Beautiful Beast - Page 113

I knock and wait patiently, half-expecting Adam to talk to me through the door again. But he doesn’t answer at all. He never leaves the apartment, so he’s either ignoring me or had a sudden change of heart and went somewhere.

When a loud crash nearly makes me jump out of my skin, I tentatively open the door and step inside the penthouse.

“Adam?” I call, my voice echoing throughout the cavernous space.

When I take a few steps inside, my blood runs cold.

The beautiful red roses are dead.

Chapter 26

Belle

Adam’splaceisdestroyed.

My heart is racing like a stallion, and every one of my muscles are tight and on edge.

Did someone break in? Is that why Adam hasn’t answered me? Is he hurt?

But deep down, I already know the answer to those questions.

No one broke in.

Adam did this damage, probably in a fit of rage.

And I shouldn’t just walk out of this apartment – I should run.

Instead, I take a few tentative steps further inside, carefully maneuvering over the broken glass from overturned vases and ripped pieces of beautiful, irreplaceable, original art.

I remember when Adam walked me around and told me where he got each one. He’s cultured, well-traveled, and smart as hell.

But he’s also a killer.

Making my way over to the table where the roses sit, I notice the picture of him with his mother is still in its place. But the red roses are wilted and dry with hard petals scattered on the shiny marble table and hardwood floor.

The apartment is silent, and I wonder if Adam is asleep. If I caused this much destruction to a place, I’d be exhausted, too.

I keep walking, noting the empty whiskey bottles scattered haphazardly around the floor. The couch is overturned, and the single mirror that he bought for me is shattered with sharp pieces all over the floor.

I step on shiny strips of torn-up paper and bend down to pick a few up. Tears fill my eyes when I realize they’re photographs. Quickly scanning the room, the torn-apart photo albums come into view.

He ripped up all the pictures of how he used to look.

Jesus.

“Adam?” My voice is barely a whisper when I meant to shout, the words muted by fear.

I should go.

He’s not in a mental state where he wants me around.

For once, I agree with him that it’s not safe to be in his company.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

I jump to my feet, spinning around until my eyes land on Adam.

He’s shirtless with all the hard muscles in his chest and back rippling while he stalks around the apartment like a wild animal.