They called him Crimson.
A name passed in hushed tones across boardrooms and blood-soaked backrooms as well. A specter, a silhouette, a legend constructed of fear and respect. Worlds trembled before him with no knowledge of the man behind the name. Contracts were signed in his name without one veiled threat being spoken, only the power of a reputation no one wished to challenge.
Adrian Fox—no, Adrian Crimson—watched the city from his hidden vantage, a hood pulled over his eyes as rain dripped down from the rusty edge of the derelict warehouse that was temporary home.
They thought him to be invincible. Invisible. Out of reach.
And that was how he liked it.
Until her.
He had watched her long before she ever saw him, going by with a coffee in her hand, laughter piercing the drabness of his life suffocated in grey. Bella Anderson. Intelligent, too intelligent for a man like him. Yet every morning, Crimson sat on that corner, buried under coats of grime and tattered clothes, watching her pass by.
He told himself it was nothing. Something as meaningless as curiosity.
But fascination turned to fixation the day he saw her run, her heels shrieking on the soggy sidewalk, tears glinting in her eyes as she skidded to a halt in front of him.
She whirled around, staring at the street, her eyes wild as if the world was crashing in around her.
And then her eyes met his.
"Please," she said, her voice breaking with desperation, "I need your help."
At that instant, her dainty hand curled around his dirt-stained one, pulling him to her as her ex-boyfriend laughed in the distance, a woman draped over his shoulder.
And before Adrian Crimson could remember that he was the world's most powerful man, he felt Bella's mouth crash onto his.
In that single kiss, he had felt the bitter agony of a woman who was unaware of who he was. Who cared little for the wealth he had at his disposal or the thrones available at his behest. A woman who had seen a beggar and brought him into her life with no fear.
Bella pulled away, breathless, her lips trembling as her wide eyes locked onto his. The rain plastered her hair to her cheeks, mascara smudged beneath lashes that fluttered as she blinked away tears—and maybe regret.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the traffic and the pounding in his ears. "I just—needed him to see—"
Her words faltered as she looked harder, really seeing the man that she'd just kissed.
His hood fell away from his face, and Bella noticed razor-sharp cheekbones dusted with dirt, a hard jawline, and eyes so black they ate the light. In that one moment, Bella's breath caught, confusion fighting the fear that maybe she'd just done the most enormous mistake of her life.
But Crimson only tilted his head, his mouth twisting into a sardonic smile as he gazed at her, a man faking being a predator.
"Had to make him see what, bella?" His voice was low, softly menacing, like silk wrapped around a knife.
She flinched, feeling as if he'd said bella, which meant beautiful in Italian, with no clue it was her name. Or maybe he did know. In some manner, the discovery caused her heart to falter.
Bella turned, following the direction of his gaze. Across the street, her ex stood frozen, his arm still slung around his new girlfriend, his smirk fading into confusion and annoyance. He glared at Bella, mouthing words she couldn't hear, but the message was clear: Jealousy. Possession. Control.
Bella's hands shook as she turned back to Crimson. "I needed him to see that I've moved on. That I'm not—broken."
Her voice quivered on the last word, and she hated the way vulnerable she sounded.
Crimson's dark eyes glinted, though his face was unreadable as he leaned in, his thumb tracing her lower lip, smearing her lipstick further.
"You shouldn't be deceiving yourself, bella," he whispered. "But I can help you deceive him."
Her breath was stolen as thunder rolled above them, the rain growing heavy, drenching them both. Everything around them moved: cars splashing water puddles, horns blowing, people passing by without a glance at the street vagabond placing his hand on the trembling woman.
Bella drew back, but his hand held her wrist, firmly but unyielding.
"Please," she gasped, desperation flashing in her eyes. "Will you help me?"
Adrian Crimson looked down at the small, rain-soaked hand in his.
This was it.
The moment he emerged from the covers he had so expertly created, risking everything on a woman who didn't even know who he truly was. A woman who would hate him if she ever did.
But with the laughter of her ex-boyfriend ringing out on the street, something inside Crimson snapped.
He lifted Bella's hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles with a deference that did not belong to a man like he was.
"Call me Crimson," he growled, his voice as menacing as the threat of storm.
And in that instant, Bella Anderson's fate was sealed.