Between The Secrets

The Signed Vows

Katalina’s POV

The note's words burn in my mind , Claudia's fingers still gripping the paper like it might bite .

“They’re watching you , Katalina.”

No sender, just that stark warning. The storm rages outside , but inside her apartment , the tension thickens the air . My sketchbook is open on the table , my pencil idle, as I try to process it . Adil stands by the door , his posture alert, like he's scanning for threats , while Claudia paces slowly, her eyes flicking to the window .

“Who sent this?” I ask , my voice steady but my hand shaking as I take the note from her .

Claudia stops , her brown curls falling over her shoulder . “I don't know , Kat. It could be Zephan , he's been blowing up your phone . Or Phoebe , trying to scare you.”

“Phoebe?” I say , crumpling the edge of the paper. “Yeah , that sounds like her . She's always been the favorite , Helen and Eliot giving her everything while I get the scraps .”

“ Exactly ,” Claudia says , sitting beside me . “Remember when she took credit for your design ideas last year? And they praised her like she invented fashion?”

I nod , the memory sharp . Phoebe, my younger sister , the golden child . Me , the eldest, always overshadowed . “But watching me? That's next level.”

Adil steps closer , his eyes on the note . “ It's a threat ,” he says , his tone calm but firm . “Someone wants you running scared.”

“Scared of what?” I ask , looking up at him . His presence feels solid , protective, like he did in the storm .

“Fighting back,” he says. “Your family saw you leave. They know you're not giving up.”

Claudia leans forward. “What do we do, Kat? Call someone?”

“ No ,” Adil says , shaking his head . “That draws attention. You need a strategy first.”

I pick up my pencil , sketching a quick line ; a watchful eye in my drawing , lurking in the shadows . The motion grounds me, my art pulling me from the panic.

“Like your deal?” I ask him.

“Yes,” he says, sitting across from us. “The contract. It gives you cover.”

Claudia nods, her fingers tapping her mug. “Listen to him, Kat. This note changes things…. you can't stay here alone.”

I flip through the folder again, the words clearer now. Marriage contract. One year.

“Tell me more,” I say to Adil. “Why does this protect me?”

He leans in, his voice steady. “Once we're ‘married,’ you're tied to me. My name, my resources. Eliot won't touch you without risking his business ties.”

“Business ties?” I ask. “Like what?”

“Deals,” he says. “I've crossed paths with him. He needs allies, not enemies.”

Claudia chimes in. “See, Kat? Power. You deserve that after tonight.”

I nod, but doubt nags. “What if it's fake? The note, I mean.”

“Doesn't matter,” Adil says. “Better safe.”

My phone buzzes — Zephan again. I ignore it, but Adil notices. “Him?”

“Yeah,” I say. “More apologies.”

Claudia snorts. “Apologies? After Phoebe? He's just scared you'll expose him.”

“Maybe,” I say, my pencil scratching another line — a chain around the eye in my sketch. Zephan's regret feels too late, but it stings all the same.

Adil watches me draw. “You use that to think?” he asks, nodding at the sketchbook.

“Yeah,” I say, adding details to the chain. “It's my way out when words fail. Helen and Eliot never got it ; they push Phoebe's ideas, ignore mine.”

“Use it now,” he says, his tone encouraging. “Think through the deal.”

“ Okay ,” I say , setting the pencil down . “ What does ‘act the part’ mean exactly ?”

“Public stuff,” he says. “Events, dinners. Smile, hold hands if needed. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” Claudia asks, her eyes curious. “Like, no feelings?”

“No,” Adil says, his gaze meeting mine. “Business. I don't mix it with personal.”

“Why not?” I ask, searching his face. There's a guard there, but his protectiveness from the storm lingers.

“Reasons,” he says softly. “Let's focus on you.”

Claudia looks at me. “Kat, this could flip everything. No more being second to Phoebe.”

“Yeah,” I say, the idea sparking. Phoebe's smirk at the party flashes in my mind—her getting the praise, me the criticism.

“One year,” I say to Adil. “What happens after?”

“We end it quietly,” he says. “You walk away free.”

I trace the eye in my drawing, the chain breaking. Trust is hard, but this feels like a key.

“I'm in,” I say. “Give me a pen.”

Claudia smiles. “Yes!”

Adil hands one over, his fingers warm against mine. “You're sure?”

“Yes,” I say, signing. Katalina Leclerc.

He signs next, his name neat. “Done. Welcome to the deal.”

I exhale, relief mixing with nerves. “Now what?”

“Now we move you,” he says, standing. “My penthouse is safer.”

Claudia hugs me . “Call me tomorrow , okay?”

“ I will ,” I say , hugging back . Her grip's tight , her eyes a bit teary .

Adil nods at her. “Thanks for helping.”

“ No problem ,” she says , her smile quick but fidgety .

We head out , the storm easing to a drizzle . The drive is quiet , Adil's car sleek and silent . I sketch in my lap ; a new page, a door opening to light . His protectiveness feels reassuring , like he's got my back .

Adil's penthouse gleams high above the city , glass walls reflecting the lights . The elevator hums up , opening to a modern space ; clean lines , leather furniture, no clutter.

But as we step in , Adil's demeanor shifts — his shoulders straighten , his expression hardens.

“ Your room's down the hall ,” he says , voice clipped , like a boss giving orders .

I follow , my bag heavy. “ Thanks for this ,” I say , trying to break the silence .

“ Business ,” he says , opening the door to a guest room — spacious bed , city view . “Bed, bath, closet. Stay out of my office.”

I set my bag down, confusion rising. “Wait, what's with the tone? You were… different at Claudia's.”

“This is the deal now,” he says, eyes cool. “No attachments. Stick to it.”

“But why the change?” I ask, stepping closer. “One minute you're helping, now you're ice.”

“Rules,” he says, turning away. “No romance, no personal stuff. Goodnight.”

He leaves , the door clicking shut . I stand there , stunned. His protectiveness from the storm—gone .

I open my sketchbook, drawing his silhouette—tall, distant, chains around him now. Rejection stings again, like Zephan, like Phoebe's favoritism.

My phone buzzes — Zephan: Kat, I regret it all. Please answer.

I ignore it, but it rings. I answer, whispering. “What, Zephan?”

“Kat!” his voice cracks. “I'm sorry. Phoebe pushed me. Meet me…. I can explain.”

“Explain what?” I hiss. “You betrayed me.”

“I know,” he says, sounding broken. “But there's more. Your family—they're not what you think.”

The door opens ; Adil. “Who is that?” he demands, voice cold.

“Zephan,” I say, hanging up. “He wants to talk.”

“No,” Adil says, stepping in. “He's a risk. Delete his number.”

“You don't control me,” I snap.

“I do now,” he says, tone detached. “The contract says no loose ends.”

I clutch my sketchbook. “Why are you like this? Cold, controlling.”

“It's how the deal works,” he says, his eyes flickering , regret? “Don't push.”

“But….” I start.

“Goodnight,” he interrupts, closing the door.

I sketch faster, adding cracks to the silhouette. Trust shattered again. My art's my only constant.

A knock ; Ollie, with a box. “Your things, Miss Leclerc,” he says, his voice neutral but eyes curious.

“Thanks,” I say. “What's with Adil? He flipped.”

Ollie pauses. “He's… complicated. Goodnight.”

I unpack, the anonymous note falling out. I shove it away, but my phone pings — a new message from unknown :

‘The secrets start with your family. Run while you can.’

I freeze . “Adil!” I call, but he's gone, the hall's empty .