Chapter 2 - THE ANATOMY OF A CURSE
"You wouldn't," I breathed, my fingernails digging into my palms until the skin threatened to break.
"Try me," Adrian replied, his voice chillingly flat. "People like me don't survive by being merciful. We survive by eliminating variables. And right now, you are the most dangerous, inexplicable variable in my empire."
He reached out slowly, deliberately peeling off the black leather glove from his left hand. The skin underneath was pale, almost translucent, crisscrossed with faint, silvery scars from years of aggressive medical tests and biopsies.
"Touch it," he commanded.
"No."
"Touch my hand, Mara. Let's see if it was a fluke. If your nervous system is broadcasting some kind of biological anomaly, or if you are playing a very sophisticated, very dangerous game for your grandmother's hospital bills."
The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I didn't have a choice. I never had a choice.
Stepping forward, I raised my trembling hand. My fingertips hovered a millimeter above his bare palm. The air between us felt charged, smelling faintly of ozone and expensive cologne. When my index finger finally brushed his skin, the reaction was instantaneous.
Zap.
It wasn't static electricity. It felt like a physical shockwave rolling up my arm, flooding my veins with liquid heat, making my knees buckle. I gasped, stumbling forward, and this time Adrian caught me.
His bare hand wrapped around my bare forearm.
The contact sent a jolt straight through his frame. Adrian’s breath hitched. His eyes widened—the absolute first sign of genuine shock I had ever witnessed on his face. He staggered back, pulling me with him, until we both hit the edge of the glass wall overlooking the glittering expanse of Chicago.
"God," he muttered, closing his eyes tightly. His chest rose and fell in ragged, unaccustomed rhythm. "It's... burning."
"It hurts?" I asked, pulling my arm back, gasping for air.
"No," he whispered, opening his eyes, staring at his palm as if it were a foreign object. "It hurts to feel anything after a decade of nothing. But with you... it's overwhelming."
Before I could process his words, the heavy mahogany doors of the office burst open.
Marcus Webb, the chief of operations, strode into the room, holding a tablet with an expression of grim urgency. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me standing inches from the CEO, and worse—saw the bare hand of Adrian Park.
"Mr. Park," Marcus said, his eyes darting between us with naked alarm. "Security protocols have been breached. The board has been alerted that you dismissed your medical monitor. And... sir, the media leaks about the upcoming merger are accelerating faster than anticipated. We have a saboteur."
Adrian’s demeanor shifted in a fraction of a second. The vulnerable, stunned man vanished, replaced instantly by the cold, ruthless billionaire. He slipped his glove back on with practiced precision.
"Who leaked it, Marcus?" Adrian asked, his voice dropping an octave.
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"We don't know yet," Marcus said, casting a sideways glance at me that clearly communicated I was prime suspect number one. "But whoever it is, they have inside access to your biometric database."
Adrian turned his cold, calculating gaze back to me. "Well, Marcus. It looks like our new cleaning girl isn't just staying on. She’s moving into the penthouse."
