Mia immediately knew something was wrong.
She had been in the library when Adrian's phone rang, curled up in one of the leather armchairs with a book she wasn't reading. The call had come in just after nine, and Adrian had answered it with his usual clipped efficiency. But as the conversation progressed, his expression had changed—the calm mask slipping, replaced by something darker and more dangerous.
He slowly lowered the phone, his eyes meeting hers across the room.
"We found the person who accessed your records," he said.
Mia stood, the book falling forgotten to the floor. The room suddenly felt too small, too quiet, the crackling fire the only sound. "Who?"
Adrian looked at her, and for a long moment, he didn't speak. The hesitation itself was frightening. Adrian Blackwood was a
