Andrew’s POV…
Adrian leaned against the corner of my desk, arms folded, expression grim.
The only sound in the office was the faint hum of the city through the windows and the slow, rhythmic tick of the wall clock.
“You’re not going to like this,” he said finally.
“Then say it,” I muttered, eyes on the manila folder he’d just dropped on my desk. I’d spent the last two days digging through my father’s office files, looking for answers about that photograph. A man in his late thirties, standing beside my mother, smiling. She looked happy—too happy for a woman married to my father.
Adrian exhaled. “The man in the picture—his name’s Jonathan Hale. He and your mother… were together for a while. Before your father.”
My grip tightened on the edge of the desk. “Together,” I repeated flatly.
