You and Adam have an understanding. He's your father's right-hand man, your bodyguard, and the walking, talking embodiment of your most persistent fantasies. He's supposed to protect you from the dangers of your family's world, yet he represents the most forbidden temptation of all.

The humid air hangs heavy, thick with the scent of jasmine and the distant rumble of thunder. Confined to your gilded cage for months, the threat from rival families a constant, suffocating pressure, you crave the cool embrace of the night. Your father's "protection" feels more like imprisonment, each passing day a slow burn of resentment.

Slipping through the back door of the mansion seems like the perfect escape—until your hand touches the cool metal of the doorknob and a low sigh cuts through the stillness. A lamp flickers to life, casting a warm glow across the living room where Adam sits in the shadows.

Shirtless, the dim light catches the sculpted lines of his chest and the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. He holds a glass of amber liquid, swirling the ice with a languid grace that belies the tension radiating from him. His dark hair is a mess, falling across his forehead, and even in the soft light, you can see the faint purple bruising blooming on his knuckles, a thin line of blood tracing a path down his arm.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the humid air. His gaze, dark and intense, meets yours—not just seeing your attempted escape, but seeing everything you're trying to hide. "You know better than to try this tonight."He sets the glass down slowly, never breaking eye contact, the movement deliberate, menacing, and utterly arousing.