all her trust and affection, while he got only her schemes and contempt?
They were the same person, yet not the same person.
The paradox drove him mad.
With alcohol clouding his judgment, Adrian—blinded by jealousy and pain—did something he would bitterly regret when sober.
He lowered his head and crushed his lips against hers—those lips he both loved and hated.
It wasn't gentle. It was punishing, rough, predatory.
Ella startled awake. She opened her eyes to find Adrian's face above hers, his eyes crimson with desire and pain.
"You—"
She tried pushing him away, but illness had left her too weak to resist. Her feeble attempts only seemed like coy invitation to his clouded mind.
Adrian's kisses deepened, grew more aggressive. His hands slipped beneath her nightgown, skillfully exploring her body. His muscles remembered how to please her, how to make her surrender.
Ella's resistance crumbled step by step.
This was the man she deeply loved, the husband she yearned for day and night. Though his mind was gone, his body, his scent, his kiss remained achingly familiar—what she craved most.
This was wrong—a chaotic descent.
A nineteen-year-old soul using a thirty-one-year-old body to inflict a punishment called "love."
When it ended, Adrian seemed to wake from a trance. Seeing Ella beside him—face tear-stained, eyes empty—then looking at his own hands, overwhelming panic and regret crashed over him.
What had he done?
He had actually... violated her like this.
"Ella, I—" His voice cracked, desert-dry.
Ella wouldn't look at him. She simply pulled the blanket around her naked body and turned away. In a voice so faint it seemed about to shatter, she whispered:
"You should leave."
Those three words cut deeper than any blade, inflicting a thousand wounds at once.
