Chapter 3 - The First Time Adrian Reached for Her, Clara Thought He Was About to Betray HerAdrian moved Clara into a secure apartment the next morning.
She hated the idea.
She hated the elevators.
The security cameras.
The men outside the door.
She hated the way every luxury made her feel poorer.
“This is excessive,” she said.
Adrian stood near the window.
“Someone tried to kill me to get to you.”
“Or they tried to kill you and used my father's name as a distraction.”
“Possible.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Because I don't know which is true.”
Clara crossed her arms.
“You trust me?”
“No.”
She blinked.
At least he was honest.
“You don't trust me?”
“Not yet.”
She almost respected him for saying it.
“Then why am I safe?”
“Because I trust what I saw.”
“What did you see?”
“You pulled me out of the path of a falling chandelier.”
Clara smiled faintly.
“You're welcome.”
He looked at her.
“You also knew the rigging was wrong before anyone else.”
“That still doesn't explain the apartment.”
Adrian walked toward the door.
“It does if you understand my world.”
He stopped.
“Everyone wants something.”
“What do you want?”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“To find your father.”
Clara watched him leave.
For several hours, she stayed inside.
Then she broke the rules.
She went to the bakery.
Not because she needed bread.
Because she needed normal.
She worked a shift.
She laughed with coworkers.
She carried plates.
She almost forgot about Adrian.
Almost.
Then she saw him sitting in the back booth.
“You followed me.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have nothing better to do?”
“Apparently not.”
She placed his coffee down.
“I didn't order this.”
“I did.”
“You don't drink coffee.”
“I do now.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Rich people are strange.”
“So are waitresses who throw wine at men they just met.”
“You were about to sit under a chandelier.”
“It was my chair.”
“Exactly.”
He smiled.
Clara stared.
She had never seen him smile like that.
Not the controlled public expression.
Something real.
“Don't,” she said.
His smile faded.
“What?”
“Smile at me like that.”
“Why?”
“Because it makes you less frightening.”
“That's the point.”
Before she could answer, a woman entered.
Tall.
Elegant.
Black coat.
She walked directly toward Adrian.
“Adrian.”
His expression hardened.
“Bianca.”
Clara glanced between them.
The woman looked at her.
“You replaced me quickly.”
Clara immediately understood.
Ex.
Adrian stood.
“She's not replacing anyone.”
Bianca laughed.
“That's what you said about the last one.”
Clara stepped back.
“I'll give you privacy.”
Adrian caught her wrist.
Not hard.
But enough to stop her.
“Stay.”
Bianca's eyes narrowed.
“So this is why you ignored me.”
Adrian let go of Clara.
“You're here to discuss business.”
“I came because your brother left something for me.”
The room changed.
Adrian's jaw tightened.
“What?”
Bianca reached into her purse.
A small key.
“Locker 417.”
“Where?”
“The old Marlowe theater.”
Clara felt cold.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Bianca looked at her.
“Because I wasn't talking to you.”
Adrian took the key.
“What did Tobias leave?”
“A message.”
“What message?”
Bianca smiled.
“He said if you ever found Daniel Hayes, you would lose everything.”
Adrian stared.
Bianca left.
Clara looked at him.
“You knew Tobias.”
“Yes.”
“What kind of man was he?”
Adrian looked away.
“Better than me.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
“He was loyal.”
“And?”
“Too loyal.”
The key sat between them.
They returned to the Marlowe that evening.
Locker 417 was in an abandoned backstage corridor.
Adrian opened it.
Inside was a tape recorder.
One photograph.
And an envelope addressed to Clara.
She stared.
“Why me?”
Adrian handed it over.
Her fingers shook.
Inside was a handwritten note.
Clara,
If you're reading this, someone failed to keep your father hidden.
She stopped breathing.
Your father didn't die.
He disappeared because he discovered who was stealing from the Moretti family.
Do not trust Adrian's uncle.
Do not trust the police report.
And never let anyone tell you the chandelier was an accident.
Clara looked at Adrian.
He was staring at the page.
His expression had become lethal.
“My uncle?”
“Victor Moretti.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“We thought he was in Europe.”
A sound came from the catwalk above them.
Adrian looked up.
A bullet struck the locker beside Clara's head.
He grabbed her and pulled her behind him.
Another shot.
Then silence.
Clara's heart raced.
Adrian's body was pressed against hers.
His hand covered the back of her head.
“You hurt?”
“No.”
He released her.
She looked at him.
“Were you shot?”
“No.”
“Your hand.”
Blood.
A cut across his palm.
“You're bleeding.”
“It's nothing.”
She took his hand.
“Hold still.”
Adrian looked at her fingers wrapping cloth around his palm.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he said quietly:
“Don't ever walk away from me without telling me.”
Clara looked up.
“That sounds like an order.”
“It wasn't.”
“What was it?”
Fear.
He didn't say the word.
May you like
He didn't need to.
She heard it anyway.
Related Stories
