Chapter 2 - THE HOUSE WITH ARMED GUARDS
At 6:14 that evening, I discovered that Adrian Moretti did not live in a house.
He lived in a fortress disguised as one.
The estate sat behind stone walls in a wooded section north of Chicago, with iron gates, security cameras, and enough armed men to make my tiny apartment suddenly seem dangerously innocent.
“I am not staying here.”
I stood inside the marble foyer with grocery bags piled around my feet.
Adrian removed his coat.
“You are.”
“You don't get to decide that.”
“Someone photographed your apartment.”
“That doesn't make you my landlord.”
“No.”
His eyes met mine.
“It makes me the person who knows why they were there.”
That stopped me.
Adrian dismissed his men with a glance.
Within seconds, we were alone.
Mostly.
I had no doubt there were cameras everywhere.
“Tell me.”
He walked toward the library.
“Sit.”
“I'd rather stand.”
“Of course you would.”
I followed him anyway.
His library was surprisingly warm, with dark wood shelves, old books, and a fireplace that seemed wildly out of place beside a man whose reputation involved words like ruthless and untouchable.
Adrian poured himself water.
Not whiskey.
That surprised me too.
“You dated Nathan Cole for four years,” he said.
“Engaged for eleven months.”
“You broke the engagement seven months ago.”
“After I caught him sleeping with Melissa.”
Adrian's mouth hardened.
“And three weeks later, you discovered you were pregnant.”
My hand instinctively covered my stomach.
“Yes.”
“Does Nathan know who the father is?”
The question felt like a slap.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
I stared at him.
“You already know.”
Adrian said nothing.
My throat tightened.
The baby's father was Daniel Reeves, a freelance photographer I'd dated briefly after Nathan and I separated.
Daniel had been kind.
Funny.
Careful.
And terrified when I told him I was pregnant.
Two weeks later, he vanished.
Phone disconnected.
Apartment empty.
No forwarding address.
“Daniel left,” I said.
Adrian's expression became unreadable.
“No.”
My heart skipped.
“What?”
“He didn't leave.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Then where is he?”
Adrian looked away.
That frightened me more than anything.
“Adrian.”
“Daniel Reeves was not his real name.”
I stopped breathing.
“What are you talking about?”
“He was investigating Nathan.”
“For what?”
“Money laundering. Political bribery. Fraud.”
I laughed because the alternative was screaming.
“Daniel was a photographer.”
“He was an investigative journalist.”
I sank into the chair I had refused thirty seconds earlier.
“No.”
“He'd spent fourteen months building a case.”
“Why didn't he tell me?”
“Because knowing would have put you in danger.”
My eyes burned.
“And now?”
“Now somebody believes he told you something.”
“He didn't.”
“I believe you.”
“Then why was someone outside my apartment?”
Adrian's phone vibrated.
He read the message.
His jaw tightened.
“What?”
“We searched your building.”
“And?”
“Your apartment was broken into.”
My hands went cold.
“What did they take?”
“Nothing obvious.”
“Then what were they looking for?”
Adrian sat across from me.
“Probably whatever Daniel left behind.”
“He left nothing.”
“You're certain?”
“Yes.”
Then I remembered something.
The night Daniel disappeared, he'd given me a small silver key.
I had thought it belonged to his storage locker.
He'd smiled and told me to keep it somewhere safe.
I hadn't thought about it in months.
Adrian saw my face change.
“What?”
“Daniel gave me a key.”
“Where is it?”
“My mother's jewelry box.”
“Where's the box?”
I swallowed.
“In my apartment.”
Adrian stood.
“I'll send someone.”
“No. I'm going.”
“Absolutely not.”
“It belongs to me.”
“Claire—”
“My home. My key. My decision.”
We stared at each other.
Finally, Adrian exhaled.
“Fine.”
Thirty minutes later, we entered my apartment with four armed guards.
Drawers had been opened.
Cushions ripped.
My mattress slashed.
I walked toward my bedroom dresser.
The jewelry box was gone.
My chest tightened.
Then I noticed something taped beneath the drawer.
A small envelope.
My name was written across it.
Daniel's handwriting.
Claire.
If you're reading this, I couldn't come back.
Trust Moretti.
My knees nearly gave out.
May you like
Below those words was one final sentence.
And whatever happens, do not let Nathan find out the baby is mine.
