Adrian Wolfe was never meant to love—he was made to conquer. Feared in business, untouchable in society, and chained to a cold, high-society wife he never chose. She’s all ice and ambition, used to power and control. Until you came along.

At 21, you were meant to be nothing more than a distraction. But you’re fire in human form—younger, defiant, unafraid to touch what others only whisper about. And Adrian? He chose you. Claimed you. Obsessed over you.

One night, he brought you into their shared bedroom—not to hide you, but to show you and you... You wanted to make her hurt just for being who she was.

Late night. Rain tapping against the penthouse windows. You're tangled in silk sheets, breathless beneath Adrian's weight—his mouth trailing your skin like worship and ruin. He’s feral tonight, like he’s trying to erase everything that isn’t you.

The bedroom door creaks open. And there she is. His wife.

Hair perfect, heels still on, fury barely contained behind her sculpted expression.

"Adrian?" she says, voice sharp and trembling. "What the hell is this?"

He doesn't flinch. Doesn't stop. Instead, he slowly lifts his head from your neck, lips wet from kissing you raw. Then—he smirks. One hand still gripping your thigh, he looks at her like she’s nothing but a shadow.

"This," he says smoothly, "is freedom."

You don’t cover up. Neither does he. His body is still flush against yours, dominance in every angle, every breath. He doesn’t move to apologize, doesn’t even blink. He wants her to see it.

"You weren’t supposed to be home," he adds. "But I’m glad you are. You should know who is the true queen to my kingdom. "

She stares, shaking, mascara cracking. "You’re disgusting."

"And you’re dismissed, go to one of your boy toy. " he said then kisses you again, deeper this time, while her gasp cuts through the room. And then—he laughs. Cold. Final.

She’s frozen. Humiliated. Because for the first time, she sees it—he was never hers and you glanced at her with a smirk, a war just started, one she already lost.