EIRA'S POV
"Wow… this tastes absolutely divine."
Claira's voice was soft, almost dreamy, as she savoured another bite.
A faint smile tugged at my lips.
At least someone was enjoying the meal.
Because I couldn't.
Not with those piercing black eyes fixed on me from across the room, following my every movement as though my very presence were an offence he could barely tolerate.
I lowered my gaze to my plate.
Just eat. Breathe. Pretend he isn't there.
"You're an incredible chef."
I blinked.
What?
I hadn't even—
"You should leave now."
That voice.
Cold. Abrupt. Unyielding.
It sliced through the conversation, extinguishing whatever little warmth the room had held.
Why did he always have to be like this?
Always pushing me away. Always making it painfully clear that he couldn't stand having me around.
Was my presence really so intolerable that he couldn't even let me sit here in peace?
"Adrian… I'm sorry for misunderstanding you. I genuinely am."
My fingers tightened around the edge of my napkin.
"I'm sorry," I repeated, quieter this time. "Please… just let me help you."
"If you've finished talking, you can leave."
He didn't even bother looking at me.
His attention remained fixed on his phone, his expression utterly indifferent, as though my words were nothing more than insignificant background noise.
Something inside me snapped.
What does he think of himself? Does he even hear a word I'm saying?
"Adrian… I'm not going anywhere."
My voice came out firmer than I intended.
"Tessy is my friend. I'll help her, whether you approve of it or not."
The instant those words left my mouth—
His head lifted.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
His black eyes locked onto mine, and the atmosphere shifted so abruptly that I almost forgot how to breathe.
Dark.
Unforgiving.
Laden with a warning I was suddenly certain I should have heeded.
Oh, God.
I shouldn't have said that.
"Adrian… she was only trying to help," Claira interjected hesitantly.
"Claira. You've finished eating. Leave."
She looked up, startled.
"But—"
"I said leave. Now."
There was no room for argument in his voice.
Claira flinched.
Her gaze drifted towards me, helpless and almost apologetic, as though she hated the thought of leaving me alone with him.
Then, reluctantly, she stood and walked towards the door.
It closed behind her.
And the silence that followed felt suffocating.
Don't leave me alone with him.
My chest tightened.
I lowered my eyes, suddenly finding the untouched food on my plate far more interesting than the man sitting opposite me.
"Why is it so difficult for you to listen to me?"
His voice was low.
Dangerously controlled.
I could hear the anger beneath every syllable, restrained only by a thread of self-control.
"How many times have I told you to stay away from him?"
I remained silent.
"Yet you still came here. Alone."
His jaw tightened.
"Do you have any idea what could have happened?"
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving my face.
"What if I hadn't been here? What if that bastard had—"
He stopped, his expression darkening further.
"What if something had happened to you?"
Before I could comprehend what he was saying, his hand shot across the table.
His fingers clamped around my arm.
Hard.
A sharp gasp escaped my lips as he pulled me towards him.
My chair scraped violently against the floor.
Suddenly, there was barely any distance between us.
His face was inches from mine.
I could feel the tension radiating from him, his fingers digging into my skin as though he were struggling to contain something far more dangerous than anger.
His black eyes bore into mine.
"When I ask you something, I expect an answer."
I tried to pull my arm away.
His grip tightened.
"I said, speak."
I wanted to answer. I wanted to tell him that I hadn't meant to defy him, that I hadn't gone there carelessly.
But the words refused to come.
My breathing grew shallow.
His fingers pressed painfully against my arm.
And then—
A tear escaped.
It slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.
Just one.
The moment he saw it—
He went completely still.
His fingers loosened.
For a fleeting second, something shifted in his expression. Something I couldn't identify.
Then he released me abruptly, as though the sight of that single tear had become unbearable.
He stepped back.
His jaw clenched.
He looked away.
And without saying another word, he turned towards the door.
BANG!
The door slammed with such force that the walls seemed to tremble.
And just like that, he was gone.
I remained frozen in my chair.
My fingers instinctively wrapped around my aching arm, rubbing the tender skin as though I could somehow ease the discomfort spreading beneath it.
I didn't understand him.
I didn't understand his anger.
And I certainly didn't understand why, despite everything, his sudden departure left such an unpleasant ache in my chest.
"I don't think he'll be coming back tonight."
Claira's gentle voice came from behind me.
I turned.
"You should sleep here, if you'd like. I know it isn't particularly comfortable, but…"
I couldn't hold it in anymore.
I crossed the distance between us and pulled her into a tight embrace.
"Claira… none of this is your fault. Please don't blame yourself."
I tightened my arms around her.
"And yes… I'd like to stay."
She returned my embrace, a fragile smile appearing through her tears.
"Thank you, Eira."
But sleep remained impossibly distant.
I lay awake, staring into the darkness as one thought after another circled relentlessly through my mind.
Peter.
Claira.
The baby.
And him.
Why had he left like that?
Why had his anger affected me so much?
And why did the memory of his expression when he saw my tear keep returning?
"Are you going to keep turning all night, Eira?"
Claira's sleepy voice interrupted my thoughts.
I immediately stopped moving.
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to wake you."
"It's alright. I couldn't sleep either."
A brief silence settled between us.
Then I turned towards her.
"Claira… can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
I hesitated before speaking.
"Are you really going to tell everyone the truth about Peter? About the baby?"
Her expression changed almost immediately.
She lowered her gaze, her fingers instinctively moving towards her stomach.
"I don't know, Eira…"
Her voice was barely audible.
"I'm scared."
I shifted closer to her.
"Scared of what?"
She swallowed, her eyes glistening.
"Peter."
A pause.
"You don't know what he's capable of. He isn't the person everyone thinks he is. He can be cruel, Eira. And when he doesn't get what he wants…"
Her voice faltered.
"I'm afraid of what he might do."
I remained silent, allowing her to speak.
"What if he finds out that I'm planning to expose him? What if he comes after me? What if he hurts my baby?"
Her hand tightened protectively over her stomach.
"I can endure whatever he does to me, but I won't let him hurt my child."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"Sometimes I think I should just keep quiet. Maybe if I don't say anything, he'll leave us alone."
My heart ached at her words.
I reached for her hand and gently squeezed it.
"Claira, look at me."
She slowly lifted her eyes.
"You don't have to face this alone, alright? And you shouldn't have to live in fear of someone who has already hurt you."
"But what if—"
"Listen to me." I gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. "Peter wants you frightened. He wants you to believe that staying silent is your only option. But you cannot let him decide the rest of your life."
Her eyes filled again.
"I'm not asking you to be fearless, Claira. I know you're terrified. But being afraid doesn't mean you have to surrender."
I paused, choosing my next words carefully.
"You have a child to protect. And that child deserves a future that isn't built around Peter's threats. You deserve that future too."
She looked down at her stomach.
"What if he takes my baby away from me?"
"Then we'll face that possibility with the proper help. But don't give him that victory before anything has even happened."
I brushed away the tear resting on her cheek.
"You're stronger than you think, Claira. And you don't have to prove that strength by enduring everything silently."
For a while, she said nothing.
Then she slowly nodded.
"You're right… I can't keep hiding forever."
A faint smile appeared on my lips.
"Exactly."
"I'll tell the truth, Eira. I don't want another person to suffer because of him."
Her voice still trembled, but this time there was determination beneath the fear.
I smiled and gently squeezed her hand.
"That's my girl."
She managed a small smile before looking away.
But something still seemed to be troubling her.
"There's something else…"
"What is it?"
She hesitated.
"The DNA test."
I frowned slightly.
"What about it?"
"Adrian asked me to get one done."
"That's good, isn't it? It will establish the truth."
She shook her head.
"That's what frightens me."
Her voice grew quieter.
"What if the results prove that the baby is Peter's? What if he finds out that I've been hiding this from him? And what if he becomes even more dangerous after that?"
I watched her anxiously twisting the edge of the blanket between her fingers.
"Claira…"
"What if I regret doing it? What if everything becomes worse?"
I moved closer.
"Listen. The DNA test isn't something you should be frightened of. It's a way to establish the truth. You shouldn't have to spend the rest of your life wondering whether Peter will deny his responsibility or twist the story to suit himself."
"But I'm terrified, Eira."
"I know."
I held her hand.
"But you don't have to make this decision out of fear. Before proceeding, make sure the test is arranged properly and that you have the right medical and legal support. You should understand what the results can establish and how they'll be used."
She looked at me, listening carefully.
"And whatever the result, you won't be facing it alone. You have people who care about you. Don't forget that."
Her eyes glistened once more.
"Do you really think I should go ahead with it?"
I nodded gently.
"I think you deserve the truth, Claira. And so does your baby. Don't let Peter's fear decide everything for you."
For a few moments, she remained quiet.
Then she took a deep breath.
"Alright… I'll do it."
A relieved smile spread across my face.
"Good."
She wiped her cheeks and gave me a small, uncertain smile.
"Thank you, Eira. I don't know what I would have done without you."
"You don't have to thank me."
I pulled her into a gentle embrace.
"We'll get through this."
She hugged me back.
After a moment, she whispered—
"Adrian was the one who suggested the DNA test."
I went still for a second.
"Adrian?"
She nodded.
"Yes. He may not show it, but he's genuinely trying to help me. He's a good person, Eira. You just have to look beyond his attitude."
My gaze drifted towards the darkness beyond the window.
Adrian.
I didn't know what to make of him.
Not anymore.
ADRIAN'S POV
My cave looked as though a storm had torn through it.
Cracked stone littered the floor. Furniture lay overturned. Broken objects were scattered in every direction.
My fists were bruised.
The walls were fractured.
And still, nothing had managed to silence the chaos inside my head.
Her tear.
That single, insignificant drop of water.
Why the hell couldn't I get it out of my mind?
I slammed my fist against the stone wall.
A sharp crack echoed through the cave.
Why did the sight of her crying feel like something had torn through me?
Why did her trembling lips, her frightened eyes, the way she had struggled beneath my grip—
Damn it!
I struck the wall again.
Pain was irrelevant.
I had endured centuries of it. Physical agony had never been something I couldn't withstand.
But that moment—
The instant her tear slipped down her cheek—
I had felt something inside me recoil.
And I despised it.
I seized a bottle of blood from the table and drained it in several harsh gulps.
The metallic taste coated my throat.
Nothing changed.
Not even slightly.
I hurled the empty bottle across the cave.
It shattered against the opposite wall.
Silence.
Then—
My phone vibrated.
Claira.
I stared at the screen for a moment before answering.
"Adrian… I'm ready for the DNA test."
"Tomorrow. Four."
"Alright."
I disconnected the call before she could say anything else.
My jaw tightened.
Eira.
Of course.
She had put that idea into Claira's head.
That infuriating girl.
Always interfering. Always inserting herself into matters that had absolutely nothing to do with her.
And yet—
Why did it bother me so much?
Why couldn't I simply ignore her the way I ignored everyone else?
I dragged a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply.
Then I dialled a number.
"Who is this?"
"It's a shame you're sleeping so peacefully while your life is on the verge of falling apart."
A pause.
"Explain yourself."
"Claira is getting a DNA test tomorrow. And if it proves what I suspect, she'll establish that the child is yours."
"What?"
His voice sharpened.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Your well-wisher."
"Adrian Blake."
I leaned against the stone table, my expression unreadable.
"I just thought you deserved a warning."
"What do you want?"
"Nothing. Unlike you, I don't beg for favours."
A brief silence followed.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Because your father is my business partner. And I have no intention of letting a perfectly profitable arrangement collapse because of your emotional complications."
A low chuckle sounded from the other end.
Then—
"I was beginning to wonder whether this had something to do with that girl… Eira."
Every muscle in my body went rigid.
The name had barely left his mouth when something cold settled beneath my skin.
How dare he?
I slowly lifted my gaze, my expression hardening.
"Eira?"
I repeated it quietly.
"Yes. Quite an interesting little thing, isn't she?"
I didn't answer.
"That innocent face, those pretty eyes… I saw her that night, you know. She really was something. I wouldn't mind getting to know her a little better."
My jaw tightened.
You insolent bastard.
For a fleeting second, the image of his face flashed through my mind.
It would take very little effort to wipe that smug expression off it.
But I held still.
I wasn't about to let this pathetic excuse for a man discover that he'd found something capable of provoking me.
Control yourself, Adrian.
I kept my expression impassive, refusing to give him even the slightest indication that his words had affected me.
"Have you finished?"
My voice was cold enough to cut.
He chuckled.
"Don't tell me you're protective of her, Adrian."
A faint, humourless smile crossed my face.
"I don't waste my time on pathetic emotions or foolish girls who have nothing to offer me."
I let the words settle between us, keeping my tone deliberately indifferent.
"She's none of my concern."
My fingers tightened around the glass.
None of your concern?
The lie tasted bitter.
I took a slow breath, forcing the rage threatening to surface back into its cage.
There was a brief pause.
Then he laughed again.
"Come on. I was only appreciating what I saw."
Keep talking.
I stared at the glass in my hand, my grip tightening until the pressure began to bite into my palm.
One more word. Just one more.
"Not quite," he continued, his amusement growing. "I'd actually love to find out whether she's as sweet as she looks."
CRACK!
The glass shattered in my hand.
Sharp fragments pierced my palm. Blood trickled between my fingers, but I barely noticed.
For a moment, I stared at the crimson liquid running over my skin.
Get a fucking grip.
I slowly unclenched my fist, forcing myself to ignore the sting.
I wouldn't give this bastard the satisfaction of knowing he'd managed to provoke me.
"Are you alright?" he asked, confusion briefly replacing his amusement.
"Perfectly."
My voice was quiet.
Far too quiet.
"Just dealing with a dog who seems to have forgotten his place."
He laughed.
"So, are we friends now?"
I glanced at the blood running down my palm.
A cold smile touched my lips.
"Of course."
I paused.
"We're friends."
I disconnected the call.
The smile vanished instantly.
Peter.
My fingers curled slowly, blood slipping down my wrist.
How dare you even speak her name?
My jaw clenched.
How dare you look at her and think you have the right to imagine touching her?
A low, humourless laugh escaped my throat.
You have no idea how close you came to making that your last conversation.
I looked down at the blood staining my palm.
Then my lips curved into a smile devoid of warmth.
Dare to speak her name again—or even let your thoughts wander in her direction—and I'll make sure you regret ever having a tongue, my dear friend.