Kiss waking up in Adrian's villa, panic, and embarrassment
Her internal thoughts and confusion
Adrian's controlled arrogance, teasing, and subtle concern
Their chemistry building through dialogue and body language
Tension with the maid incident
A soft cliffhanger to lead naturally to the next chapter
Here's the expanded Chapter 6:
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CHAPTER 6: WAKING UP IN THE DEVIL'S LAIR
KISS'S POV
The first thing I felt was warmth.
A thick, heavy blanket draped over me, soft sheets beneath my body, and a faint scent of cedarwood, smoke, and something expensive I couldn't name. The combination was strangely comforting… and terrifying.
The second thing I felt was pain—a dull ache pulsing behind my eyes.
"Ugh… my head," I groaned, pressing my fingers to my temples.
I forced my eyes open.
That's when I realized…
This was not my room.
The ceiling was too high, painted a deep, luxurious grey. The walls were dark, almost velvet-like, and adorned with abstract art that screamed millions. The floor was polished marble, cool under my bare feet. Every detail screamed wealth—billionaire-level wealth—and it made my stomach twist.
Where the hell am I? panic surged. My heartbeat rattled in my ears.
I sat up too quickly and groaned. Definitely a bad idea.
As the blanket slipped from my shoulders, I froze.
I was wearing… a man's shirt.
Black, oversized, hanging off one shoulder like something from a drama series. My cheeks flushed instantly. My stomach knotted. My mind raced. What happened last night? Panic and embarrassment collided in a storm.
Before I could spiral further, the door creaked open.
He walked in.
'Mr. Watch Your Way.'
Tall, cold, impossibly handsome, and utterly intimidating. He carried a glass of water and a small bottle of painkillers as if it were the most mundane task in the world.
My breath caught in my throat.
In the daylight, he looked different—less lethal, more… human. But still terrifyingly commanding. Every movement exuded control, and every glance made my knees weak.
"You're awake," he said, voice smooth and deep, perfectly controlled.
I clutched the blanket like a shield.
"W-Why am I here? And why am I wearing your shirt?" I demanded, my voice shaking slightly.
He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"You spilled alcohol on your dress, remember?" His tone was casual, but I noticed the subtle sharpness behind it.
I didn't remember.
I didn't dare admit that.
He placed the water on the nightstand and leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed.
"Relax. I didn't touch you."
Relief flooded me—but it quickly mixed with embarrassment.
"Thank… you… I guess," I muttered, voice barely above a whisper.
"You should thank me," he replied evenly. "You were seconds away from falling off a bar stool."
My face burned hotter than the morning sun.
"Oh my God…" I muttered under my breath.
"And you cried," he added casually, as if it were no big deal.
"I WHAT?!" I shrieked, mortified.
He smirked.
"Like a cute drunk kitten," he said, tone dripping with amusement.
I grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. He dodged effortlessly.
"Stop laughing!" I hissed.
"I'm not laughing," he said smoothly.
[But his smirk betrayed him.]
I rubbed my temples, trying to gather some semblance of composure, when I felt his eyes on me—intense, unrelenting, and unreadable.
"Does your head hurt?" he asked suddenly.
"A little…" I admitted, still embarrassed.
He walked toward me slowly. Every step deliberate, every movement confident and predatory. He sat on the edge of the bed, dangerously close, picked up the painkillers, and held them out.
I swallowed them quickly and whispered, "Thank you, Mr. Watch Your Way…"
His expression softened slightly.
"And don't call me that. I'm Adrian Goodwill," he said arrogantly. I rolled my eyes at the arrogance dripping from him.
"Don't thank me. Just stop drinking cheap alcohol," he added, the smirk never leaving his face.
I rolled my eyes again.
He studied me quietly, too quietly, like he could read my every thought. Then his gaze drifted to my cheek—the faint bruise from last night.
His jaw tightened imperceptibly.
"Does it hurt?" he asked softly.
"A little," I admitted.
"Who did that to you?" His voice was calm but sharp, like a whip.
I looked away. "It's nothing."
He leaned closer—so close I could feel his warm breath brushing my skin.
"Sweetheart… when I ask a question, I expect an answer."
"I told you—it's not important."
His eyes darkened. "It's important to me."
Before I could reply, someone knocked on the door.
"Boss, breakfast is—" the maid paused, frozen, staring at me… in his shirt… on his bed.
I felt my soul leave my body.
Adrian's eyes darkened dangerously.
"Speak of this and you're fired," he warned.
She disappeared instantly.
I buried my face in my hands. "This is so embarrassing…"
He chuckled softly.
"Relax. I don't bring women here."
I slowly lifted my head. "You don't?"
He shook his head once. "You're the first."
My heart dropped straight into my stomach.
Why did that sound so… intimate?
He stood and extended his hand.
"Come downstairs and eat something before you faint again."
"I didn't faint!" I protested.
"You did," he countered effortlessly.
"I didn't!"
"You fell into my chest and snored," he added casually.
I grabbed the pillow and hit him again.
He laughed.
And just like that, the dangerous, cold mafia boss suddenly felt like someone I wanted to know… someone who made my heart race for reasons I couldn't understand.
Someone who could ruin me… completely.
As I took his hand and stood, he leaned close, and his breath tickled my ear.
"You really are trouble, sweetheart," he whispered.
My knees went weak.
And I knew, deep in my bones… this wasn't over.