Claiming Lily

Chapter 8 Old Ghosts

Caitlyn’s POV

The elevator doors slid open like a stage curtain, showing my image in mirrored steel. I fixed my diamond cuff and smiled at the woman looking back. Perfect hair, perfect face, perfect mask. No one in this place remembered how dangerous I could be.

“It’s time they did,” I whispered.

The apartment smelled of leather and cold money. Adrian’s rival Marcus Renard at the head of a glass table, a hunter in a fitted suit. Manhattan sparkled below us through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“You’re late,” Marcus said without looking up.

“I’m worth waiting for,” I answered, moving into the seat opposite him. “And I have something you’ll want to hear.”

His eyes raised, sharp as cut stone. “This about the clinic?”

“It’s about the woman running it,” I said. “The one Adrian can’t stop circling.”

He leaned back. “Go on.”

I crossed my legs slowly, giving him a flash of the red bottoms on my shoes. “Her name is Lily Hartman. She’s not just a doctor. She’s his unfinished business. His weakness.”

Marcus laughed. “He doesn’t have weaknesses.”

“Oh, he does,” I said. “I built some of them myself.”

For a heartbeat his face shifted curiosity, maybe respect. “You sound bitter.”

“I’m motivated,” I corrected. “And you’re interested because you’ve wanted an opening to bring Adrian down. This is it.”

The city lights reflected in his glass of whiskey like trapped stars. “Why now?” he asked.

“Because Adrian just bought her clinic,” I said. “Because he’s making moves he shouldn’t. And because she has something he doesn’t know about yet.”

He tilted his head. “What exactly?”

I smiled but said nothing. Some secrets were more strong when they floated just out of reach.

“Don’t toy with me,” Marcus warned softly.

“I’m not,” I said. “But leverage takes time. And I’m very patient.”

His gaze slid over me, weighing, measuring. “What do you want?”

“Resources,” I said. “Your investigators. Access to records he can’t touch. And when the time comes, a team. You get his kingdom; I get what’s mine.”

“What’s yours?”

“Revenge,” I said.

The word hung in the air like smoke.

Marcus raised his glass. “We may understand each other.”

I leaned forward, dropping my voice. “He thinks Lily is just a doctor. She’s more than that. And she’s hiding something big. I plan to expose it.”

He swirled his whiskey. “Why not go to him directly? He’s your ex-lover, isn’t he?”

I stiffened. “He made me a placeholder. She made me invisible. Now I’ll make them both regret it.”

Outside, thunder rolled across the city. I felt it tremble through the glass.

Marcus nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll send someone. But if you cross me”

“I never cross without a map,” I interrupted.

His mouth curled in something like a grin. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’m necessary,” I amended.

When I left the apartment, rain had begun to fall, slicking the city in silver. My driver held the umbrella, but I walked right into the rain, letting it soak me. It felt like washing, like sharpness.

Back at my apartmentthe one with no name on the buzzerI opened my laptop. Photos of Lily filled the screen: her clinic, her patients, her smile. Always that soft, irritating smile. I zoomed in on a picture taken yesterday in the office hallway. A small boy clutched her hand, his face half turned toward the camera.

Eyes the color of winter storms.

Adrian’s eyes.

My pulse quickened.

I mumbled, “Well, well.”

Pulling out my phone, I called the private detective Marcus had promised. “Find me every record on Lily Hartman,” I said. “Start with hospital files in Maine. I was born about six years ago. Cross-check with her trip. I want it all.”

The voice on the other end paused. “That could take time.”

“You have twenty-four hours,” I said. “Call me as soon as you find something.”

I hung up and stared at the boy’s face until the screen faded. Memories roseAdrian’s laugh, his hands, the night I thought he would choose me. Then her name in the gossip pages, the tales that he’d disappeared after one night with a nobody doctor.

No one steals my finish and walks away.

The next evening the inspector called back. His voice was hushed. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“Try me.”

“There’s a sealed birth certificate filed in Portland. Mother is Lily Hartman. Father line blank. The date matches exactly six months after she left New York.”

My heartbeat thundered in my ears. “Send it.”

He paused. “This could get…ugly.”

“It’s already ugly,” I said.

An email pinged. Attachment: scanned birth record. I clicked it open.

Noah Hartman. Born at dawn in a small Maine hospital. Father:

I smiled slowly, tasting victory like wine.

So it was true. She had hidden a child. His child.

I saved the file under a new name: Key. Then I printed it, putting the paper into a black box. The edges felt hot against my hands.

I poured myself a drink and stood at the window. Below, the city churned with lights and horns. My image stared back, eyes bright, mouth curled like a blade.

Adrian had once told me, “Old ghosts always come back.”

He was right. I was back. And I was bringing every ghost with me.