Chapter 4

For Chloe, I moved towards Adrian.

I was two steps away when my strength gave out, and I stumbled a step forward.

He quickly reached out to steady me, his burning palm grasping my waist, feeling like fire.

"Careful." His voice was hoarse, his grip controlled but trembling.

The electronic voice counted to four. The comments section mocked:

[CAN'T EVEN HOLD HER WAIST PROPERLY?]

[MR. STERLING, ARE YOU IMPOTENT?]

[WOMAN, JUST THROW YOURSELF INTO HIS ARMS!]

I gritted my teeth. "Kiss me!"

Cold sweat from my forehead dripped into my eyes, stinging. I didn't dare close them, staring into his.

His bloodshot eyes held a fierce struggle. His Adam's apple bobbed, and his head slowly lowered.

His breath caressed the top of my head, intensely invasive.

The kiss was as light as a feather, faintly cool, momentarily easing some of the burning heat.

The unexpected tenderness only made me more uneasy.

My mind screamed to push him away, but my body responded with an honest desire to hold him close.

The comments section exploded:

[FINALLY KISSED! NOW GRAB HER CHEST!]

He whispered, barely audible, "The tracker's activated. Just hold on."

His wound was fake, a ruse to activate an implanted chip.

I snapped awake, pulling my hand away.

The electronic voice grumbled, "Ms. Summer, you're not being active enough. Take off a piece of clothing, or we'll feed your sister some 'goodies' too."

I snarled, "You wouldn't dare!"

The screen switched to Chloe's feed; someone was clearly preparing to force-feed her the drug.

I screamed, trying to touch the screen, but he held me back.

"Don't be impulsive," he said, his voice hoarse but steady. "They want us to lose control."

I choked back a sob. "But Chloe..."

Seeing my sister trembling, my heart ached.

He unbuttoned his blazer, taking it off, leaving him in a white shirt, his wound still seeping blood.

"Take it off," he said. "I promise I won't touch you, except when absolutely necessary."

My hands trembled as I unbuttoned my dress, revealing my slip. Shame washed over me.

The comments section cheered, obscene words lashing out at me like whips.

He held me, his palms resting on my back, no caress, just contact.

His body temperature was searing, his breathing ragged. I could feel him desperately holding back.

"I'm sorry, you've been so wronged," he whispered in my ear.

My tears fell, wetting his shirt.

He suddenly lowered his head and kissed me.

The kiss was laced with the drug's wild madness and pain, a hint of metallic blood, yet his touch was so careful not to hurt me.

My body was tense, my mind screaming to stop, but my body responded instinctively.

We were like suppressed flames colliding, igniting an inferno.

His hand slid to my sensitive waist, then abruptly stopped. He pushed me away, gasping for air, "I'm sorry, I lost control."

I fell back, my slip strap slipped, leaving me exposed.

He also collapsed, his shirt soaked with sweat, his wound torn open again, blood dripping onto the floor.

Sweat mixed with blood. The comments section still roared, but the electronic voice remained silent.

Suddenly, I felt that holding onto my last shred of dignity, even if it meant dying here, would be worth it.