CHAPTER 204: THE ART OF DISTRACTION [III]

The plates had been cleared, laughter still hanging faintly in the air from Aria’s last outrageous story. She was tugging her jacket on, and I fussed with the collar before pulling her into a tight hug.

"Text me when you get home," I murmured into her shoulder.

Aria rolled her eyes fondly. "Yes, mom. Don’t forget to also call me when you are back tomorrow, okay?"

Adrien had been watching in that silent, unreadable way of his, leaning against the archway with his hands in his pockets. When I finally released Aria, his gaze flicked once to Cameron.

"Drive her home," he said.

It wasn’t a question. It was a command, smooth and low, layered with an authority that left no room for debate.

Cam froze, blinking like a deer in headlights. "Wait—what? Why me? I thought I was staying over—"

Adrien didn’t respond. He was already moving, his eyes locked on mine with quiet intent. I barely had time to blink before he scooped me up effortlessly, tossing me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

A startled gasp escaped me, quickly muffled as the world tilted precariously. One moment I was standing, the next I was upside down. "Adrien! What are you doing?" I managed, the soft thud of my hand against his back more performative protest than genuine struggle.

He smacked my thigh lightly, possessively.

"Dinner’s over, princess."

"Seriously? You’re just going to ignore me?" Cameron whined, his voice a mix of incredulity and resignation.

Adrien paused at the doorway, glancing back. "Yes."

I wriggled in protest, though laughter was already slipping into my voice. "Put me down!"

He didn’t even break stride. One broad hand held me steady against his shoulder while the other—oh, of course—slid protectively over the hem of my skirt, pinning the fabric in place as if he could shield me from the air itself. The gesture made my heart thud harder than being hauled off like a sack of flour.

"You’re impossible," I muttered, giving his back a light smack. When that earned me nothing but a faint rumble of amusement from deep in his chest, I tried tickling his side instead. He didn’t even flinch.

"Adrien!" I squeaked, wriggling again. "I mean it—"

"Do you?" His voice was low, calm, but there was something underneath—something molten—that unraveled my indignation in one sweep.

I gave up with a breathless sigh, my arms going limp to dangle over his back. The fight drained out of me, leaving only heat. His fingers flexed against my thigh, secure, possessive, as he carried me through the hall like I was already his prize.

Behind us, Cameron groaned. "Unbelievable. Do you two ever think about how sickening you are?"

Adrien didn’t bother to answer him—again.

The stairwell loomed and I squealed as he adjusted me higher on his shoulder, his stride unhurried, deliberate—like this had been his plan all along. My fists batted half-heartedly at his back, though I was already laughing.

"You’re insane!" I accused, though the breathlessness in my voice gave me away.

"I warned you," he murmured, the rumble vibrating through my ribs. "Dinner’s over."

The door to his bedroom swung open and the next thing I knew, I was airborne. I landed on the mattress with a soft bounce, breath knocked out of me in a gasp. He stood over me for a heartbeat, his tie loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled just enough to bare the veins of his forearms, the shadows in his eyes coiled dark and hungry.

That unreadable expression again—sharp, intent. His hunger never had to be loud. It lived in his stillness, in the way his eyes pinned me as though I was the only thing in the world worth seeing.

And then he came down.

Knees sinking into the mattress, he leaned over me, catching my wrists with an ease that stole my protest. I giggled despite myself, trying to wriggle free, and he just shook his head—soft, disbelieving, like I was the only thing in his world.

"You’re beautiful," he whispered, voice low, raw enough that my laughter faltered.

The playful energy fizzled out, replaced by a sudden, profound stillness. It wasn’t just the words; it was the way he said them, the slight rasp that scraped against the quiet of the room. That unreadable mask he wore so perfectly, the one that held the world at arm’s length, seemed to crack just for a second, letting me see the unguarded man beneath.

My wrists went lax in his hold. The fight, even the pretense of it, was gone. My heart hammered against my ribs, not from surprise or exertion, but from the sheer force of his gaze, the sincerity that stripped me bare. He must have felt the shift in me, the complete surrender, because his grip gentled instantly. His thumbs began to stroke the delicate skin of my inner wrists, a touch so tender it sent a shiver through my entire body.

"Adrien," I breathed, his name a soft question on my lips.

His eyes traced the curve of my cheekbone, the line of my jaw, as if committing every detail to memory. "When you laugh," he continued, his voice a low murmur that seemed to vibrate right through the mattress and into my bones. "Like you did with Aria. When you’re not thinking about it. Just... happy. There’s nothing more beautiful."

The compliment was so specific, so observant, that it stole the air from my lungs all over again. A slow, warm tide of heat washed through me, pooling low in my belly.

Slowly, I worked one hand free, not to push him away, but to lift it to his face. My fingers brushed against the faint rasp of his five o’clock shadow, tracing the hard line of his jaw. He leaned into my touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a fraction of a second, a silent admission of his own vulnerability.

His eyes opened again, and something unreadable flickered there—something darker, steadier. He kissed my palm once before lowering it gently to my lap, his weight shifting so he was propped on one arm beside me.

"I have something to show you," he murmured, almost casually. But his gaze never left mine, as if gauging my every reaction.

Curiosity flickered through me, tangled with the warmth still humming under my skin. "What is it?"