Page 101 of Undisputed Chaos
I helped her out, one hand lingering at the small of her back as I retrieved the bag.
"This way."
I led her through the garage, and she eyed every car and torture tool like they were items from a museum until we reached my back door.
Her confusion deepened as I punched in the security code and led her through.
"Adrian, what are we doing?"
I didn't answer, too focused on the weight of the bag in my hand, on the knowledge that soon these physical tethers to her past would be nothing but ash.
We emerged into my sprawling yard, acres of private oasis with views of the skyline, featuring a custom fire pit I'd installed for exactly this kind of occasion.
"It's beautiful," Isla breathed, momentarily distracted by the city spread out before us. "I didn't know you had a?—"
Her words died as I strode to the fire pit, dropped the bag beside it, and began stacking kindling. I could feel her eyes on me as I worked, could sense her growing unease as understanding slowly settled.
"Adrian," she said, her voice smaller now. "What are you doing?"
I looked up at her, at the woman who'd worn my mark without hesitation but still kept another man's gifts tucked away in her home. The wildness in my chest expanded.
"What does it look like, angel? We're having a bonfire."
Her eyes widened, darting from me to the garbage bag and back. "With my things? But I thought... I thought you just wanted me to collect them."
I stood, towering over her smaller frame, something wild and thrumming through my veins like a drug.
"Collecting them was step one," I explained, reaching for the can of accelerant I kept nearby. "Destroying them is step two."
"What? No!" She moved forward, reaching for the bag, but I was faster, my arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her back against my chest.
"Adrian, please. Some of those things... they mean something to me."
Those words were like gasoline on the fire already burning in my chest. I spun her to face me, hands firm on her shoulders.
"That's exactly the problem, Isla,” I growled, searching her worried blue eyes. "They shouldn't mean anything to you anymore. Not now. Not with me."
Her lower lip trembled, and for a moment, I hated myself for putting that look on her face.
But this wasn't a negotiation—it was a purging.
I released her, turned back to the fire pit, and emptied the bag onto the kindling.
Photos, letters, the sweater, the diamond pendant, all of it tumbled out in a pile of memories I was determined to incinerate.
I heard her small gasp behind me, felt her move forward again, but I held up a hand without turning.
"Don't," I warned, low and dangerous.
The need for fire was consuming me now, making my hands shake with barely contained energy.
"Adrian, please." Her voice cracked on my name. "That necklace was from my graduation. And the photo album has pictures of me with my school friends, not just Noah."
I turned to face her, something in her plea breaking through the possessive haze. "You can replace all of it," I assured her, reaching into my back pocket for my wallet.
I extracted my black card, the one with no limit, the one that could buy anything money could touch.
Moving toward her, I trailed the edge of the card along her collarbone, watching goosebumps rise in its wake.
