Duty before Desire
1069 Words
Chapter 3:Duty before Desire
Adrian's POV
She ran. I saw her. Out of the corner of my eye, just past the shadows of the hallway. Her dress, her hair, the wild panic in her step. It registered even as I pulled the bloodied cloth tighter against the man's shoulder.
But I didn't chase.
Not yet.
I finished the conversation I needed to have, gave the instructions I needed to give. The man who crossed me wouldn't be doing it again. Then I cleaned my hands, wiped the blood from my cuff and walked out.
Damien was already waiting for me in my office, standing near the window like he always did.
"She saw something," he said the moment I stepped in.
I didn't bother pretending I didn't know what he meant.
"I figured. That's why she ran?"
"Yes. She hid in one of the guest rooms. I walked her back after that."
"Did she say anything?"
Damien hesitated. "No. But she looked… shaken."
"She's still poking her nose in my business and walking deeper into the fire."
"I can increase security around her…"
"She'll act right if she knows she's being watched. I want eyes on her every move. Every text. Every phone call. I want to know if she breathes too hard in the wrong direction. But I want it done quietly."
"You think she'll talk?"
"She's a journalist, Damien. Talking is her second nature. She already tried once. She'll try again. It's just a matter of time."
"And if she does?"
"You know what we do with leaks."
He didn't flinch, just gave a nod and turned to leave.
I reached for the wine bottle on my desk. My head was cluttered with too much noise, too many decisions, and not enough silence to sort any of it out. I needed something to cool my head off, even if it was just for a moment.
The cork gave a soft pop as I twisted it free, the sound felt oddly satisfying.
Then, just as I was about to pour, my phone buzzed on the counter.
Of course.
The day was clearly not done with me. I considered ignoring the call but that would only make this worse.
"Alessandra"
"You could have told me Adrian."
"I was going to…"
"When? After the headlines? After the gossip shows made me look like an i***t. After the Internet was in chaos? After my friends laughed at me?"
"Alessandra, those people aren't your friends."
"It's not about them!
"It wasn't meant to happen this way."
"You mean getting married to someone else behind my back? For crying out loud our civil wedding was scheduled for next month. What did I do wrong?"
"It's not about you"
"Thanks." She muttered. "That makes it worse."
I didn't know what to say to that. I just let her talk.
"I just didn't think you'd blindside me like this or make my family subject to public ridicule."
"I care about you and your family. That's why I did this."
"Yeah. I guess I just wasn't worth the courtesy of a warning."
She wasn't yelling. That was the worst part. She sounded tired, broken, wounded.
"Goodbye Adrian."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone for a moment, then slid it face down on the counter.
Deep down I understood her pain. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
I had a plan. A straight path. No detours. No complications.
Marry Alessandra, merge the Cavallo and Vescari names and secure the final layer of legitimacy over everything I'd built. Both in daylight and in shadows.
But then she came.
Reina Shaw.
She hadn't even been on the radar at first. Some underpaid, overworked journalist trying to earn a gold star in a competitive newsroom.
If anything, I expected her to burn out before she got to anything real.
But she didn't burn out.
She dug in. And the deeper she went, the more dangerous she became.
It was Damien who flagged it.
"Some girl is sniffing around our records." He said one night. "Name's Reina Shaw. She works at Metro news."
I'd brushed it off. "Handle it."
He had tried. Except the girl was good.
Too good.
The kind of good that made the wrong people start asking the right questions.
When I saw the article she had prepared to publish, my stomach turned. Not from fear but from the sheer stupidity of it.
She had options. Politicians, celebrities. Hell, even a petty scandal would have made her famous faster. But no, she chose me.
She was too damn close.
The numbers. The dummy companies. Ghost contracts.
Everything I'd buried under layers of false legitimacy and she was about to drag it into the light.
I didn't panic. I made a call.
To him.
My Father. The man who'd taught me the rules of survival before I even had the words to thank him.
"She's not a threat you’ll need to silence." He said, cigar smoke weighing down on his voice. "She's a threat you own."
I'd frowned. "What does that mean?"
"You should never let a threat breathe outside the house. Put her by your side. Let the world call her yours. Her lips won't open when she's wearing your ring. And if they do, no one would believe her. Not when she's the wife of the man she's accusing."
"Are you saying I should marry her?"
"Yes"
"I'm already engaged…"
"And you think that matters? It's duty before desire. She's dangerous when she's free. You want control? Chain her to comfort. Limit her movement. Limit her voice. Make her life small."
I stared out of the window of my penthouse that night, phone still pressed to my ear.
"Why don't I just silence her?"
"You forgot what I taught you in Berlin. A clean name buys more power than any gun. She investigated you and people know that. If anything happens to her, that would stain your name."
"Why are you so certain she won't talk?"
"She won't." He continued. "Find a reason to keep her loyal to you. because in this case, the only way to bury this story is to grip her tight in a spot she can't escape."
I didn't answer him.
But I knew I was not going to let everything I worked for crumble piece by freaking piece.
Not for a girl with a pen and a backbone.
- Writer
