Chapter 5: The Second Shadow

POV: Serena

The room was still, the kind of stillness that clung to your skin like sweat after a nightmare, except this time I wasn’t dreaming. I sat up with a jolt, my body instantly alert; the pressure in the room was so heavy that I even felt it before I saw him and then I did. He was there, standing at the door like he had never left, like this room had always been his to enter. Adrian stepped inside shirtless, silent and watching me.

Just then, he moved towards me with a seductive look.

That night, there was no knock, no call of my name, or even a warning before entering the room.

Just him, standing tall and bare-chested within the low blue hue of moonlight that slipped through the curtains, a shadow stretching from wall to wall and from the edge of the mattress to the pounding middle of my chest. I iced over and went cold, every nerve in me humming, unsure whether to scream, conceal, or crawl beneath the sheets like a coward.

My hands pulled the blanket up round my frame, no longer out of modesty, but for protection. Like the thin cloth may want to shield me from the storm status before me.

His voice sliced through the darkish air as if it were ready there, low and regular. “That will not save you, woman.”

I didn’t make a move. My palms clenched the cloth till my knuckles were deep white, my coronary heart pounding louder than the silence between us. He took a few steps forward and the air among us snapped taut. It became as if the oxygen obeyed him, drawn towards him, pulled with the aid of some invisible command he could best dish out.

I could have screamed, must have cursed, or thrown something; however, my frame refused to obey. My fingers were trembling slightly beneath the sheet; however, it wasn’t fear that was keeping them unsteady; instead, it was Adrian. The way he stood, calm and patiently dangerous. Taking walks towards me like he was anticipating my soul to trap up to the truth.

Adrian took slow leaps forward and his bare toes were silent towards the polished ground. Moonlight crossed his body through the opened window, carving shadows alongside the sharp ridges of his abs, the ink on his chest catching the light. I found it irresistible and wanted to transport.

“Get up,” he said. Just two words, but they were law.

I didn't move.

He tilted his head slightly, not in confusion, but in control. “Stand up.”

My legs slid out from under the blanket before my brain even registered it. I rose, barefoot, in a tank top and lace-trimmed shorts, my breath shallow as I looked at him.

He didn't reach for me, not yet. His voice guided me again. “Come here.”

I stepped forward, the cold floor grounding me in some strange reality. He walked around me, slow and measured, like a predator deciding where to bite first. I could feel the heat of his body behind me before he spoke again.

“Face the window.”

I obeyed. My breath fogged up the glass as I stood there, tense, heart pounding like a warning bell. I didn’t ask why and also part of me didn’t want to know.

A soft sound broke the silence: fabric and silk. He stepped closer, and I felt his hand brush along my wrist.

“Lift your arms.”

My arms rose above my head, trembling slightly. He didn’t need to force them. My body betrayed me.

He looped the silk rope around one wrist, then the other, the texture smooth but firm. The rope wasn’t cold; it was warm, like it had been resting against his skin. With practiced ease, he tied me to the iron bars above the window. Not painfully. Not cruelly. Just...securely.

I swallowed hard. “Is this what you do to all your girls?” I said, trying to cut through the tension with sarcasm, but my voice sounded breathless.

He leaned in so close I could feel his breath brush my shoulder.

“I’ve only ever needed one.”

My stomach tightened. The rope held me still, but my pulse ran wild.

He pulled something from his pocket. I couldn’t see it. But I felt soft fabric pressed over my eyes. A blindfold. He tied it behind my head, slowly, like a ritual. Darkness bloomed, and all I had left was the sound of his breath and the pounding in my ears.

Then came his hands.

Rough palms dragging lightly down my sides, across my stomach, fingers tracing the curve of my hips like he was mapping out where he’d leave his mark. I gasped when his lips met my neck, hot and deliberate.

And then he kissed me.

Not gentle. Not sweet.

But deep and sluggish, filled with warmth and something possessive, like he wanted to move slowly inside me and burn the entirety else out. His hand wrapped around the back of my neck, pinning me in place on a wall as his mouth claimed mine. I couldn’t breathe and didn’t need to.

The kiss ended with his tooth grazing my lower lip, and then he pulled again.

His voice was at my ear, slightly a whisper. “You don’t trust me?”

I tried to respond, but not a word could come out from my mouth.

He slid one hand between my thighs, teasing it down my honey pot while caressing my clit to make me more aroused.

“Now let's see. Let your body decide.”

He pulled my nighties down slowly, allowing them to fall to my ankles. Cool air met my pores and skin. I shivered. His hand curved around my hip as he positioned me, arching my back slightly. The first contact of Adrian made me moan low, guttural, and helpless.

He didn’t rush. Adrian is that kind of man who knew precisely what suffering was supposed to do. The way to make you want, feel pain, and beg. He pushed and slid into me slowly and deeply, and I gasped, my bound wrists tightening in opposition to the frame.

There was no gentleness. Only power.

Every thrust was deliberate and controlled, dragging pleasure and pain across the edge of my sanity. I moaned his name and cursed him and myself.

“Say it,” he growled at my ear.

“Say what?” I gasped.

“That your body wants this.”

I bit my lip hard, but it wasn’t enough to keep the truth inside. “I want it,” I whispered.

“No,” he growled. “Louder.”

“I want it!”

“Again.”

"I want ittttt,” I shouted as I could no longer hold myself from the pleasure that I was getting at that time.

He moved and thrust in deeper and faster than before, with his hands gripping my waist as I cried out again and again. Every sound felt ripped from my chest. As he kissed the back of my neck, teeth grazing pores and skin, I had a notion I might break.

And then it stopped.

He pulled out, breathing heavily, while body heat still wrapped around me. He untied the blindfold first, then slowly loosened the silk rope, not dropping any word or even making a sentence.

When my tied hands had been unfastened, I turned around on the spot to face him, but he had already changed to his bossy and ruthless mood while stepping back immediately. His expression turned unreadable, cold and at the same time beautiful.

He didn’t even kiss me goodbye or even cuddle and warm me tonight. He simply turned and walked out, leaving the door wide open behind him for people to see my nakedness.

I stood there for a long time, with my coronary heart racing, thighs shaking and mind numb. I couldn’t just title what just happened. That wasn’t love, nor was it hate, but it became something darker and hungrier.

When I subsequently turned towards my mattress, something stuck my eye.

On the pillow wherein my head had rested before he came, there was a small black velvet box and a folded piece of paper.

My breath caught. My fingers trembled as I picked it up.

Inside was a black leather collar, simple but expensive, with a silver clasp and no decoration except for a tag that read only “Property.” And beneath it, there is a paper folded once; it has a handwritten note, and the note was written in ink darker than midnight.

"You wore your skin well tonight. Tomorrow, wear this instead…" Adrian.

The room tilted slightly. My heart pounded, not with fear, but with something far worse; it was giving want, shame, curiosity, and terror, and the question I couldn’t silence was, would I wear it? What if I choose not to wear it? Will he make me wear it?