TWO MONTHS AGO. The beginning of the story

INT. ADRIAN'S PENTHOUSE. NIGHT

New York. A skyscraper. The silence of the penthouse. The only sound is the monotonous shushing of the autumn rain, beating against the panoramic windows.

The interior is the embodiment of restrained, masculine luxury and immense wealth. Art Deco and high-tech have merged into perfect geometry. Expensive designer furniture, a casually tossed cashmere throw on the sofa, walls hung with original contemporary art.

Adrian steps out of the bathroom. Thoroughbred, with an ideally balanced physique. Dark, wet hair is carelessly swept back, exposing a high forehead. He wears only a bath towel wrapped around his hips. He approaches a minimalist, black bar. The sound of ice falling into a glass breaks the silence. Adrian pours himself an amber, expensive whiskey, enjoying the moment of solitude. A sharp, unpleasant ring at the door shatters his perfect peace. He winces in annoyance. At this hour—almost one in the morning—no one ever visits him. He sets down his glass and slips on a robe. Without hiding his irritation, he opens the door - and freezes.

Ellen stands on the threshold. She is wearing an expensive, but thoroughly drenched silk coat. Her golden hair clings to her face and neck, and her makeup has run in black rivulets. But even in this state, she is stunningly beautiful. Perfect features, high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes—bright, incredibly blue, like a rare, precious stone. Now, they are frozen with panic-stricken fear.

ADRIAN: Ellen? What the hell...

ELLEN: I need to talk to you.

He instantly steps back, letting her enter. Settling her on the sofa, he pours her a whiskey. As he hands her the glass, their fingers brush. And in that moment, the fire they were both once forced to extinguish—many years ago—flares up between them. His hand lingers a second longer than necessary. Snapping back to himself, Adrian pulls his hand away sharply, taking a step back. He feels unbearably hot. He finds his shirt on the back of a chair and puts it on behind the screen, buttoning it too fast, as if putting on not a shirt, but armor.

ADRIAN: Honestly, I’m very surprised. So much time has passed. What brings you to New York? Where is Theo? Are you here on business?

ELLEN: I know we haven't seen each other in years. But I need your help.

ADRIAN: With what?

Ellen stands up. Her coat slides from her shoulders to the floor. She raises a hand to the collar of her blouse, which is wet from the rain and clings to her body, emphasizing every curve. She begins to unbutton it. Adrian tenses. She was just as sexual and captivating as before fate separated them and she married his older brother, Theo.

ADRIAN: (Sharply) What are you doing?

In response, tears flood Ellen's face. Not just tears, but a silent, desperate hysteria. With a quick movement, she pulls off her blouse, and her shoulders, chest, abdomen—her entire body, previously hidden—is exposed to his gaze. Bruises. Purple, yellow, crimson, old, and brand new contusions. Abrasions, some of which are still bleeding. She was not a person, but a canvas painted with someone else’s savage cruelty.

ADRIAN: (Coldly, like ice) Who did this?

ELLEN: (Whispering) Theo...

Rage flares in Adrian. Blood pounds in his temples, blurring his vision. How dare he raise a hand against her? Against the beautiful, pure Ellen, whom he once adored?

ADRIAN: I will destroy him!

He wants to rush to the door, but she grabs his arm. Her fingers dig into his skin. Her eyes hold not just fear, but sheer terror.

ELLEN: Don't touch him, I beg you! He doesn't know I came to you. I took advantage of him being on a business trip and flew here for just one day. I have nowhere else to turn! If Theo finds out I told anyone about this, he'll destroy me. My family won't accept me after a scandal. To them, I'm just a mistress's daughter, easy to sacrifice to your brother. I can't expect protection from anywhere. If he finds out I was with you... he will ruin me. And take everything. His family... your family... You know how they feel about me.

Adrian looks at her. He cannot believe what he is hearing. Theo had always been harsh, but this...

ADRIAN: Take off the rest of your clothes, - he says quietly, but in a commanding tone.

Ellen freezes. An insult flickers in her eyes, but Adrian gives her no chance to speak.

ADRIAN: I need to see for myself how far Theo has gone.

Ellen hesitates for only a second. Then, silently, head bowed, she removes her skirt. Underneath are even more bruises. Purple marks on her ribs, on her thighs, on her waist. Some fresh, others old. Not a single untouched spot.

Adrian clenches his jaw. He feels a surge of fury. He slowly closes his eyes to regain control.

ADRIAN: If you don't want me to intervene and ruin his life, what do you want?

She exhales, looking him straight in the eyes with hope.

ELLEN: A divorce. Without consequences. Without being thrown out onto the street. But I can't be the one to initiate it—the family will destroy me.

ADRIAN: I'm not a divorce lawyer. How can I help you?

ELLEN: According to the prenup, the only way for me to leave him and keep my name and assets is if he cheats on me. Truly cheats. Without drugs or aphrodisiacs. He has to consciously go through with it himself.

ADRIAN: You want me to set up my own brother? Why should I help you?

She raises her blue eyes to him. That old, forbidden fire reappears in them.

ELLEN: Because you are not like them. You don't hit. You don't break. You are... different. And if I leave—I will be free. Isn't that what you wanted for me?

Adrian tenses. His body remembers everything that was once between them before their families separated them and she became his older brother's wife.

ELLEN: If things had turned out differently... perhaps I would belong to you.

She runs her fingers across his unshaven cheek, then slides lower, to his tensed chest, feeling the fabric of his shirt. The desire he had suppressed for years flares up with such intensity that he almost groans. He had loved her so much once. But now she belonged to another. He intercepts her hand—with a sharp movement. Anger and a wild, unbearable desire mix inside him.

ADRIAN: Stop. Even if Theo is a bastard, you are his wife.

ELLEN: (Her voice is a whisper, full of pleading) I am his wife for now.

Ellen takes a step forward toward him. She smells of rain, expensive perfume, and desperation.

ELLEN: Help me... I'll do anything you say. Right now. Just get me out of this hell.

Her breath is hot, ragged. He feels her warmth penetrating the thin fabric of his shirt. His own muscles tighten; he feels the blood rushing to his groin, ignoring all his commands for calm. He sees in her eyes not only fear, but also a sincere desire for intimacy. Her wet fingers glide over his chest, unbuttoning his shirt button by button. Slowly. Agonizingly.

ADRIAN: Ellen, stop.

She ignores him. Her fingers move lower, to his stomach, sliding across his sculpted muscles. She presses her entire body against him, feeling his arousal, his hardness beneath the fabric of his trousers. He tries to pull away, but her arms wrap tightly around his waist. Her lips, wet and parted, approach his. Teasing. Promising.

Three years. Three years he had suppressed this within himself. Three years he had woken up at night from her image, from the phantom touch of her skin, from the way she laughed, the way she arched in his arms. And here she is, wet, broken, offering herself.

He wants her. Wants to devour those lips, take her completely, brutally and irrevocably, for all these years of waiting. Her scent, her warmth drive him insane. He feels his masculinity painfully engorging, demanding release. To kiss. To surrender. And let everything go to hell. But he cannot. Not at this price. Not when she is merely his brother's broken toy, seeking salvation. He is not an animal to accept such a gift. It is humiliating. For her. And for himself. He will not let Theo turn her into a spineless thing that can then just be 'picked up.' Sharply, but not roughly, he pushes her away. In his eyes is burning anger, directed not at her, but at himself, at Theo, at this whole situation. At his own traitorous body.

ADRIAN: I do not buy women. And you owe me nothing.

Covering her body with the robe, he takes a step back, trying to gather the remnants of his self-control. He needs not to break, not to take what was offered to him so desperately and so humiliatingly.

ADRIAN: I will help you get rid of that bastard. I promise you I will find a woman my brother will want to sleep with.