Adrian (Filthy Rich Alphas)

“Adrian, you come near me, and I'll dig your balls out of your groin.”

He covered his crotch.

Good boy.

“And I'm telling your father about this. It's outrageous.” I stormed out of my room, realized I only had a towel on and returned to my room. “Okay. Please, get out of my bedroom.”

“Yes, Mommy,” he muttered.

“Fuck you, Adrian.”

He headed out. “I'm sorry, Carmen. I shouldn't have done this.”

“Just go.”

“I really am sorry.” He turned around and backed out. “I went too far. How can I solve this?”

I slammed the door in his face.

“I'm sorry,” he called out on the other side. “I could buy you some new shorts if you would like. Tighter ones, of course.”

“Fuck you, Adrian.”

“Okay.”

I stood there, leaned into the surface, and hoped I would hear his footsteps going away. Quiet greeted my ears.

I called out, “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” he called back like a loon.

I frowned. “Why?”

“I–I'm not a pervert. Well...okay. I am a pervert, but I'm not like one of those rapist type of perverts.”

“Okay,” I yelled back. “Note to self, Adrian is a special type of pervert.”

“Exactly! I’m the harmless kind of pervert.”

“Great. I’m comforted in that.”

“Carmen—”

“There is nothing else for us to discuss. All of this is for your therapist and you to figure out.”

“Carmen, I don't hurt women, but I do act differently where you're concerned. I’ve done some weird things since meeting you.”

“Please tell me there isn’t more to confess.”

“Look. I’m a bit odder when you’re around.”

“That doesn’t make me comfortable in the least.”

“Me either. That’s why I sought therapy.”

I didn't say anything. What did one say after all that?

Adrian’s footsteps sounded as he probably headed off to his room that was only three doors down.

I scanned my lavish bedroom for any more signs of Adrian’s nastiness. The door to my walk-in closet remained closed. Nothing else appeared disturbed. The thick, ivory carpet only displayed my footprints. The crimson red blankets on my bed had not been disturbed, nor my jewelry covered dresser.

How did I get here? What am I even doing with my life?

My engagement to Nick had been rushed. Frankly, it was turning into an awfully bad mistake. The only thing I hadn’t regretted was moving into such a nice place and enjoying a little luxury for a while.

Nick’s mansion represented the biggest home I’d ever lived in. It had been listed at one hundred twenty-five million dollars. The property sat on forty acres of lush land. Pink roses lined the front. Hordes of typical Florida orange trees crowded the back. Just like most Miami estates, one could find mangoes, coconuts, and other fruit trees.

A full staff maintained everything. There were so many people I could barely keep up with their names, although I did my best to try. And these days, I conversed with the cooks and maids more than my own fiancé. Nick barely came home, while Adrian made it his business to see me in the morning for breakfast and sit with me during dinner at night.

What I knew for sure was that I had to have a long talk with Nick about his son and the depleting status of our engagement.

Time to look closer to this life and see the rust behind all the glamour. Like they always say, all that glitters is not gold.

Chapter 2

Let me explain

Adrian

Carmen was more than my dad deserved, a queen spun from gold and all the things that were beautiful in life.

Dad broke hearts.

He was a typical billionaire—smart in business, but a horny teenager when it came to love.

Due to his money, there were many before Carmen—countless faces and forgettable names. These women had greedy fingers and cold eyes. And when I returned from graduate school, these women found their way to my bed, hoping to sample forbidden fruit. They sucked the emotion out of my dad like vampires.

He didn't care that I fucked them. I didn’t fuck them all, just a few while I was drunk and bored. For him, women were only big breasts and wet sex. As with my mom, he feasted on their essence, drained them of life, and moved on.

My parents divorced when I turned eight years old.

When Dad left Mom, he surrounded himself with five lawyers, stole away Mom’s custody rights, and left her with nothing. A week later, the police discovered her bloody body in a gas station restroom. The press had a field day.

“The Tragedy of Wealth: Nick Ford’s ex-wife commits suicide due to poverty and bouts of depression.”

The articles declared that cuts decorated her wrists. It took me until my early teenage years to forgive Dad enough to where I could stand next to him without gutting him alive. That was why I moved back after Harvard. Dad was all I had in this world. I hoped to build a healthier relationship with him and get over my demons.