The morning the accusation came, it didn’t arrive as a scream.
It arrived as silence.
Elena knew something was wrong the moment she woke up and Adrian wasn’t beside her.
The sheets were cold.
The curtains were still drawn.
But the air felt… charged.
She sat up slowly, pressing a hand against her stomach. Eight weeks. The nausea had become part of her routine, but this morning it mixed with something heavier—unease.
Then she heard it.
A voice downstairs.
Low. Controlled.
Adrian.
And another voice responding.
Marcus.
Security.
Elena slipped out of bed and pulled on a silk robe. She moved quietly toward the staircase, her pulse quickening with each step.
The study door was slightly open.
“Elena met him outside the east gate,” Marcus was saying. “Two nights ago. 10:42 p.m.”
He
