It's been three months now.
Three whole months of having Lukas Volkoff shadow my every move.And yet, he still manages to get under my skin like the first day.
I used to be calm. Kind. Composed.The kind of girl who thought before she spoke.But around him...I'm something else entirely.
Rude? Maybe not the right word.Blunt? Probably.Defensive? Definitely.
But here's the thing—I regret it sometimes.Not for him.For the version of myself I lose when he's near.
This morning, like any other, I walked down the staircase of my mansion, expecting silence, maybe a lecture from Nickolas if I was lucky. But what I wasn't prepared for… was the sight on the balcony.
There he was.Lukas.
Shirtless.Sweat glistening off every hard line of muscle like he was sculpted to be worshipped by the gods themselves.And there I was—frozen.Shamelessly watching him like a scene out of a forbidden dream.
His movements were calculated, brutal, focused. Like every punch he threw into the air was meant for something he couldn't kill with his bare hands. Or maybe… someone.
I leaned against the railing, silently observing.
He hadn't seen me. Or maybe he had and was just letting me look.That man knew how to haunt without even trying.
My eyes trailed down his back, tracing the defined muscles flexing with every motion.What the hell is wrong with me?
Snap out of it, Adelina.
And yet... I didn't.
Because for all the fire he ignited in me, the push and pull, the arguments, the tension—He made me feel alive.And that scared me more than anything.
"Stop staring at me, doll."
His voice cracked through the silence like a whip—low, gravelly, laced with warning and something far more dangerous.
I stiffened.
Heat crawled up my neck, but I didn't turn. I kept my posture straight, fingers grazing the fake wires trailing from my ears."I'm not," I said coolly. "I'm listening to music."
The smirk in his voice was audible even without seeing him. "Right," he drawled. "Except you hate wired headphones. You said they ruin your hair. And I checked—your wireless ones are still sitting dead on your dresser."
A sharp breath caught in my throat.
How the hell—
He was behind me now, I could feel it—his presence thick in the air like smoke."You know," he murmured near my ear, "you're not as hard to read as you think. I've studied every damn inch of you for three months now. I know when you're lying… when you're flustered… when your thighs tense like that."
My knees nearly gave out.
"But don't worry," he whispered, his breath fanning over my neck. "I don't mind being watched. In fact… I like it."
I turned, furious, ready to snap—but he was already leaning against the doorway, sweat-slicked, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths.
His eyes—dark and electric—roamed over me like I was something he already owned."You walk around here like you're untouchable," he said, voice low, voice dangerous. "But one push, one pull, and you'd break right in my hands."
"I'm not yours," I hissed.
He chuckled, stepping forward, and my breath faltered. "No," he said. "But you will be."
And then he turned away—just like that.Leaving me breathless, furious, and drowning in the chaos he always left behind.
But suddenly, my knees buckled.
It hit like a wave—blinding, raw. The migraine. Not just pain—flashes.The world spun. My vision clouded. I clutched the wall for support, but it felt like I was falling through time instead.
And then it happened again.
That same damn burn—like a lit cigarette pressed against my skin. My hand trembled as the phantom pain seared across my palm.The air thickened around me. I could hear her again—that woman—a voice I didn't know, yet knew too well, whispering something venomous as her hands wrapped around my throat.
"You were never supposed to live."
My vision blackened at the edges.
I gasped—choking—not from the memory but from the terror curling in my chest. Nails dug into my shoulders—no, not real, not real—and then—
"Adelina!"
His voice sliced through it.
Everything stopped. Cold hands of the past snapped away as real ones gripped my arms.
Lukas.
I blinked. The light returned. The pain, dimmer, still pulsed at my temple.
But his eyes… they weren't cold now. They were blazing.
"You're burning up," he growled, brushing a hand down my arm—exactly over where the cigarette burn had haunted me. "What the fuck just happened?"
I opened my mouth but no words came.
"Was it the migraine again?" His voice dropped. Rough. Rigid. Desperate.
I nodded faintly.
He didn't say a word. Just scooped me up into his arms like I weighed nothing. Against his bare, sweat-damp chest, I felt every heartbeat.His jaw was clenched tight as he carried me through the hall, the possessiveness in his grip saying more than words ever could.
But I wasn't afraid.Not of him.
Only of the dark pieces of my past that were starting to claw their way back.
And the way he looked at me—as if he already knew.
This was the first time I was so close to this man.So close I could hear the thud of his heart.Feel the tension in every line of his body.Smell the soft, clean scent of his skin mixed with sweat and something darker—something purely him.
But what shook me more than anything...Was that I felt safe.
In his arms.
The same man who pushed every button I had.Who got under my skin like a curse I couldn't shake.Who watched me like he already knew how I'd break—piece by piece.
And yet, here I was, tucked into the heat of his chest like I belonged.Like this—me trembling, him silent and unyielding—was familiar. Natural.
His grip was firm, but not rough.His breathing wasn't calm, though. It was ragged… uneven.Like he was holding something back.
He lowered me gently onto the couch, brushing a hand over my forehead to check the fever I didn't even realize I had.I shivered.
And then his voice—low and sharp, like velvet dragged over glass."Next time you feel it coming… tell me."
I opened my eyes to meet his.
That dangerous blue.
And for a second… just a second, I saw him crack.
Like holding me was harder than he'd ever admit.Like some part of him—dark, buried, bruised—ached too.
But neither of us said anything.Because silence… silence was louder than truth.
My life was a mess for the next few weeks… maybe even a month.Everything blurred together like an ugly painting I didn't want to claim.The headaches—the migraines—got worse.I'd wake up dizzy, vision clouded, temples throbbing like drums beaten by ghosts.Sometimes it felt like my body was giving up, quietly screaming for a break I couldn't afford to take.
And then there was my father.
The man I once looked up to…Now he felt like a leash around my neck.
He wanted me to be like him—Cold. Calculated. Ruthless.But I wasn't him.
I didn't want to be the machine he sculpted out of broken pride and bruised ambition.He called it power.I called it poison.
Every meeting he dragged me into, every decision he pushed onto me, it chipped something away.My kindness. My patience. My self.
And I hated this side of him.I hated how he looked at me with disappointment whenever I slipped, whenever I wasn't perfect.I hated how he pretended he was doing it all for me when really, he just didn't want to be seen as weak.
And I hated… how part of me was still trying to earn his approval.Still hoping he'd say "you did well" instead of "you can do better."
I was drowning.
In responsibility. In pain. In the storm of being too much and never enough all at once.The only thing steady in my chaos...Was the man who never said much but always stood near.
Silent. Still.Watching me fall apart.
And I had no idea why that terrified me even more.
I dropped myself on the chair like my bones had given up on holding me together.Head leaned back, eyes fluttering shut."I want rest like a drug," I mumbled under my breath. The words tasted bitter, almost ironic.
A small chuckle slipped past my lips as I looked over at the man sitting across from me—ever composed, ever watching."Cold coffee," I muttered to the server, "the kind that makes you forget you're exhausted."
He didn't flinch, didn't blink. Just added, "Black. No sugar."
I rolled my eyes at his order, letting the familiar annoyance wrap around me like a comfort blanket."Right… your usual. Liquid funeral."He raised an eyebrow.
I smirked. "Because it tastes like death, Lukas."
He didn't laugh, but the corner of his lips twitched, and for a second, that meant everything.It was these stupid moments. Quiet. Strange. Undeniably ours.
And even though I was breaking in all the ways I wouldn't admit out loud,sitting across from him like this made it all feel… tolerable.
Almost.
I sipped my cold coffee, letting the icy bitterness numb my tongue. My eyes flicked to him over the rim of the glass. He was relaxed but alert—arms crossed, jaw tight, as if bracing for something.
I leaned forward, the words rolling out before I could filter them."Why did you become a bodyguard?"His eyes didn't move from mine, but he stayed silent for a breath too long.
"Because I had to," he said flatly.
I nodded slowly, chewing on the answer. "Do you regret it?"
This time, his lips pressed into a thin line before he replied, "Sometimes." "When I can't touch you", he thought to himself.
The air shifted. I wasn't sure if it got colder… or thicker.
I tilted my head, voice softer, more curious than cautious."Do you believe in love?"
That made something flicker in his eyes.Dangerous. Deep. Guarded.
"Not for people like me," he answered, eyes dark and unreadable.
His responses were short. Sharp. Like he was trying to keep the door shut, but I kept turning the knob anyway.
I leaned back in my chair, still watching him. "You think you're that damaged?""I know I am.""Maybe I like broken things," I whispered, almost to myself.
He looked at me then—really looked. And for a moment, I couldn't breathe.
But then suddenly, his voice broke the silence."You look almost like your mom."
The words hit me like cold water.
I chuckled, but it wasn't out of amusement. It was bitter—like old wounds being scratched open."Maybe," I said quietly, eyes fixed on the melting ice in my glass. "And maybe that's the reason for everything."
I didn't say anything more.And he didn't press.He just sat there, watching me.
The air between us was heavy—thick with unspoken truths and ghosts neither of us had the courage to name.
I could feel his gaze, but I didn't lift my head. Because if I did, I knew I might fall apart. And I was tired of falling.
"Well then…" I said softly, swirling the straw in my coffee, not meeting his eyes, "when did you see her?"
His response came without pause, like it was already loaded in the chamber.
"Well," he said with that same composed tone, "there was a photo. In your father's mansion. Framed in the hallway."He tilted his head slightly, his eyes unreadable. "It clearly looked like your mom."
I blinked slowly, heart skipping for some reason I couldn't name.
A photo. Of her. Still in the mansion.Like a ghost no one had the guts to exorcise.
I didn't know what I was feeling—rage, sorrow, or just the dull ache of memory that never really left.
"You noticed that?" I murmured, finally looking at him.
His stare didn't waver. "I notice everything about you."
There it was again. That quiet, dark certainty in his voice.Like he wasn't just speaking about now.Like he had been noticing me long before I ever started paying attention to him.
And somehow… that scared me more than it comforted me.