Adrian Locke
1330 Words
Two Months earlier.......
Adrian Locke stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse, the skyline of the city stretching like glass beneath him. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit as the butler announced, “She’s here, sir.”
“Send her in,” Adrian said without turning around.
Celia Hart walked in, her steps confident, her face unreadable. Dressed in a simple black blouse and jeans, she looked entirely out of place against the opulence of his home, but she wasn’t here to impress.
She was here for war.
Adrian finally turned. “Miss Hart.”
“I assume you know why I’m here.”
He raised a brow.
She dropped a brown envelope on the marble table between them. “You were at the Ravenhurst Hotel the night Victor Raines was murdered. I have surveillance footage. Witnesses. Phone records.”
Adrian didn’t flinch. “That’s a dangerous accusation.”
“It’s not an accusation if it’s true,” she snapped.
He stepped closer, hands in his pockets. “You have guts, I’ll give you that. Most people wouldn’t walk into a man’s house and confront him with murder charges.”
“I’m not most people,” she said coldly.
A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “No, you’re not.”
He circled her like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’re smart. Driven. But also reckless.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a warning.” He leaned closer, his voice a whisper of steel. “Drop the case, Celia. Walk away. Or you’ll regret ever walking in.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be.”
She left without another word.
The moment the door shut, Adrian picked up his phone. “Keep eyes on her. I want to know where she goes, who she talks to, everything.”
Two days later, the same number called back.
“She’s preparing to go public. Tonight.”
Adrian’s voice was like ice. “Then make sure she never gets the chance. Eliminate her.”
Present day.....
Adrian stood on the rooftop of his high-rise, the night air brushing against his face as he stared out at the city he owned. A glass of scotch hung loosely from his fingers.
At first, he’d been shaken when he got the news.
Celia Hart was alive.
But when his contact at the hospital confirmed she’d lost her memory, his fear turned into amusement.
“She doesn’t remember anything,” the doctor had said.
No names. No faces. No case.
Adrian had chuckled. “Fate is twisted.”
He took a long sip from his glass.
Celia was still stubborn—he could tell from the way she looked at him today. Something inside her didn’t trust him. It was in her eyes, in the stiffness of her body. Her instincts were still sharp. But instincts alone wouldn’t save her.
“She should’ve listened,” he muttered under his breath, watching the stars disappear behind city lights. “I warned her.”
But now, he wasn’t just covering tracks.
Now… he wanted her.
Memoryless or not, Celia Hart had crawled under his skin. And this time, he wasn’t just going to silence her.
He was going to own her.
---
The cool night breeze brushed against my face as I stood on the rooftop, the city blinking beneath me like a sleeping beast. I was still savoring the taste of aged scotch when my thoughts were interrupted by a vibration in my pocket.
I pulled out my phone.
"Good day, boss," came the voice on the other end.
"Go to her apartment," I said calmly, turning my glass in my hand. "Move every one of her things here. Clothes, books, her board—everything. Set it up exactly in the guest room. Make it feel like home. Like she never left."
"Yes, boss. Got it."
I hung up.
She believed we lived together. It was a logical assumption—I’d spoon-fed her the lie with the right tone and eyes that didn’t flinch. But if she snooped—and she would—she needed to find familiarity. Her investigation materials might trigger her memory, but that was a gamble I was willing to take.
Not that there was anything left in them to uncover.
I’d made sure to erase every trail—her files, her backups, even the cloud. Anything that tied her to me in the past, or to Victor Raines’s murder, was gone.
She was mine now, and the past didn’t exist unless I allowed it.
***
The next morning, I arrived at Leigh’s house dressed in a simple black shirt and slacks. The place smelled of fried eggs and nervous energy. Leigh opened the door and forced a smile.
“Good morning,” I greeted, stepping in.
“Morning… Adrian,” she said, clutching her fingers. She looked like she hadn't slept.
“Relax,” I murmured, offering a calm smile. “You don’t want Celia to suspect anything, do you?”
She nodded quickly. “Of course. I just… I want her to be okay.”
I tilted my head. “She will be. With me.”
The soft thud of footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Celia emerged with a duffel bag over her shoulder and a puzzled look in her eyes.
“You’re ready?” I asked.
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think I need to see where I really belong.”
There was doubt in her tone, but she was trying. She was trying to believe the lie. Good.
“Let’s go,” I said.
***
The drive was long and silent.
She didn’t speak, and I didn’t push. I could feel her gaze flicker to me every few minutes, like she was searching for familiarity. I kept my eyes on the road.
When we pulled into the estate, she stared out the window in awe. The mansion towered ahead—glass and stone, sleek lines, and guarded gates. The only one in the area, of course.
“This is where we live?” she asked.
I nodded. “You love the quiet.”
A lie. She hated silence. But she didn’t know that now.
Inside, I led her past the marbled foyer, up the stairs, and into the room we’d staged as hers.
As she stepped in, she froze.
There it was—her old vision board, the pins and threads connecting faces, the notebooks stacked exactly how she'd arranged them before. Her coats hung in the wardrobe. Her sketchbook sat on the table.
“You okay?” I asked softly.
She swallowed, walking toward the board. Her fingers hovered over a red string.
“It all feels… familiar,” she said, almost in a whisper.
“Good,” I murmured, stepping back. “I’ll leave you to settle in.”
Just as I turned to go, her voice stopped me.
“Adrian… did you ever look into my accident? I mean—do you know what caused it? Was anyone else involved?”
I hesitated at the door. For a moment, her eyes flickered with the sharpness I used to hate—and admire.
“There was no foul play,” I said casually. “You were driving alone. It was rainy. Lost control, they said.”
“But—”
“I have a meeting,” I cut in gently, walking back to her and handing her a sleek new phone. “This is yours. The number is already registered in my name. If you need anything, call me.”
She took it with a frown.
I turned, walked out, and shut the door behind me—slowly.
The look in her eyes was beginning to shift.
I needed to stay one step ahead.
She still didn’t remember.
But she would. Eventually.
And I had to make sure that when she did…
It would already be too late.
—
- Writer
