I slept restlessly that night. Every time I drifted off, I jolted awake again, my thoughts circling the same image—Evelyn looking over her shoulder in a dark Brooklyn street. It played on repeat in my mind, blurry but haunting. She wasn't panicked. She wasn't crying. She looked… alert. Aware. Almost like she expected someone to find her.
When I finally gave up on sleep, pale sunlight was creeping through the tall windows. The penthouse was still and silent, too large for one person to wake up in. I wrapped my arms around myself, bracing against a sense of loneliness I didn't want to admit.
As I stepped into the hallway, I nearly collided with someone.
Adrian.
He was coming out of his home office, sleeves rolled up, tie loose, the faint beginning of stubble along his jaw. He looked like he hadn't slept either. His eyes flicked over me quickly, sweeping from my expression to my posture.
"You didn't sleep," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"Neither did you," I replied.
His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't deny it. He walked past me, heading toward the kitchen, and I followed without meaning to. His presence pulled me along like gravity itself.
He poured coffee into two cups before pausing, as if realizing what he was doing. For a moment, he looked at the second cup like it surprised him. Like the thought of including me was instinctive rather than deliberate.
He pushed it toward me.
"Drink."
I accepted it carefully, watching him over the rim.
Adrian leaned against the counter, arms crossed, studying me with that unreadable intensity he wore like armor.
"You're thinking about the photo," he said.
"I'm thinking about Evelyn," I answered softly. "None of this makes sense."
He didn't respond immediately. He took a slow sip of coffee, eyes fixed on the floor for a brief, rare moment of distraction. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before.
"She always ran from responsibility," Adrian said. "But she never ran blindly. If she's hiding, she has a reason. A serious one."
I hesitated before asking, "Do you blame her for leaving?"
His eyes lifted to mine, sharper now. "What do you think?"
I swallowed. "I think you're angry. But not only because she abandoned you."
A muscle in his jaw flexed.
Adrian Blackwell did not enjoy being seen.
Before he could respond, the penthouse door opened and Marcus stepped inside, carrying a folder in one hand and a phone in the other.
"Morning," Marcus said. Then, noticing the tension in the room, added, "Or whatever we're calling this."
He handed the folder to Adrian. "I checked city traffic cameras. Evelyn's sighting is real. She was in Brooklyn two nights ago, then got into a black car. No plates. Driver was careful. Practiced."
Adrian flipped the file open, scanning the images. "Someone picked her up?"
"Yes," Marcus said. "Voluntarily."
The word hit me like a slap.
"Voluntarily?" I repeated.
Marcus nodded. "I zoomed in. She wasn't forced. No struggle. She walked straight to the car."
My stomach twisted.
She wasn't running from someone chasing her.
She was meeting someone.
Adrian closed the file slowly, as if fighting the instinct to slam it shut.
"Who was the driver?" he asked.
"No match in our system," Marcus said. "But I can tell you something else—your father is definitely involved. His assistant requested sealed court records last night."
"Sealed records?" Adrian's voice dropped. "Of what?"
Marcus sighed. "Marriage contracts."
The room went silent.
Marriage contracts.
The arranged marriage.
Our marriage.
My heart hammered painfully.
Adrian straightened, the shift in his presence immediate and chilling.
"He's trying to find proof the bride was switched," Adrian said.
And suddenly everything inside me froze.
Marcus nodded. "And knowing Victor, he won't stop until he gets it."
I felt lightheaded. "If he finds out… what happens?"
Adrian looked at me, really looked at me, and for a moment his walls slipped—not enough for me to see everything, but enough to reveal tension sharp enough to cut.
"If my father proves this marriage is invalid," Adrian said, "he'll have it annulled."
Annulled.
The word rooted itself in my chest like a stone.
"You'd lose the Blackwell alliance," Marcus said. "And Lila—"
"—would be out," Adrian finished.
The implication hit me slowly, painfully.
"I'd be sent back to my family."
The family that only wanted me when Evelyn ran.
Adrian's expression remained unreadable. "You'd lose everything this marriage protects you from."
Everything.
The debts.
The public shame.
The humiliation.
The questions about Evelyn's disappearance.
The life I had been pushed into had somehow become the only shield I had.
Marcus cleared his throat. "We have two options."
Adrian didn't move. "Say them."
"Option one: We find Evelyn before Victor's investigator does."
"And option two?"
Marcus hesitated. His eyes flicked toward me, then back to Adrian.
"Option two… is to strengthen the appearance of the marriage."
The silence was immediate and suffocating.
I felt Adrian tense beside me.
Marcus continued carefully. "Victor loses power if he can't argue the marriage is fake. Public events. Family dinners. Appearances. Anything that shows Lila is your wife—and not just on paper."
My cheeks burned.
My heart raced.
Adrian's expression hardened instantly.
"That's out of the question."
Marcus shrugged. "So is letting your father win. Unless you want him controlling your household for the next decade."
Adrian didn't respond.
For the first time, he seemed… conflicted.
Marcus sighed. "Then we stick with option one. Find Evelyn."
He stepped toward the door, pausing only once.
"Oh," Marcus added casually, "and Victoria is on her way here."
"What?" Adrian snapped. "Why?"
Marcus smirked lightly. "She said she wants to 'welcome the new Mrs. Blackwell properly.'"
My blood went cold.
Victoria Blackwell.
His mother.
The woman who saw weakness as a flaw and love as a disease.
I felt Adrian move closer to me without realizing he had stepped forward. His voice dropped low, steady, and deliberate.
"Lila."
"Yes?"
"Whatever happens," he said, "you do not let my mother see fear."
My breath hitched.
"And why not?" I whispered.
His eyes held mine—dark, intense, uncomfortably sincere.
"Because she destroys anything that looks afraid."
The knock on the penthouse door echoed sharply through the room.
Marcus exhaled. "Showtime."
And Adrian glanced at the door with the expression of a man preparing to go to war.