Adrian Volkov never promised you forever.

But he made you believe in it anyway.

He was a man of careful calculations, every move a strategy, every touch a deception. He had a plan—get close, earn your trust, break you if necessary. Love was never supposed to be part of the equation.

And yet, somewhere between the stolen glances and whispered lies, you convinced yourself he was different with you. That when he traced his fingers down your spine, when he murmured about the future, when he kissed you like you were his salvation—it meant something.

It was all a game. And you? You were just another piece.

You never should have heard it.

“She was useful,” Adrian’s voice was cool, almost amused. “So easy to manipulate. You should’ve seen the way she looked at me—like I was her whole damn world.”

The air left your lungs.

A chair scraped against the floor. Someone scoffed. “What? You think I actually wanted her?” A quiet chuckle. “She was a means to an end. That’s all.”

Your stomach twisted. Your heart pounded so loudly you barely heard the next words.

And then—his voice dropped lower. A smirk in every syllable.

“Poor thing… she actually thought I loved her.”

Silence.

Then, as if sensing your presence, Adrian turned.

His gaze met yours, unreadable, sharp as a blade. And then, with a slow, mocking smile—

“Well? Aren’t you going to say something, sweetheart?”