A dangerous certainty
1138 Words
Marcus
Sleep has become a luxury.
I stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, one hand tucked into my pocket, the other wrapped around a glass of untouched whiskey. Below me, the city glittered with life, cars moving like streams of light, people living lives I couldn’t care less about tonight.
My mind refused to quiet.
Brianna.
The DNA test.
The accusation.
None of it made sense.
I had replayed that day more times than I cared to admit. The shock on her face. The confusion. The hurt hidden beneath her attempt to stay composed.
No.
Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
I exhaled slowly.
I trusted my instincts, and my instincts had never failed me.
Brianna did not fake anything.
She was not some random outsider trying to infiltrate the Hemsworth family.
She was Thomas Hemsworth’s daughter.
I knew it with a certainty I couldn’t explain.
Which left only one possibility.
Someone had tampered with the results.
But why?
Who stood to gain from making Brianna look like a fraud?
My jaw tightened.
There was another thing bothering me.
Something even more frustrating.
Why did I care so much?
This wasn’t my burden.
This wasn’t my war.
And yet, every time I thought of Brianna standing alone against accusations she didn’t deserve, something inside me hardened.
Protective.
Possessive, almost.
The feeling annoyed me.
I wasn’t used to this.
Still, one truth remained.
I needed answers.
And somehow, Brianna had become the center of them.
I tell myself visiting her will be irrational
I tried burying myself in work. Emails. Numbers.
None of it stayed in my head for more than three seconds.
Every thought circled back to her.
Damn it.
The next evening, I found myself parked outside the same bar where everything started.
The irony almost made me laugh.
I have no business coming back here.
Yet here I was.
I stepped out of my car and entered.
The warm scent of alcohol, citrus, and fried food hit me immediately. Conversations hummed in the background while low music played overhead.
Those conversations didn't stop when I walked in, but I caught the subtle glances.
Designer clothes, expensive watches, the wrong crowd.
I was used to all the attention.
So today is no different. I ignored it all.
My eyes locked on the only person I'm here for.
Her.
Brianna stood behind the counter, hair tied back, wiping down glasses with practiced efficiency.
She looked up.
The moment her eyes landed on me, she froze.
Only for a second.
Then her expression shifted into suspicion.
I walked to the counter.
She crossed her arms.
“What are you doing here?”
Straight to the point.
I almost smiled.
“I came for a drink.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Really.”
“Yes.”
She stared.
“from the very first day we met, you never looked like someone who drinks in places like this.”
I leaned lightly against the counter.
“And what kind of place do I look like I drink in?”
She deadpanned.
“Some rich-people rooftop lounge where drinks cost more than my monthly salary.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
Real.
Unexpectedly.
She blinked, almost as though she hadn’t expected that reaction.
“What can I get you?” she asked, professional now.
“Whatever you recommend.”
She gave me a look.
“That’s risky.”
“I like risks.”
She gives me a look
“ You say that like someone who has never faced real risks.”
I pause
“ And what makes you say that?”
She shrugs " Men born rich usually think inconvenience is suffering"
Her judgement of me hit harder than it should have.
As if everything I had survived could be erased by the watch on my wrist.
I decided to push it to the back of my mind, cause she doesn't really know me.
Her expression remained unreadable.
After a moment, she turned and prepared my drink.
I watched her hands move
Steadily
Precisely
No hesitation.
No nerves.
Just skill.
She returned and placed the glass before me.
“There.”
I took a sip.
Not bad.
Actually, it's good.
I glanced up.
“You made this?”
She gives me a flat look
“Obviously.”
“It’s good.”
A pause.
“Thanks.”
The word sounded reluctant.
Like she hated accepting compliments from me.
I found that strangely amusing.
For the next several minutes, silence stretched between us, broken only by customers placing orders.
I stayed.
Brianna noticed.
Eventually she looked at me again.
“You’re still here.”
“I noticed.”
She sighed.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
“I talk when necessary.”
She snorted softly.
“Then why are you here?”
There it was.
The real question.
I studied her.
She looked tired.
Guarded.
Still hurting.
I chose my words carefully.
“Maybe I wanted to check on you.”
Her brows drew together.
“Why?”
Good question.
I didn’t have an answer I was ready to admit.
So I gave the safer version.
“Because what happened wasn’t right.”
Something flickered across her face.
Pain.
Anger.
Determination.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It clearly does.”
She placed another glass on the shelf with more force than necessary.
“It matters to me,” she corrected quietly.
I said nothing.
She continued.
“They’re wrong.”
“I know.”
That made her stop.
Slowly, she looked at me.
“What?”
“I said,” I repeated calmly, “I know.”
Her eyes searched my face.
“You believe me?”
The vulnerability in that question caught me off guard.
Not because she asked.
Because she sounded like she genuinely didn’t expect anyone to say yes.
I held her gaze.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Just certainty.
Something shifted in her expression.
The stiffness remained.
But some of the ice cracked.
“You barely know me.”
“And yet I know enough.”
She stared at me as if trying to understand me.
Truthfully, I wasn’t sure I understood all this myself either.
After a long moment, she looked away.
“You’re weird.”
That nearly made me smile again.
“I’ve been called worse.”
She shook her head.
Then, unexpectedly,
She smiled.
Small.
Brief.
But real.
And somehow, that tiny smile felt more dangerous than anything else.
Because I realized something in that exact moment.
Coming here once would not be enough.
I would return.
Again.
And again.
Until I found the truth.
Until I uncovered whoever had manipulated that DNA test.
Until Brianna was safe.
Someone in the Hemsworth family was lying.
And I intended to find out who.
No matter what it cost.
- Writer
