I blinked.
A flicker of sothing unfamiliar stirred in my chest. Not fear. Not sha.
Rage.
I sat up a little straighter, my body still sore, still aching, but suddenly very, very awake.
"Oh, that’s a good question," I murmured, my voice lighter than it should’ve been.
A small, sharp smile touched my lips, feeling alien and yet perfectly natural on my face. The rage wasn’t hot and chaotic anymore. It was crystallizing inside , becoming a cold, clear diamond of fury.
"I wouldn’t just kill them," I said, my voice steady, the whisper gone. I looked away from the duvet and t Adrien’s intense gaze. I didn’t flinch. "That’s too fast. Too easy. They wanted to take their ti with , so I’d want to take my ti with them."
I tilted my head, as if picturing it. "First... I’d start with their hands."
Adrien didn’t flinch. He just watched , unwavering.
"I’d cut off their fingers. One at a ti. Slowly. Let them feel each nerve snap." I looked down at my own hand. "Then the wrists. Then the arms. All the way to the shoulders."
Adrien’s expression didn’t change, but I could feel his muscles tense, his body going still as he listened.
"I’d make them feel every cut," I continued, my voice growing darker. "Then, I’d heat an iron in a fire, make it red-hot, until it glowed. Then I’d drive it into their eyes—for daring to look at like that. For even thinking they had the right."
I took a slow, deliberate breath, the image vivid in my mind. "And then, I’d take so ropes and tie one end to their—" I paused, a twisted thrill lighting my gaze. "Tie one end to their, and the other to the back of a truck. Actually... make it two trucks. Going in opposite directions."
Adrien’s mouth parted slightly, but he still didn’t speak.
"I’d give the signal," I finished. "And let the sound of those ropes snapping be the last thing they ever hear."
Adrien’s jaw clenched at the imagery, but he didn’t say a word. He just let speak, letting my twisted fantasy spill out.
"I’d want to crush them, break them, until they begged for rcy," I said, my smile still cold. "I would make them feel every ounce of the helplessness I felt. I’d make them feel every ounce of the helplessness I did—then leave what’s left of them where no one would find them. A warning for anyone else who thinks they can be silly like them."
My breath hitched as I finished, the rush of anger and power fading, leaving with a strange emptiness. I looked up at Adrien, a smile tugging at my lips, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in my eyes.
"But I wouldn’t do that, though," I added with a light laugh, brushing it off. "That’s not possible. Only a crazy person would think that way, right?"
The silence that followed my nervous laugh was heavier than any words we had spoken. It stretched, thick and suffocating, filling the space between us. I watched Adrien, waiting for the recoil, the judgnt, the gentle reassurance that I was just upset and not thinking clearly.
He didn’t give any of them.
Instead, a slow, dark smile spread across his lips. It wasn’t a kind smile. It was a smile of recognition, of discovery. It was terrifying. And in a strange, twisted corner of my soul, it was the most validating thing I had ever seen.
He reached out, his movents deliberate, and his thumb traced the line of my jaw, coming to rest just below my lips where my own strained smile had been. His touch was electric, a current of understanding passing between us.
"Crazy?" he repeated my word, his voice a low, dangerous purr that vibrated through my bones. "No, Isabella." He leaned closer, his intense gaze locking onto mine, and I felt pinned, not by force, but by the sheer weight of his attention. "A crazy person is chaotic. Unpredictable. What you described..." He shook his head slightly, that dark smile deepening. "That was thodical. It was creative. It was good."
My breath caught. The sha I’d expected to feel was being systematically dismantled by his words, replaced by sothing hot and powerful.
"In my world," he continued, his thumb stroking my skin, "that kind of thinking isn’t a sign of madness. It’s a sign of clarity. It’s what happens when you see the world for what it really is and understand that so people don’t deserve to be in it. They aren’t people. They’re problems. And problems," he paused, letting the word hang in the air, "have solutions."
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. The room felt smaller, the air charged with a new kind of intimacy, one forged in the crucible of my darkest thoughts.
"You’re not crazy for thinking it," he murmured, his eyes searching mine. "You’re honest. More honest than anyone I’ve t."
He pulled back just enough to look at fully, his expression shifting from dark admiration to sothing colder, more focused. More business-like.
"So, no," he said, the smile finally fading into a look of grim purpose. "I don’t think you’re crazy."
He squeezed my fingers gently. "You can feel however you want about this, and I’ll support you, no matter what. You don’t have to lock away the rage or the fantasies of vengeance, not with ."
I rembered sothing then, a loose thread. "Adrien," I said, my voice softer now. "Clara... she didn’t co back to check up on all through. You also said not to worry about her. Why? She set up, didn’t she?"
His smile faded, replaced by that cold, hard resolve. "Yes," he said simply, without preamble.
I swallowed. "I kept waiting for her. I thought... maybe sothing happened to her, too."
"It did," he said coldly. "Just not what you think."
A knock interrupted the storm building in the air.
"Co in," Adrien called, already knowing.
Thomas appeared in the doorway, bowing slightly. "Miss Smith is here, sir."
Miss Smith? My brows knitted. The na sounded oddly familiar, like a half-rembered song. Why does that sound like... Aria’s last na?
Before I could ask, Adrien turned to , his expression softening. "Let’s go downstairs. Aria’s waiting for you."
I blinked. "Okay..." I said automatically, swinging my legs off the bed... then froze.My eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. What do you an Aria?"
Adrien’s brows drew together, confusion flickering in his usually composed face. "Do you... know another Aria?"
"What—Adrien!" I practically scread.
It wasn’t a scared scream—it was the oh-my-God- kind of scream. The best-friend-is-here kind of scream.
I launched off the bed with a burst of energy my body should not have had in its current state and bolted down the stairs barefoot and grinning like a lunatic. My legs were still sore, my muscles aching from everything—but nothing could’ve stopped .
Aria stood in the foyer, sunglasses perched high on her head, arms folded, lips pursed in judgnt, looking around the massive interior like she was about to renovate it.
The mont our eyes t—
"ISA!"
"ARIA!"
We collided in a ss of limbs, squeals, and ridiculous laughter that bounced off the vaulted ceilings. I clung to her like I hadn’t seen her in years, tears pricking my eyes as we jumped in place like lunatics.
When Adrien finally descended the stairs, unhurried as ever, we were still wrapped around each other, talking over ourselves in excited chaos.
Adrien’s lips quirked faintly as he stopped at the edge of the sitting area. "I’ll be gone until dinner," he said smoothly, addressing us both but his eyes resting briefly on . "I invited Aria to spend the day with you. If you need anything, Thomas is available."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a sleek black card, and set it on the coffee table like it was nothing more than a house key. "Don’t hold back," he added, voice laced with quiet indulgence.
Aria’s jaw dropped. I just stared at it, knowing exactly how dangerous that card was in Aria’s hands.
Adrien leaned down, pressed a kiss to my temple—soft, private—and murmured for only , "Behave."
Then he straightened, gave one last, unreadable glance, and turned to leave. Thomas appeared to lead him out, and the heavy front door clicked shut, leaving us in the sudden, vast silence of the mansion.
Aria and I locked eyes.
"Oh, we are so not behaving," she whispered, grinning wickedly.
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