Sophie’s POV
I stare at the black lace panties in my trembling hands, Adrian's note burning like fire against my palm.
The familiar scent of expensive paper mingles with my own rapid breathing as five months of carefully constructed walls crumble in an instant. My heart hammers against my ribs—excitement and terror warring in my chest like opposing armies.
He's here. He has to be here.
The thought consumes what's left of my rational mind, drowning out every piece of advice Cleo's given me, every therapy session I've talked myself out of, every night I've convinced myself I'm better off without him.
"Adrian?" I call out to my empty apartment, my voice cracking like I'm thirteen again and scared of monsters under the bed. Except this monster is six-foot-two with storm-gray eyes and hands that know exactly how to unravel me.
I tear through my apartment like a woman possessed, checking behind curtains that couldn't hide a cat, let alone a grown man.
My hands shake as I yank open my closet door, pushing aside clothes that still smell faintly of the perfume I wore when I thought I might see him on campus.
"I know you're here," I whisper to the silence, but my voice sounds more desperate than commanding. "This isn't funny, Adrian. Just... come out."
Nothing.
I drop to my knees, peering under my bed like he might be hiding there with dust bunnies and forgotten textbooks.
The hardwood is cold against my palms as I scramble back up, rushing toward the bathroom. I yank open the door, half-expecting to find storm-gray eyes watching me from the shadows.
Empty. Just my reflection staring back from the mirror above the sink, wild-eyed and flushed, clutching lace panties like they're a lifeline.
"Fuck," I breathe, pressing my back against the bathroom door. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
But the certainty burns in my veins anyway. Adrian Lewis doesn't do anything halfway, and this isn't just a message—it's a declaration. A promise wrapped in expensive paper and sealed with the most intimate reminder of what we used to be.
The panties feel like silk-wrapped promises against my skin as I clutch them, memories flooding back with devastating clarity.
I remember exactly how they'd disappeared that first night at the club—his fingers hooking beneath the elastic, sliding them down my legs with deliberate slowness while I gasped against that VIP room wall.
"You're mine," he'd whispered against my neck, pocketing the lace like a trophy. "Even when you don't know it yet."
And then months later, they'd reappeared in my graded papers like breadcrumbs leading me deeper into his maze. Each time more intimate, more possessive, more proof that Adrian Lewis didn't forget anything—especially not the ways he'd claimed me.
My phone buzzes against my thigh, the vibration making me jump like I've been caught doing something illegal.
Cleo's name flashes across the screen with a message about dinner plans, something about trying that new Thai place downtown, but I can barely process the words through the chaos in my head.
Cleo: Where have you been?
I want to text back “Adrian's back and I'm losing my fucking mind” But my fingers can't seem to form the words.
My mind spirals between relief and panic, each emotion crashing into the next like waves against rocks. He's alive—the thought hits me with unexpected force.
For months, I've wondered if something terrible had happened to him. If the investigation had destroyed more than just his career. If he'd done something drastic, something permanent, because of the scandal.
He's free—another wave of relief mixed with terror. Which means whatever charges Vaughn tried to bring against him didn't stick. Which means he's been out there this whole time, choosing not to contact me.
Until now.
He found me—the most terrifying realization of all. I'd changed apartments twice since the investigation, thinking distance might help me heal.
But Adrian Lewis doesn't lose things he considers his, and apparently five months of silence hadn't changed his mind about what I am to him.
But what does he want? What game is he playing now?
The note's words echo in my head like a mantra I can't escape: Can't wait to see you in these again. And without them.
The casual confidence of it makes my thighs clench involuntarily. Not "if you'll let me" or "when you're ready." Just the absolute certainty that I'll put them on, that I'll let him take them off, that despite everything that's happened, I'm still his to command.
The worst part is, he's probably right.
I sink onto my bed, panties twisted in my white-knuckled grip, and try to remember who I was before Adrian Lewis walked into my literature class and rewrote my understanding of desire.
That girl feels like a stranger now—careful, controlled, content with mediocre sex and color-coded planners.
"You destroyed her," I whisper to my empty room, unsure if I'm talking to Adrian or to myself. "You completely fucking destroyed her."
Part of me wants to throw the panties away, pretend this never happened, continue building my life without him.
I've been doing better—eating regularly, sleeping through the night, going days without thinking about the red room or the way he'd whisper "good girl" when I obeyed.
But a darker part, the part he'd awakened and owned completely, thrums with anticipation.
That part remembers how alive I felt under his hands, how every nerve ending had sung with purpose when he looked at me like I was the only thing in the universe worth his attention.
"What do you want from me?" I ask the silence, but I already know the answer.
Everything. He wants everything, just like before.
My phone buzzes again. Cleo, probably wondering why I haven't responded to her dinner invitation. I should call her, tell her what happened, let her talk me out of whatever I'm about to do.
Instead, I spread the panties across my comforter, studying them like they might reveal Adrian's location. They're exactly as I remember—delicate black lace with a tiny bow at the front, designed to make the wearer feel beautiful and desired and owned.
I'd been wearing them that first night at the club, when everything changed. When a masked stranger had pushed me against a wall and made me understand what I'd been missing in my safe, predictable life.
Now they're back, carrying the weight of everything unfinished between us.
Because despite everything Dr. Vaughn had done, despite the investigation and his disappearance, despite five months of trying to convince myself I was better off without him, Adrian Lewis was back.
And God help me, I had no idea if I was strong enough to resist him again.
Or if I even wanted to try.