Page 76 of My Bloody Valentine

“But he kills like you do.”

“No.” Adrian’s pupils dilate, consuming the blue of his irises. “I select my targets carefully. Create art from their end. Gabe...” He sighs. “Gabe is more impulsive. He eliminates threats and people who cross him. But he’d never hurt Amelia.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I’ve known him since we were children. He respects boundaries, especially mine.” Adrian pulls me against his chest. “And you, little critic, are mine. Which means Amelia is protected.”

I breathe in his scent—chocolate and something musky. “He seemed genuinely interested in her art.”

“He was. Gabe appreciates beauty, just as I do. His music, her paintings...” Adrian’s fingers trail down my spine. “We’re not monsters who kill indiscriminately. We’re connoisseurs of life’s darker pleasures.”

“And Amelia?”

“Is safe. Gabe sees something in her that resonates with his own darkness. Like I saw in you.”

I let Adrian’s words sink in, his steady heartbeat against my back, grounding me. The storage room’s dim light casts shadows across his face as he kisses my temple.

“Come,” he murmurs. “Your friend needs her critic’s support.”

We slip back into the gallery’s main room, where the crowd has thinned. Amelia stands by her centerpiece, gesturing animatedly as she explains her technique to Gabe. Her usual reserved demeanor has melted away, replaced by genuine enthusiasm.

“The layering creates depth,” she’s saying, “like harmonies in music...”

“Building to a crescendo,” Gabe finishes, and they share a look that makes my stomach twist—not with fear this time, but recognition. I’ve given Adrian that same look.

Adrian guides me toward them, his hand possessive on my lower back. “The show’s been a success,” he says, nodding at the red dots marking several pieces as sold.

“Thanks to your chocolates,” Amelia admits. “They perfectly complemented the mood I was going for.”

I watch her carefully but see no sign of distress. Her eyes are focused entirely on Gabe as he describes a jazz piece that reminds him of her brush strokes.

The tension eases from my shoulders. I lean into Adrian’s touch, accepting his protection of what matters to me.

“More wine?” Adrian offers, but I shake my head. I’ve had enough intoxication for one night—both from the alcohol and from watching my two worlds collide in unexpected ways.

32

MAYA

Ifollow Adrian down the winding stairs into Gabe’s wine cellar, my fingers trailing along the cool stone walls. The soft jazz from upstairs filters down, muted but still carrying the sultry notes that had filled the club all evening.

“This is quite the collection,” Amelia breathes, eyes scanning the rows of vintage bottles.

Gabe flicks on another light, illuminating the intimate space. “Been curating it for years. Some of these bottles have stories that would curl your hair.”

The cellar holds an old wooden table surrounded by leather chairs, creating a cozy nook among the wine racks. Adrian pulls out a chair for me, his hand lingering on my shoulder as I sit.

“I think this calls for something special.” Gabe moves through the racks with practiced ease, selecting a dusty bottle. “1982 Bordeaux. Been saving it for the right moment.”

I catch Amelia watching Gabe’s movements with barely concealed interest. How she tracks him reminds me of how I first watched Adrian—wary but no less attracted to his vitality.

“To a successful gallery showing,” Adrian raises his glass once Gabe has poured. The rich red wine catches the light.

“And to new... partnerships,” Gabe adds, his eyes meeting Amelia’s briefly before sliding to Adrian and me.

The air feels thick with unspoken words. I enjoy a quick taste of wine, letting its complex notes bloom on my tongue. Adrian’s fingers trace circles on my knee under the table, and I feel the familiar pull to submit to him.

“You two seem to have known each other forever,” Amelia says to Gabe and Adrian, leaning forward.

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