Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WEARING HIS RING
Adrian did not sleep that night.
Leah knew because she did not either.
By sunrise, Dr. Shaw had left with copies of the medical records and instructions to contact a trusted pharmacist.
Monica had been quietly reassigned from Adrian's floor before breakfast.
Nobody told her why.
Adrian insisted on handling it that way.
"People reveal more when they don't know they're being watched," he explained.
Leah hated that sentence because it sounded like the man newspapers described.
But she understood the logic.
At nine, Camille entered Adrian's study.
She stopped so abruptly her heels clicked against the marble threshold.
Adrian was behind his desk.
Leah stood near the bookcase pretending to dust.
Camille looked from Adrian to the wheelchair.
"I didn't know you were coming downstairs."
"Apparently that's becoming a problem for people."
Camille's gaze sharpened.
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing."
Adrian's tone was smooth.
Dangerously smooth.
Leah had begun recognizing his different silences.
There was the irritated silence.
The humiliated silence.
The exhausted silence.
And then there was this one.
The silence that made men reconsider what they had said.
Camille approached the desk.
"You should have told me. I would have helped."
Adrian looked at her.
"Would you?"
Something passed across her face.
Gone immediately.
She placed a red leather folder on the desk.
"Peter needs these signed."
Adrian opened it.
Transfer documents.
South Pier Holdings would be sold from Marlowe Logistics to a newly formed corporation called Meridian Waterfront Partners.
Price: twenty-eight million dollars.
Adrian laughed once.
Camille frowned.
"What?"
"South Pier is worth ninety."
"Not in the current market."
"I purchased it."
"Six years ago."
"I know what it's worth."
Camille folded her arms.
"Peter negotiated the deal."
"Peter can't negotiate the price of a sandwich without calling me."
"Things have changed."
Again.
Those words.
Adrian looked at Leah.
"Coffee."
She understood immediately.
It wasn't coffee he wanted.
It was privacy without making Camille suspicious.
Leah left.
But instead of going to the kitchen, she entered the small pantry beside the study.
The ventilation grille carried voices clearly.
Camille spoke first.
"You can't keep rejecting every decision because you need to prove you're still in control."
Adrian's reply was quiet.
"I am still in control."
"No, Adrian. You're not."
Leah held her breath.
Camille continued.
"You haven't been to the office in half a year. You haven't attended meetings. Half the businesses are being run through Peter. The other half are waiting for your instructions while you spend days in bed refusing therapy."
"My medical habits aren't relevant."
"They're completely relevant."
"To a ninety-million-dollar property?"
"To everything."
A chair shifted.
Camille's voice softened.
"You need to accept reality."
"What reality?"
"You may never walk again."
Silence.
Leah closed her eyes.
There were ways to say that.
Camille had chosen the cruelest.
Adrian spoke.
"I accepted that possibility before you did."
"No, you haven't. You think refusing help makes you strong. You think terrifying people from a wheelchair makes you the same man."
The next silence lasted longer.
When Adrian answered, his voice was almost gentle.
"The same man you agreed to marry?"
Camille said nothing.
"Are we still getting married?"
Leah's eyes opened.
She had not expected the question.
Neither, apparently, had Camille.
"Of course."
"Why?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"A simple one."
"Because I love you."
"Come here."
Another pause.
"What?"
"Come here."
Leah could picture Adrian behind the desk.
Camille approached.
"Closer."
"Adrian—"
"Six months, Camille."
His voice changed.
"You haven't kissed me in six months."
Leah felt suddenly ashamed to be listening.
She started toward the door.
Then Camille said, "This is unfair."
Leah stopped.
Adrian laughed quietly.
"Unfair?"
"You know this has been difficult for me too."
"For you."
"Yes, for me."
Camille's voice cracked with anger.
"I was supposed to get married. I was supposed to travel. We were discussing children. Then suddenly I'm planning wheelchair ramps and interviewing nurses and being asked whether our wedding venue has accessible bathrooms."
Adrian said nothing.
Camille continued.
"I didn't choose this."
Neither did he, Leah thought.
Adrian finally answered.
"No. You didn't."
His voice had gone flat.
"You can leave."
"I didn't mean—"
"You did."
"Adrian."
"Take the folder."
"Peter needs—"
"Take it."
The study door opened seconds later.
Camille came out.
Her face was pale with fury.
She saw Leah near the hallway.
For one terrible second, Leah wondered whether Camille knew she'd been listening.
But Camille only said, "He needs coffee."
"I know."
Camille walked away.
Leah waited.
Then she entered.
Adrian faced the windows.
"Coffee's coming," she said.
"I don't want coffee."
"I know."
He looked at her.
"How much did you hear?"
Leah could have lied.
"Enough."
Adrian turned back toward the desk.
"Congratulations. You know more about my relationship than my priest."
"Do you have a priest?"
"No."
"Then that's a low standard."
Adrian looked offended.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
Leah crossed the room.
"The property documents. Should I care about them?"
"Probably not."
"Which means yes."
He rubbed one hand over his face.
"Meridian Waterfront Partners didn't exist until three months ago."
"Who owns it?"
"That's what I'm going to find out."
He opened his laptop.
Leah stayed beside the desk.
Adrian glanced at her.
"You're hovering."
"I'm dusting."
"You've dusted the same photograph for five minutes."
She looked down.
It was an old picture of Adrian and his younger sister standing beside a sailboat.
Adrian was perhaps twenty-five.
His sister looked sixteen.
Both were laughing.
Leah had never seen that expression on his face.
"Where is she?"
Adrian's eyes went to the photograph.
"Dead."
"I'm sorry."
"Car accident. Twelve years ago."
Leah set the picture down carefully.
Adrian turned toward the computer.
"Peter was driving."
She looked back at him.
"He survived?"
"Broken arm."
"And you still trust him?"
"I did."
The final word carried weight.
An hour later, Adrian had answers.
Meridian Waterfront Partners was hidden behind several companies, but one director's name appeared repeatedly.
Gavin Voss.
Camille's older brother.
Leah stared at the screen.
"Her brother is buying your property?"
"At one-third of market value."
"Does Camille know?"
Adrian looked at her.
"You heard her."
Leah understood.
Of course she knew.
Adrian leaned back.
His face revealed almost nothing.
But his right hand trembled against the wheelchair armrest.
Leah looked away.
She knew enough about pride to understand when not to acknowledge pain.
Then Adrian's phone buzzed.
A message.
His expression changed.
"What?"
He turned the phone.
A photograph had been sent from an unknown number.
Camille.
Peter.
They were standing outside a restaurant in Philadelphia the previous night.
Peter's hand rested against Camille's lower back.
Her face was turned up toward his.
Too close.
Beneath the photograph was a single sentence.
ASK YOUR FIANCÉE WHERE SHE REALLY SLEEPS.
Leah's stomach tightened.
Adrian stared at the image.
He didn't shout.
Didn't throw the phone.
Didn't curse.
He simply placed it facedown.
"Get Helena."
"Adrian—"
"Please."
It was the first time Leah had heard him use the word.
She found Helena.
When the house manager arrived, Adrian issued one instruction.
"Move all of Camille's belongings out of my bedroom."
Helena went pale.
"Sir?"
"Guest suite. East wing."
"Should I tell Miss Voss?"
"No."
Adrian's eyes moved to the red folder Camille had forgotten on the desk.
"She'll understand when she sees it."
That evening, Camille returned at seven.
Her scream echoed through the upstairs hallway.
"ADRIAN!"
Leah was helping organize linens downstairs.
She closed her eyes.
Here it comes.
Minutes later, Camille stormed into the study.
Peter followed.
Adrian was waiting.
Leah realized immediately he had planned it.
The red folder sat in front of him.
Beside it was a printed photograph of Camille and Peter.
Camille stopped.
Peter stopped behind her.
Adrian looked at both.
"Sit."
Neither moved.
Adrian smiled without warmth.
"I said sit."
They sat.
He pushed the photograph across the desk.
Camille stared at it.
Then looked at Peter.
Then back at Adrian.
"It's not what you think."
Adrian's smile vanished.
"Do not insult me twice."
Peter leaned forward.
"Adrian, let me explain."
"You've worked for my family twenty-three years."
Peter swallowed.
Adrian tapped the red folder.
"You're selling my property to her brother."
Peter's face drained.
Camille whispered, "How did you—"
Adrian looked at her.
That was enough.
She stopped.
Leah stood by the door, heart pounding.
Then Peter made a mistake.
He glanced at the wheelchair.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But Adrian saw it.
Everyone saw it.
Something settled over the room.
Peter rose.
"You're not thinking clearly."
Adrian's eyes became ice.
"Sit down."
"You're heavily medicated."
Leah's blood ran cold.
Peter realized too late what he had said.
Adrian did not move.
"Interesting."
Peter's mouth opened.
Adrian leaned forward.
"How would you know what medication I'm taking?"
Nobody spoke.
Camille turned toward Peter.
And for the first time, fear appeared on her face.
Not fear of Adrian.
Fear of what Peter might reveal.
Adrian saw that too.
He looked between them.
Then smiled.
May you like
Slowly.
"Now," he said, "we're finally talking about something important."
