Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Old Friends

ADRIA

The irony was so sharp it could cut. My husband was desperately trying to secure a meeting with me, not knowing he slept next to me every night. Well, one night recently. Usually, I slept alone in my marital bed, another piece of furniture in his collection.

"Perfect," I said. "That gives me an idea."

"I don't like that tone. That's your scheming tone."

"It's my getting-even tone. There's a difference."

"Is there though?"

I smiled despite everything. God, I'd missed this. Missed having someone who knew me well enough to read my tones, my pauses, my silences. Damien had never bothered to learn any of it.

"I need to go," I said. "I have some calls to make."

"Be careful, Adria. And remember—you don't have to do this alone. We're here whenever you need us."

"I know. Love you."

"Love you too. Try not to commit any felonies before lunch."

I hung up and immediately pulled up my contacts, scrolling to a name I hadn't called in over a year: James Chen, my head of security and one of the few people outside my family who'd known about my insane plan to become someone else.

He answered on the first ring. "Ms. Salvadore. About damn time."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cover it. Do you have any idea how many sleepless nights I've had wondering if you were dead in a ditch somewhere?"

"I deserve that."

"You deserve a lot more than that, but I'm too professional to say it." His tone softened slightly. "Are you okay? Are you safe?"

"Define safe."

"That's not reassuring."

I gave him the abbreviated version—the necklace, the marriage, the realization that it had all been a lie. He listened without interrupting, which was one of the things I'd always appreciated about James. He never jumped in with solutions or judgments until he had all the facts.

"So you need me to investigate this Damien Castellan and his circle of friends," he said when I finished. "Find out who actually owns the necklace."

"Can you do it without tipping anyone off?"

"Please. I've been running security for the Salvadore family for fifteen years. I can find out what these people had for breakfast without them knowing I'm looking." He paused. "But Adria, you know the fastest way to get this information would be to just ask your husband directly. Tell him the truth about who you are."

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

Because I wanted him to suffer first. Because I wanted him to realize what he'd lost only after it was too late to get it back. Because some petty, vindictive part of me wanted to watch him scramble for a meeting with the Salvadore heiress while I smiled and played the docile wife at home.

"Because I need to know the truth first," I said instead. "Before I show my hand."

James sighed. "Fine. Give me twenty-four hours. I'll have a full dossier on everyone in his inner circle, including who owns what jewelry."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. And Adria? When this is over, you and I are having a long conversation about operational security and why disappearing without a trace is a terrible idea."

"I look forward to it."

I hung up and felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. James would find the truth. I just had to maintain the charade a little longer.

My burner phone buzzed again. Another text from Damien.

**Damien: Also, I've been thinking about what happened last night. We should talk when I get home.**

My stomach dropped. Talk about what? About the soup incident? About why he'd suddenly decided to play caring husband? About Amber coming back in three days?

I typed out a neutral response.

**Me: Of course. Whatever you think is best.**

The words tasted like ashes.

I spent the next few hours doing research on my laptop—not about Damien's friends, James would handle that—but about my own company holdings. Eighteen months was a long time to be away from the business world, and I needed to catch up.

The Salvadore empire had continued without me, of course. My parents and siblings had picked up the slack, and our various CEOs and board members had kept things running smoothly. But there were opportunities I'd missed, deals that had fallen through, partnerships that could have been formed.

I made notes, created spreadsheets, drafted emails to send from my real account. It felt good to use my brain again for something other than figuring out how to please an unpleasable man.

Around noon, my burner phone rang. Unknown number.

I answered cautiously. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Castellan?" A woman's voice, young and uncertain.

"Speaking."

"This is Dr. Morrison's office calling to confirm your appointment tomorrow at two PM."

I frowned. I hadn't made any appointments. "I think there's been a mistake—"

"Your husband called this morning to schedule it. He said you were injured and needed to be seen for burns. Is tomorrow at two still convenient?"

Damien had scheduled a doctor's appointment for me. Without asking. Without even mentioning it.

Part of me wanted to be angry about the presumption, the assumption that he had the right to make medical decisions for me without my input. But another part—the part that had spent eighteen months being grateful for any scrap of attention—wanted to be touched by the gesture.

I hated that second part.

"Tomorrow at two is fine," I heard myself say. "Thank you."

I hung up and stared at the phone, trying to understand what was happening. This wasn't the Damien I knew. The Damien I knew didn't schedule doctor's appointments or worry about my wellbeing or text to make sure I was resting.

So what had changed?

My real phone buzzed with a message from Maya, my best friend from college.

**Maya: I SAW YOUR POST. ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?? I'M CALLING YOU IN FIVE MINUTES AND YOU BETTER ANSWER.**

I smiled despite myself. Maya never had learned the art of subtlety.

True to her word, she called exactly five minutes later.

"Adriana Salvadore, you have exactly thirty seconds to explain why you dropped off the face of the earth for over a year or I'm showing up at your parents' house with a baseball bat and we're going to have words."

"Hi, Maya. I've missed you too."

"Don't you 'hi Maya' me! Where the hell have you been? Do you know how worried I was? I thought you were dead! I mourned you! I wore black for a week!"

"You hate wearing black."

"EXACTLY. That's how serious this was!"