Chapter 8- Transformation
1340 Words
Adrian’s POV
“What do you mean she’s dead?”
I said it before I even realized my voice had come out.
Freya?! Dead?
The word just hung there, like something too big to swallow.
Martin sighed on the other end of the call. “Police found her this morning. She fell from the Balcony or was pushed rather. Husband says she’d been acting strange after….”
“After me,” I cut in.
He didn’t confirm it, but silence was also an answer.
I leaned against my desk, running a hand down my face. My pulse wasn’t fast, but my chest felt tight…..like something was crawling under my skin.
Freya.
Goddamn Freya.
She never did know how to leave quietly. She always had to drag someone into her god-damned mess. I should have resisted her advances, maybe I wouldn't be in this mess.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
Martin hesitated. “The media’s already running it. Photos of you and her at the gala last month, the resort trip….”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “That was a business meeting.”
“Yeah, well, her husband’s not buying that. He’s suing for defamation and mental distress. Claims you were blackmailing her and being the reason behind her death. There’s talk about a murder investigation if it sticks.”
I barked a laugh, but it didn’t sound like humor. “Of course there is.”
Martin’s voice softened. “Adrian… they’re painting you as her obsession. The married woman who couldn’t handle a little scandal and rejection. You’re the easy villain.”
“I am the villain,” I said dryly. “I just didn’t kill her.”
“Try telling that to the press.”
I hung up irritated.
For a long second, I just stood there, staring at nothing.
Freya’s face flashed in my mind…. her laugh, her red beautiful hair , the way she’d whisper things that turned me on. She was chaos with a pretty face…..a married one!.
Now she was a headline.
And I already knew what came next …..shareholders panicking, lots and lots of board meetings, the press literally at my throat, and that one question I hated hearing:
"Can we still trust you?"
The answer was always no.
The intercom beeped.
“Sir?” Miles’s voice.
“What now?”
“Miss Reed’s awake.”
Of course she was.
“Bring her up.”
Miles didn’t question it. That’s why he stayed employed.
I picked up the decanter and poured myself a drink. The scotch burned my throat but that wasn't enough. I wanted it to erase the last ten minutes, but it couldn’t.
When the door opened, I didn’t look up immediately. I just said, “Put her in the chair.”
Footsteps. Then her voice came….groggy, irritated. “You could’ve just… said no, you know. The gas thing was a little much.”
I looked up.
She was sitting there, eyes still hazy from whatever was left effects of the gas was left in her system, her messy hair and her mouth was set in a stubborn line.
She was still too calm for someone who’d just been drugged by a billionaire psychopath though.
“Next time you break into a CEO’s office, I’ll remember to ask politely before I knock you out,” I said dryly.
She glared. “Next time, maybe don’t threaten people at gunpoint.”
Touché. I do love a challenging girl….. not those cliche bitches that were all over me once they heard my surname.
I poured another drink. “How’s the head?”
“Buzzing,” she muttered. “Where am I?”
“ The Lower suite. My property.”
She looked around, clearly trying to make sense of the glass walls, the surprisingly dim lighting, and heavy silence. Then her gaze came back to me…..cautious, but curious.
“Why am I still here?” she asked finally.
I set the glass down. “Because I need you.”
Her brows furrowed. “That’s not comforting.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
She frowned harder, crossing her arms. “So what now? You lock me in a tower until you decide if I’m a spy or not?..... Typical! I'm not Rapunzel, you know?”
“No,” I said. “ I know not a spy.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “You figured that out after drugging me?”
“Congratulations,” I said flatly. “You survived the interview.”
She scoffed. “Wow. Ten out of ten. Would recommend on LinkedIn.”
I ignored that. I was done explaining myself. Especially to a poor, surprisingly pretty young girl. She was half my age but who cared….as long as the PR nonsense went away, right?
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I said, leaning forward. “You’re going to play a role…. my wife. For the cameras, for the media, for the world.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“My last… complication just died,” I said, tone low. “And her husband’s suing me. The company’s stock is going to tank by noon unless I give the press something cleaner to talk about.”
“And that’s me?”
“Congratulations, you catch on quick.”
She laughed once, disbelieving. “This is insane.”
I tilted my head. “You broke into a billionaire’s office in ripped jeans and a fake résumé. Let’s not pretend sanity was ever part of your brand.”
Her lips parted to argue, probably…but nothing came out.
“You need money,” I continued. “I need control. We both get what we want.”
She stared at me for a long moment. “And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll call security and have you arrested for trespassing…..You’ll never get a job in this city again.”
There it was the part of me that even I hated. The part that always used people before they could use me.
Her shoulders stiffened. She didn’t cry or beg me to reconsider. She just looked at me like I was the worst kind of human alive.
Maybe she was right.
“Why me?” she asked finally.
Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
Because you remind me of someone I shouldn’t want to remember.
“Because you were in the wrong place at the right time,” I said instead.
She gave a short, humorless laugh. “That’s not creepy at all.”
“Get used to it,” I said, standing. “You’ll be living in it.”
Miles appeared again at the door, waiting for instruction.
“Get her cleaned up,” I said. “ Give her new designer clothes, fix her hair, makeup….the works. We’ve got a press conference in two hours. My wife will not look like she works in Walmart.”
Her head snapped toward me. “Press conference? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
I turned away, picking up my glass again. “And Mrs. Blackthorne…”
She froze. “Don’t call me that.”
“You’ll have to get used to it,” I said quietly.
For a second, neither of us said anything.
Then she looked away, muttering something under her breath that sounded a lot like ‘bastard.’
I smiled faintly. “You’re not wrong.”
Miles gestured toward the door, and she followed him out, stiff-backed but defiant.
When they left, I sat back in my chair, staring at the scotch swirling in the glass.
I’d done worse things than this. I’d lied, cheated, manipulated, killed, broken people for profit. But this felt……different. Messier even.
She wasn’t supposed to be part of this story.
And yet, somehow, she was right in the middle of it.
My phone buzzed again.
Breaking News: Freya Hayes’s death officially ruled suspicious. Police call for questioning of Adrian Blackthorne.
Perfect.
I leaned back and muttered to myself,
“Guess it’s showtime.”
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