CHAPTER4
1085 Words
Adrian’s office was colder than the rest of the estate. No warmth, no distractions just glass, steel, and silence.
Lynda stood by the door, her hands still trembling from the bullet that had almost found her in the hallway.
“You’re going to explain,” she said, voice shaking. “Now.”
Adrian didn’t look up from the small metal box he was unlocking. “You were never supposed to see any of this.”
“See what, Adrian? Blood on mirrors? Project Ashford? My father’s name is tied to secret files? Tell me what the hell is going on.”
He pulled out a cassette tape. Old, dusty.
Labeled in faded ink: “Evelyn. July 18”.
Adrian finally looked at her. “Your father left this with me. Insurance, he said. In case Evelyn ever tried to finish what she started.”
He pressed play.
The voice was unmistakable. Smooth. Cold.
“He’s young now, but I’ll raise him right. When the time comes, he’ll know what he’s meant to do. If I play it carefully, no one will ever suspect a thing…not even Lynda.”
Her knees nearly gave out.
“That’s her voice,” she whispered.
Adrian nodded. “She’s talking about the boy.”
“The boy?” Her heart stumbled. “The assistant?”
“He’s not just her son, Lynda.” Adrian stepped closer. “He was raised to destroy your father’s legacy. She embedded him near me, near you. You trusted him.”
She backed away, breath hitched. “No. No, Luca, he’s not like that. He wouldn’t”
Adrian didn’t flinch.
Her father’s handwriting was unmistakable: Project Ashford.
“That,” Adrian said, “is what your father died for.”
Lynda’s blood turned cold.
Adrian didn’t blink. “It wasn’t just a project. It was a system. Your father discovered a formula that could decode global black-market investments, money laundering routes, corrupt political payments, and hidden war funds. He buried it. And he trusted only one person to finish what he started.”
“Evelyn,” she whispered.
Adrian nodded once. “And she’s not done yet.”
The words came like punches. “So you knew all along?”
“I knew pieces. But I didn’t want you dragged into this.”
“Dragged in?” Her voice cracked. “Adrian, I married you, and I don’t even know what the hell is happening.”
There was something in his eyes then. Regret, maybe fear. She didn’t stay long enough to find out..
She turned and walked out, fast needing to breathe, needing to escape before her knees gave in.
The garden behind the estate was dark, empty. Moonlight glinted off the wet leaves. She walked toward the stone bench beneath the olive tree, holding a half-empty glass of whiskey she didn’t remember pouring.
She sat and drank.
Her chest ached. Everything Adrian said clawed at her ribs. Luca. Evelyn. A plan that started before she was even old enough to know what betrayal was.
And worse had she said something last night?
Her mind rewound to the night before. Her confession. Her lips against his neck. Her words slurred, heart wide open.
“The vault… under the orchard. He always hid things there.”
Her stomach flipped.
God. She told him.
The crunch of footsteps behind her made her flinch.
She turned.
Luca stood just beyond the tree line, dressed in black, his hair tousled, a cut above his brow. He looked clean and handsome, dangerous. His eyes searched hers like they were begging for something she couldn’t name.
“Don’t,” she warned, standing too fast. “Just don’t.”
“I didn’t come to lie to you,” he said, voice low. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She laughed bitterly and looked away. “Are you? Is this part of it too? The part where you sit and hold me while your mother sends bullets after me?”
He stepped closer. His scent hit her first dark cologne, sharp and expensive. Her throat tightened.
“I didn’t know she’d go this far.”
“But you knew,” she whispered, “you knew something.”
“I knew.. She wanted what your father built. But I didn’t know what it would cost. I didn’t know it would be you.”
Lynda stared at him. “You should leave.”
He didn’t.
He knelt in front of her. Quiet. Tense. Her glass was shaking in her hand.
“Give me that,” he said gently, taking it from her. He took a sip, then another, and sat beside her.
There was a long silence. The air between them throbbed.
“I never wanted this to happen,” he said finally. “But being near you stopped being a job a long time ago.”
Her voice broke. “Then why didn’t you warn me?”
“I didn’t know how to.”
She looked at him. His face was raw. Honest. Maybe lying, maybe not but it didn’t matter anymore.
Her hand moved to his chest. She felt his heartbeat, steady beneath the black shirt. He didn’t stop her.
And neither of them moved when she leaned in.
Their lips met in an instant of violence and need messy, breathless. Her nails pressed into his shoulders. His hands moved to her waist.
They kissed like they were trying to undo everything.
He pulled her into his lap. Her legs straddled him. The bench pressed cold into her spine. His mouth trailed down her neck.
She unbuttoned his shirt. His fingers pushed her dress aside. No words. No explanations. Just raw desperation in the dark.
They made love there quick, clumsy, honest. Not like a fantasy, but like two people who were falling in love with each other.
And when it was over, she rested her forehead against his.
“I shouldn’t trust you,” she whispered.
“I know.”
They didn’t move.
Then, a sharp clink on the ground. Something had fallen from his coat pocket.
Lynda didn’t hear it.
A recording device. Still blinking red.
He picked it up smoothly, slipping it back into his jacket without a sound.
She leaned against him, breath still unsteady.
He whispered against her hair, “Call me by my name.”
She looked up.
He gave a small smile. “Luca.”
She didn’t speak.
And outside, in the shadows, someone watched through the garden glass.
- Writer
