Chapter14
1134 Words
CHAPTER 14
The night was still, suffocatingly quiet.
Adam jerked awake, chest heaving, sweat drenching the sheets as his heart pounded like a war drum. His breathing was ragged, desperate.
That nightmare again.
The same one that had haunted him for over two decades.
His father’s screams.
The gunshots.
Blood on the floor.
The look in his father’s eyes just before he collapsed – a mixture of terror and agony. Adam was only seven when it happened, but that moment had branded itself on his soul, never fading, only mutating. Each year it returned with more detail, more horror.
He rubbed his face and swung his legs off the bed. Sleep wouldn’t come again, not after that. It never did.
The Bailison Group.
The name pulsed like venom in his head. They took everything from him. His childhood, his peace, his father.
And they thought they’d won.
No.
They just created a monster.
He slipped on a robe and walked out of the bedroom, his bare feet padding against the marble floor. The house was silent, but for the low hum of the security system and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
He made his way to the sitting room, aiming for the cabinet where the expensive liquors were kept. Something strong to burn the images away.
But as he stepped in, he paused.
There, curled up on the couch with a blanket draped around her shoulders and a novel in her hand, was Belle.
Her head was bent low over the book, a soft beam of moonlight catching the strands of her hair. She hadn’t noticed him enter. Her lips moved silently, reading the lines to herself, completely engrossed.
“You’re reading a novel in the middle of the night?” he asked, voice low, curious.
Belle looked up, startled but only briefly. Then she smiled lazily, like she’d expected someone to interrupt her solitude.
“And who said novels are to be read during the day?” she replied with a raised brow.
Adam smirked faintly. “Well, isn’t that what a normal person would do?”
She tilted her head, still holding the book. “What’s your definition of a normal person, Adam?”
“Someone who isn’t reading a book by past 1 a.m. when she should be sleeping,” he replied, walking further in and moving to the bar.
Belle’s gaze followed him, a subtle crease forming between her brows.
“You’re sweating,” she said quietly. “Are you okay?”
Adam turned his back to her as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. He didn’t want her to see the vulnerability in his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Insomnia?”
“Something like that,” he said, taking a sip.
He didn’t tell her about the nightmare. He never did – not to anyone. That part of him remained locked away, buried beneath layers of power, money, and calculated cruelty. No one saw that seven-year-old boy anymore. No one had the right to.
Except… maybe her.
Belle watched him in silence for a moment, then adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. “Want me to read to you?” she asked, her voice lighter now. “Might help. I hear I have the kind of voice that puts people to sleep.”
Adam raised an eyebrow, then gave a soft laugh. “I don’t think that’s a compliment.”
“Didn’t say it was,” she teased.
Without replying, he crossed the room and sat beside her on the couch. Then, without asking, he stretched out and gently laid his head on her lap. Belle tensed at first, unsure if this was a joke or another one of his unpredictable whims.
But it wasn’t. His eyes were closed now, his breathing even, his body settling.
Belle blinked down at him, her mouth parted slightly. She hesitated, then adjusted her posture so he could be more comfortable.
He looked… peaceful like this. Vulnerable.
She stared at his face for a few seconds before opening her book again, her voice soft as she began to read.
At first, she was stiff, her fingers unsure of where to rest. But as her words filled the room, she relaxed into it. Her voice, melodic and soothing, echoed in the dim light.
Adam didn’t respond. His breathing grew deeper, calmer.
She felt the rise and fall of his chest, the way his head sank heavier onto her lap. Belle looked down again.
His lashes were long, resting on his cheeks. His jaw, usually clenched and hard, now relaxed. Her gaze lingered on his lips — firm, sculpted, slightly parted.
There was something beautiful about him in sleep. Something fragile, something real.
But the silence didn’t calm her the way it seemed to calm him. Because deep inside, Belle knew the truth she couldn’t voice.
She had nightmares too.
Every night.
Of her mother’s scream.
Of her father’s still body.
Of blood.
Of helplessness.
And she never told anyone.
Because who would listen to a girl drowning in shadows when she wore pearls and diamonds by day?
So she read. She escaped into fiction. Into happy endings she’d never had.
Tonight was no different.
Except, perhaps, for the man who had just fallen asleep on her lap.
And for the way her heart was starting to betray her.
* * * * *
James paced the floor of his apartment, Xandros words still echoing in his head.
"Belle isn’t who you think she is."
What the hell did that even mean?
He’d tried to piece it together. Tried to recall anything suspicious. A name, a past connection, anything.
But Belle was… Belle. Warm, quiet, kind. Still, he couldn’t shake the warning from Xandros' voice.
Or the look in his eyes.
He sat at his desk and pulled out the flash drive he had handed him.
“This,” he had said, “will reveal the dirty secrets Adam Hamilton tried to bury with me.”
James held it in his palm like it might explode. He was excited and terrified.
Because he knew, once he saw what was inside, there would be no going back.
He plugged it into his laptop.
The screen blinked to life.
Folders. Dozens of them. All labeled with dates, codenames, numbers. No context. Just raw data.
He opened the first one.
Then the next.
Then a video file caught his eye.
He hesitated.
Then clicked.
It buffered for a few seconds.
And then it started to play.
His face changed immediately.
Shock.
Disgust.
Confusion.
His mouth opened slightly as he leaned forward, eyes narrowing, brain trying to process what he was seeing.
It couldn’t be.
It just couldn’t.
His breath caught in his throat. His fingers froze over the keyboard.
And then—
- Writer
