Page 33 of My Bloody Valentine

I delete both messages and place Maya's phone in my pocket—she won't need it. She stirs slightly but doesn't wake as I remove her heels and arrange them neatly by the door.

The room is perfect—fresh flowers on the dresser, her favorite jasmine tea in the kitchenette, and carefully selected books on the nightstand. Everything she'll need for the foreseeable future.

I brush a strand of hair from her face, savoring the softness of her skin. "Sweet dreams, little critic. When you wake, our real work begins."

15

MAYA

My head throbs as consciousness creeps back. Silk sheets slide against my skin as I shift, trying to piece together fragmented memories. The last clear image... Adrian across the table, pouring wine into my glass.

A wave of dizziness hits as I push myself up. This isn’t my bedroom. Velvet curtains block most of the light, but I make out elegant furnishings in deep burgundy and chocolate tones. The mattress beneath me feels impossibly plush. And yet, sitting on the nightstand are my personal hygiene items, including my shampoo, perfume, and body lotion.

“What the hell?” The words catch roughly in my throat.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet sinking into the thick carpet. Everything whirls, and I brace myself against the mattress, waiting for stillness to return. I’m still in my clothes from lunch, though my shoes are missing.

The door opens with a soft click. Adrian steps into the room, impeccably dressed in his tailored shirt and vest. He carries a glass of water.

“Good evening, little critic.” His smooth voice sends ice down my spine. “I trust you slept well?”

“What did you do to me?” The words slur slightly. My tongue feels thick.

“Just helped you relax.” He approaches with fluid grace. “You seemed so tense at lunch.”

I try to stand, but my legs buckle. Adrian catches me before I hit the floor, one arm wrapping around my waist. The familiar scent of chocolate and spice fills my nose.

“Easy now.” His breath tickles my ear. “The sedative will take a few more hours to fully wear off.”

“Sedative?” Horror crashes through the fog in my brain. “You drugged me?”

“I did what was necessary.” He guides me back to sit on the bed. “We have much to discuss, Maya. About what you discovered and about what we could become together.”

“You’re insane.” I press back against the headboard, trying to put distance between us. “Completely out of your mind. My best friend was expecting me tonight. She’ll call the cops!”

Adrian smirks. “Don’t worry, I’ve handled that.”

The mattress sinks beneath Adrian’s weight, and my heart threatens to break free from my chest. That powerful energy radiates from him, calling for something warped inside me.

“What do you mean, you’ve handled it?” My stomach drops, mind races to the worst possibilities. “If you’ve hurt her?—”

“Relax.” Adrian pulls out my phone from his jacket, showing me the text thread. “I simply sent her a message saying you weren’t feeling well. Food poisoning, apparently. She was quite understanding.”

I snatch the phone, scanning the messages with trembling fingers. There it is—a perfectly casual exchange about me feeling sick and needing to raincheck. Amelia’s concerned response, offering to bring soup. My supposed decline of her offer. All so normal, so innocent.

“And how did you get my stuff from my apartment?” I demand.

He smirks but doesn’t answer me. Clearly, he broke into my place and stole them like the psychopath he is.

“You really are insane,” I murmur as Adrian retrieves my phone from me and slips it into his jacket pocket.

“Am I?” His fingers trace along my ankle, sending sparks of unwanted pleasure up my leg. “Or do I simply see what you’re trying hard to deny?”

“Stop.” The word comes out breathy. “I ran away for a reason. You kill people, Adrian. You put their blood in your chocolates.”

“And you tasted them.” His hand slides higher, mapping the curve of my calf. “You knew something was different, wrong. Yet you came back for more.”

Heat floods my cheeks because he’s right. Even after discovering his horrible secret, part of me craved the intensity of him.

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