Adrian's POV
He timed the moment perfectly.
Every step. Every corner. Every second.
Ava was always late on Thursdays. She moved in rushed patterns—quiet girl, lost in thought, clinging to her sketchbook like it held her together. He'd been studying her long enough to know she hated being seen.
But today, she saw him.
And now, she would never unsee him again.
Adrian walked slowly down the corridor, heart steady, breath measured—until he turned the corner and she crashed into him.
Soft. Small. Unaware.
Just the way he liked her.
Her scent hit him first—jasmine, paint, a hint of turpentine and earth. It wrapped around him like a memory he never had. He hadn't meant to touch her for long, but his hands lingered. Her skin was warmer than he expected. Her eyes, wider. Unpainted.
Innocent.
She looked up at him, startled. Unknowing. Fragile in the most exquisite way.
"I—uh, I'm sorry," she said, voice breathless.
God. Her voice.
He could've swallowed it.
He said her name, softly, deliberately.
Watched the way her pupils dilated when she realized.
She was scared.
Not enough to run.
Just enough to remember.
Good.
She turned her face slightly, and he caught it—the first flicker of recognition. A seed planted. A thread pulled.
He walked away before she could ask anything.
Before she could question.
Leave her wanting.
Leave her wondering.
Behind his calm, his mind burned. Her touch was still on his shirt. Her scent still in his lungs. Her eyes—startled and wide—seared behind his eyelids.
She didn't know it yet.
But her world had just been divided in two: Before Adrian. After Adrian.
He hadn't planned on falling this fast.
But obsession had never asked for permission.
He would have her.
Not just her time. Not just her body.
Her everything.
Ava Sinclair.
The girl who painted to survive.
The girl who didn't yet know she was his.
And now that she'd seen him—really seen him—
There was no turning back.
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