Redamancy (Fated Fixation #2)

by H.C. Dolores

“But I’ve sold every piece I’ve ever shown.” I had most of them priced at a hundred bucks or less, though.

I wonder who bought them 👉🏻👈🏻

Did that asshole seriously just pretend like he didn’t know my name?

Of course :)))

“We don’t need you to replace the fridge right now,” I say, and every word comes through clenched teeth. “We’ll settle for you not doubling our rent.” “Yeah, about that,” he says. “Those decisions are over my head now.” My eyebrows scrunch together. “What do you mean?” “It means someone bought the building, kid,” he replies. “If you’ve got a problem, you’ll have to take it up with the new owner.”

Mhmmm who might that be …:))))

I clear my throat. “I just have a bunch of errands to run,” I continue, which isn’t a total lie. Grocery shopping awaits. “And I’m sure you’ve got a very busy day ahead of you—plus, it’s past lunchtime, and traffic heading into Manhattan is going to suck, so…”

“How perfect,” he says. “I’m heading into Manhattan, and today is my off day, so I’m not busy—not in the slightest. I’d love to run errands with you.”

Ugh 👉🏻👈🏻

“I think you’re misunderstanding here…when I say errands, I mean actual errands. Really dull errands. Like grocery shopping.” Unfortunately, those two words don’t seem to inspire the same dread in Adrian that they usually do in me, because he presses the console button—again. “Alex, please re-route to the closest grocery store in Manhattan.”

I was prepared for emotional manipulation when I rejected his friendship—but financial? That was not a trick I was expecting him to pull, but… I could really use the money.

Gurl of course u will :)))

I square my shoulders. “It’s still too risky—even for a thousand dollars,” I tell him. His eyes narrow. “I see.” “But a thousand dollars per hour,” I counter, stomach fluttering with nerves. “And I’ll take the risk.” This is fucking crazy. I’m fucking crazy. He’s not going to— “Give me your phone,” he orders. I scramble for the cracked device in my pocket, unlock the screen, and relinquish it with zero hesitation. Is this seriously happening? I don’t catch what he types in, but he hands it back a moment later, seemingly unchanged. Maybe he’s just fucking with me. Maybe he’s— A new notification pops up on the screen, and I’m pretty sure I stop breathing altogether. Adrian sent you $1,000

Money talksss

“You have a cat,” Adrian repeats, and then, much more quietly: “How did I not know you had a cat?” The question doesn’t feel like it’s for me, but I answer anyway.

Mhmm ;)))

It’s an easy boundary to maintain between Adrian’s never-ending hours at the hospital, and my…well, everything currently. So, we text. All the time. When he’s not cracking open someone’s chest under sterile LED lights, he’s messaging me. Telling me about his day. His coworkers. Occasionally threatening their lives.

“Okay—woah, just slow down, LuAnne,” I say, shooting Tom a stressed glance. His expression mirrors mine, and he even mouths: is she okay? “It must not be someone you know very well either,” Adrian says. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t need to pull this stunt.” “Don’t do anything rash,” I plead as I hurriedly throw on my coat and Tom hands me my purse. “I’m on my way, okay?” “You’re on a date,” Adrian concludes, and he no longer sounds amused. “And a very poor one, it seems.” I swallow. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” I hang up the phone before he can draw any more conclusions, but the flattening of his voice—and what that might mean—stays with me the entire walk home.

Evil:)))

“It does matter,” Adrian says quietly, and I look up at him, breath catching when I spot the severity in his gaze. “You should always feel seen.” He takes a step toward me, and I feel it—that current still there, still sparking between us. “You should never walk into a room and feel anything less than the most important thing inside it.”

“I think you misunderstand me. There’s one buyer for your entire collection.” I’m almost positive I stop breathing altogether. “Like…the whole thing?” She nods. Holy shit. I’ve made twenty grand tonight.

Who might that be times 2:)))

“Tell me,” he orders. “What you’re thinking about.” My hands, situated on his shoulders for stability, fist the fabric of his sweater more tightly than necessary. “Why?” His dark eyes root me to the spot. “Because I want to know every single thought that runs through your head, no matter how fleeting.” A pause. “Because…” His jaw tightens, and he glances away, as if he’s irritated by even having to admit it. “It bothers me when I don’t know. The idea that you could be thinking something, even small or significant, and I wouldn’t know…it’s unsettling beyond belief.”

Cutie

Because there, tucked beneath his collarbone and positioned right over his chest, Adrian has a tattoo of a poppy flower. “You have a tattoo.” Shock colors my voice, and my trembling fingers reach for his exposed skin, half-expecting the ink to smudge with pressure. It doesn’t. “You have a tattoo,” I repeat, but it doesn’t sound any less unbelievable the second time. “Of my name.” And, judging by the lack of scabbing, flaking, and raised skin, it’s not a fresh addition. “When?” My voice shakes just as much as my hand. The intensity in his eyes is nearly suffocating. “Several years ago.”

Obviously

“Like no one at all?” He leans forward, dark eyes flaring with heat. “No.” My mouth hangs open. “You never had any urge to—” “No,” he interjects. “The interest has never been there for anyone but you. You’re the only person I’ll ever have.” He parts my legs open. “Obviously, the same cannot be said for you, but I understand. You didn’t know this was our ending yet.” There’s something in the softness of his voice that makes me uneasy. “And it’s some consolation to know that at least I’ve killed any man who’s ever touched you in this way.”

Expected since he is OBSESSED🫦