Chapter 4: The Truth
1648 Words
Ella
I spent the next two hours trying to focus on the design Victor had assigned me for the day, but my mind kept drifting to Adrian Blackwood. The way he'd looked at me and spoken to me like I mattered, there was something in that look that I couldn’t quite apprehend. He even defended my humanity when Victor reduced me to nothing.
No one had done that for me in months.
The studio door opened, and I expected Alice or Victor. Instead, Adrian walked in alone. His suit jacket was discarded, and his sleeves were rolled up. He looked less corporate now, but calm and composed as usual.
"Where's Victor?" I asked, and I felt my pulse quickening.
"He’s taking a call. We have a few minutes," he replied as he moved closer to where I stood holding my pencil.
“We have a few minutes for?” I asked as though I didn’t want more of him around, whereas I wanted to hear everything, including how he knew about me and my designs so much.
He bent a bit over, looked me in the eyes, and spoke in a low tone. "That was quite a performance earlier."
"I don't know what you mean," I said as I quickly averted my gaze from his. Those gray eyes of he’s were too sexy, they made me feel so uncomfortable.
"The voluntary residency story." His gray eyes followed mine. He wasn’t going to give up easily. "I've been in enough business deals to recognize when someone's being coerced."
The carefully crafted image I presented began to show flaws. "You don't understand the situation," I said defeatedly.
"Then explain it to me."
Explain it to you? I actually wanted you to tell me how you got to know me so much, but it seems the tables have turned; I am now the one telling you my predicament. I thought.
Although there was something in his voice, the simple words he spoke with genuine concern nearly broke me. When was the last time someone had asked me to explain anything? Marcus had always told me what to think, what to do, and what to feel; he had never really cared what my opinions were.
"I can't," I whispered. "If Victor finds out I've said anything..."
"He won't." Adrian pulled out his phone, showing me the screen. "This room isn't monitored, I checked. Old money families like Victor's trust in physical security over digital surveillance in their private spaces."
How did he know that? How did he know to check? Who really is Adrian Blakwood, and why should I trust him? I thought, and for some time, I remained silent, trying to process whether he was trying to play me or not. I need to be careful.
"Why would you help me?" I asked finally, breaking the silence. "You don't even know me."
"Because I recognize a cage when I see one." His voice carried a pinch of personal experience. "And because your mother's death wasn't an accident."
The world tilted. At the mention of my mother, I was piqued. Did he just mention my mother? What about her?
"What did you just say?" I asked in confusion as I stared right into his eyeballs, no longer shy of his eyeballs.
Adrian stepped closer, "Lucy Devereaux. Your mother. She was investigating art forgeries connected to certain wealthy collectors before she died. That car accident was very convenient timing." his voice was barely audible, and he looked very convincing.
"How… how… do you know about my mother?" I stammered, I could hear my own voice break.
"Because she contacted my company three weeks before she died. She'd uncovered a money laundering operation using forged artwork and wanted our cybersecurity division to help her trace the digital footprint."
My legs nearly fell out of my body as I staggered backwards. Adrian's hand shot out as he steadied me. Marcus just called off our engagement and broke my heart, and now this? Is my world crumbling or what?
"What are you talking about? She was murdered?" I breathed heavily. "Who killed my mother?"
"I can't prove it yet. But the timing, the connections, the way you've been maneuvered into this position, I’m not sure it’s a coincidence." His eyes darkened. "Victor Dane and his partners collect more than art. They collect people. Especially people with talents they can exploit or people they have reasons to hate."
“Wait a minute. What has Victor got to do with my mother?”
“Hmmm,” Adria exhaled, it seemed he had revealed too much fr this ignorant lady.
I stared at Adrian in disbelief, something is not right, how didn’t I notice she was murdered? This was too much to take in.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you might be the key."
“The key to what?” I asked in confusion
Before he could respond, footsteps echoed in the hallway. Adrian stepped back as he quickly adjusted to his business composure.
"The commission pieces should be ready in six weeks," he said in a normal voice as Victor entered.
"Excellent," Victor smiled. "Ella, I trust you're making progress?"
"Yes, sir." The words tasted like ash; I could feel it. I couldn’t help but stare at Victor disgustingly. If what Adrian just told me was true about him and his partners, then this man is more deceitful than the devil.
"Mr. Blackwood was just telling me about his grandfather's art collection. Such a fascinating family history." I added in order not to rouse suspicion.
Adrian's expression didn't change, but I caught the slight tension in his shoulders. "History has a way of catching up with us all." Doesn’t it? He turned to Victor.
"Indeed, it does." Victor's smile turned sour.
“Well then, if everything is done here, I’d like to take my leave.”
"Sure, Mr. Blackwood. I’ll see you off to the car. Ella, keep working, I’ll be back, I'd like to review your work.”
As Adrian made to leave, he paused at the door and turned to me. "Miss Devereaux, I hope you find your time here... illuminating."
The emphasis on the word told me everything. He'd be back.
When Adrian left with Victor, I just stood in the same spot I had been standing. I was dumbfounded as I tried to process everything I just heard.
I knew I shouldn’t just trust a stranger's words, but how exactly did he know about my mother? How did he know about me? How am I the key? A key to what exactly? Because I know it's not a door for sure. So many questions flooded my brain, yearning for answers, but there were none.
In my curiosity, something jerked from within me, and I found myself hurrying to the door. I didn’t know what I was trying to do exactly, but I needed answers, and Adrian was the only one with the answers.
I strolled hurriedly down the hallway and the stairs, but something made me stop abruptly. There, standing beneath the stairs, was Victor, looking grimly at Adrian’s car as it zoomed off.
“I should have prevented this meeting from happening,” he muttered to James, who was standing close to him. “Something tells me he is making a move on something I can’t place my fingers on,” he added.
“What makes you feel so, Sir?”
“The way he looked at her, that was not just a first-time look.”
“Hmm.. you feel they’ve met before?”
“Probably. I had left them for too long, and when I walked in, they looked comfortable.” Victor’s voice was sharp, and there was a trace of disgust in it.
“I don’t think that that is a problem, boss, or do you?”
“Look here, James, enough with the questions. I want her monitored. Her every move should be reported to me, and on no account should she be let out of your sight. I believe I’m clear enough.”
“Yes, boss.”
The words I just heard were like blows to my eardrum. What the hell is this place?
“Prepare the car, I have an appointment in,” he stared at his expensive golden watch. “10 minutes,” he said as he adjusted his sleeves and made to turn.
I quickly walked back to the studio, still in shock.
Victor stormed in like a soldier ready for battle. He had a completely different expression on his face. The cultured gentleman suddenly disappeared, and in his place stood something cold and ruthless.
"Let me be very clear about something, Ella." He moved closer to where I was standing. "Mr. Blackwood is a dangerous man with dangerous ideas you wouldn’t dare mingle with. If I discover you've shared anything about your arrangement here, your debt to Marcus will be the least of your problems."
"I don't know what you mean," I said as I looked straight to the floor, away from his gaze.
His hand shot out, gripping my chin with bruising force. "Don't play stupid with me. I saw how you both looked at each other. Whatever romantic notions you're harboring, forget them. You belong to me until your debt is paid in full."
He released me with a shove that sent me stumbling backward.
"Now," his voice returned to its cultured tone, "show me what you've accomplished today."
With shaking hands, I presented the half-done design. He studied it with the eye of someone who knew exactly what he was looking for.
"Adequate. But I need something with more... personal touch." He handed me a photograph. "I want you to recreate this."
My blood turned to ice. The photograph showed a textile piece I'd never seen before, but the style was unmistakable. My mother's work.
"Where did you get this?"
- Writer
