Please Take Me Back Scarlett!

Chapter 5: Hidden Truths

Scarlett.

"What does he think I stole?"

The words hung in the air between us. Louis kept his eyes on the road, weaving through London traffic like he'd done this a thousand times before.

"I don't know," he said finally. "But Adrian doesn't make empty threats. If he says you have something, he believes it."

I stared at my hands, still shaking from the gunshots, from the shattered glass, from seeing my mother's face in that photo. "I don't have anything. When I left, I took clothes and my laptop. That's it."

"Your laptop." Louis glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "What's on it?"

"Nothing. Marketing proposals. Old emails. Photos from—" I stopped. Photos. My wedding. Our honeymoon that Adrian had spent on business calls. Four years of a marriage documented in pixels and disappointment.

"Photos of what?"

"Just... us. Our life. Nothing important."

Louis pulled into an underground parking garage, the kind with flickering lights and oil stains on concrete. He killed the engine and turned to face me.

"Scarlett, I need you to think very carefully. In the last week before you left, did Adrian seem different? Stressed? Paranoid?"

I thought back. Adrian was always stressed. Always working. Always on his phone with James, his assistant, barking orders about meetings and deals and things I didn't understand.

But there had been something. The night before Valentine's Day.

"He had a fight," I said slowly. "On the phone. I was walking past his office, and I heard him shouting at someone. He said something like 'I don't care what it costs, those files cannot be leaked.'"

Louis's jaw tightened. "What files?"

"I don't know. He saw me in the hallway and slammed the door." I hugged myself, suddenly cold despite the car's lingering warmth. "He didn't speak to me for the rest of the night."

"So business as usual."

"Basically."

Louis pulled out his phone and typed something quickly. "I have a friend. Well, more like a contact. She specializes in helping people disappear—new identities, new passports, the whole package. But she's expensive."

"How expensive?"

"More than you have." He looked at me seriously. "But she owes me a favor. I can get you set up with everything you need. New name, new documents, new life. Adrian won't be able to track you."

"What about my parents?"

The question made his expression soften. "I'll handle that. I have contacts in Chicago—people who can watch them, make sure they're safe."

"And what do you get out of this?" I searched his face for the catch. There was always a catch. "Why are you helping me?"

Louis was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "Because three years ago, I had a sister. Emma. She married a man a lot like Adrian—rich, powerful, charming when he wanted to be. Cold when he didn't."

The past tense made my stomach drop. "Had?"

"She tried to leave him. He told her she was nothing without him. That she'd never survive on her own." His voice went flat. "Two weeks later, she drove her car into a bridge support at ninety miles an hour."

"Oh my God."

"The police called it an accident. Her husband called it tragic. I called it murder." He looked at me, and his eyes were full of old pain and fresh determination. "So when Adrian hired me to track you down, I took the job. I wanted to see what kind of woman would run from Adrian Pierre. And when I met you on that plane, looking terrified and brave and so damn determined to disappear..."

"You saw your sister."

"I saw someone worth saving." He cleared his throat. "So that's why I'm helping you. Because maybe if I can save you, it'll make up for not saving her."

Tears burned my eyes. "Louis, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just let me help you."

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

Louis's phone buzzed. He glanced at it and cursed under his breath.

"What?"

He showed me the screen. Another text from the same unknown number.

A new photo. This one showed my father getting into his car—his old blue sedan he'd had since I was in high school. And in the background, clearly visible, the same black SUV.

The message: 22 hours remaining. Tell her to stop running and come home. Or daddy's brakes might mysteriously fail on his morning commute.

"He's going to kill them." My voice came out flat. Dead. "Adrian is actually going to kill my parents because I left him."

"He's trying to scare you."

"It's working." I looked up at Louis. "What do I do? If I go back, he wins. If I don't, my parents die."

"Neither." Louis started the car again. "We have twenty-two hours. That's enough time to figure out what he thinks you have and use it as leverage."

"Leverage?"

"You give him what he wants, he leaves your parents alone. Simple trade."

"Except I don't know what he wants!"

"Then we figure it out." He pulled out of the parking garage into gray London daylight. "Starting with that laptop of yours."

We drove in silence for a while, the city passing by in a blur of double-decker buses and old buildings that had stood for centuries. Everything here felt permanent. Solid. Like it would outlast whatever storm was coming.

I wished I felt that solid.

"Where are we going?" I asked finally.

"Safehouse. Off the grid. My contact will meet us there." He glanced at me in the mirror. "How are you feeling? You collapsed a few hours ago."

"Like I've been hit by a truck." My head throbbed. My body ached. My heart felt like it had been put through a shredder. "But I'll survive."

"That's the spirit."

We pulled up to a narrow townhouse in a quiet neighborhood. The kind of place that looked completely ordinary and forgettable—which I supposed was the point.

Louis helped me out of the car and grabbed my duffel. "Come on. We'll get you cleaned up, fed, and then we'll dive into that laptop."

The townhouse was small but clean. A living room with mismatched furniture. A kitchen that smelled like someone had recently made coffee. Stairs leading up to what I assumed were bedrooms.

"Bathroom's upstairs, first door on the right," Louis said. "There should be clean towels. Take your time."

I nodded and headed up, every step feeling like climbing a mountain.

The bathroom was tiny but functional. I locked the door and caught sight of myself in the mirror.

I looked like death. Pale skin. Dark circles under my eyes. Glass still caught in my hair from the car window. A bruise forming on my shoulder where I'd hit the car floor.

I looked like someone who'd been running for her life.

Because I had been.

I turned on the shower and stepped under the hot spray, letting it wash away the glass, the fear, the feeling of Adrian's hands on my skin from last night that now felt like a lifetime ago.

When I finally emerged, wrapped in a towel with my hair dripping, I felt slightly more human.

I dressed in clean clothes from my duffel—jeans and a sweater—and headed back downstairs.

Louis was in the living room, my laptop open on the coffee table. He looked up when I entered, and his face was pale.

"What?" My heart started racing. "What did you find?"

"You said there was nothing important on here."

"There isn't."

"Scarlett." He turned the laptop toward me. "You're wrong."

I moved closer, looking at the screen.

It showed a folder I'd never seen before. One I definitely hadn't created.

The folder name: PIERRE ENTERPRISES - CONFIDENTIAL

Inside were dozens of files. Spreadsheets. Documents. Things with names like "Offshore Accounts Final" and "Tax Evasion Evidence" and "Illegal Trading Records 2023-2024."

My hands started shaking. "I didn't put those there."

"I know you didn't." Louis's voice was grim. "Adrian did."

"Why would he—"

"Because he needed to hide them somewhere his business partners couldn't access them. Somewhere off the company servers. Somewhere safe." He looked at me. "He used your laptop as a backup drive, Scarlett. And I'm guessing when you left, he realized these files left with you."

I stared at the screen, at the evidence of crimes I didn't understand but knew were serious. Very serious.

"This is what he thinks I stole," I whispered.

"This is what you actually did steal. Even if you didn't know it." Louis closed the laptop carefully. "These files could destroy him. His company. His reputation. Everything."

"Good." The word came out fierce. "Let them destroy him."

"Scarlett—"

"He threatened my parents, Louis. He called me nothing. He—" My voice broke. "Let him burn."

Louis grabbed my shoulders gently. "If you release these files, Adrian doesn't just burn. He goes to prison. And men like Adrian Pierre? They don't go quietly. Before the police can touch him, he'll make sure everyone who wronged him pays. Starting with you. And your parents."

The fight drained out of me. "So what do I do?"

"We use them as leverage. Like I said. We tell Adrian you'll give him the files in exchange for your parents' safety. And your freedom."

"You think he'll agree?"

"I think he'll have to." Louis pulled out his phone. "But first, we need to make copies. Insurance. In case he tries to double-cross us."

He was typing something when his phone rang. Unknown number.

We both stared at it.

"Answer it," I said. "It's probably him."

Louis put it on speaker. "Hello?"

"Mr. Cavanaugh." The voice that came through made my blood turn to ice. James. Adrian's assistant. "Mr. Pierre would like to speak with Miss Hawthorne. Is she available?"

Louis looked at me. I shook my head frantically.

"She's not here," Louis said.

"That's unfortunate." James's tone was pleasant. Polite. Terrifying. "Mr. Pierre wanted to inform her that her time has been reduced. He's feeling impatient."

"The deal was twenty-four hours—"

"The deal has changed. Miss Hawthorne now has twelve hours to return to Chicago with the files she stole. If she doesn't, well..." He paused. "Her father has a doctor's appointment at 3 PM. It would be truly tragic if something happened in the parking garage."

The line went dead.

I stared at Louis, unable to breathe.

"Twelve hours," I whispered. "We have twelve hours."

Louis's jaw was tight. "Then we better work fast."

He opened the laptop again, and that's when I saw it. A second folder I'd missed before.

This one labeled: FOR SCARLETT - OPEN ONLY IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME

My hands trembled as I clicked it.

Inside was a single video file.

Dated four years ago. Our wedding day.

"What is this?" Louis asked.

"I don't know." I clicked play.

The video opened on Adrian's face. But not the Adrian I knew. This Adrian looked younger. Softer. Almost... scared.

"Scarlett," his recorded voice said, "if you're watching this, something's gone wrong. Very wrong. And I need you to know the truth about why I really married you."

My heart stopped.

"I need you to know," Adrian continued, his eyes haunted, "that everything—our marriage, our life together, all of it—has been a lie."