The photo feels heavier tonight.
Not because of what it shows.
But because of what it means.
I’m standing outside the hospital.
White patient bracelet still wrapped around my wrist.
Mascara streaked beneath swollen eyes.
Grief hollowing my face into someone I barely recognize.
Adrian’s arm is around me.
Careful.
Measured.
Like I might shatter if he tightens his hold.
Across the driveway—
Someone is watching.
“Zoom in,” I whisper.
Adrian doesn’t hesitate. His fingers move with precision, enlarging the image on his tablet. The reflection in the polished side of a black SUV sharpens just enough to be cruel.
A silhouette.
A lifted phone.
And on the man’s right hand—
A ring.
Gold.
Signet.
My breath leaves me slowly.
Marcus Dela Torre wears a signet ring. Not royalty — lega
